The debate of the century: where do I want to spend my nights? Options: in bed, with a tall, dark, and handsome half black-half white masterpiece of a man; at the informative, and equally attractive (but not jump-into-bed-with) Cornell Daily Sun; at MVR in the FSAD studio with my artsy (but, lets face it, I won’t be getting laid) friends, Leah and John; or in bed, alone.

Fact. Giraffes don’t have voice boxes. Nastia Luikin is super nice. Bulletproof vests are made out of a material called Kevlar. There are three basic types of life insurance; term, whole-life, and universal. Light color primaries are subtractive. Arnold Schwarzenegger is my governor. Fact. CMYK is cyan, magenta, yellow, and… black?

Dilemma. Its 3 am. It’s the Monday of orientation week. And I’m writing a blog, hoping the clicks of my keyboard don’t wake up the passed out man-candy in my bed (finally have a queen for the first time in my life!). Unfortunately, that’s not the problem; the dilemma is the awkward morning to come when he sleeps through me vacuuming my room, in hopes he’ll wake up and leave immediately. I mean, I don’t usually kick out guests (I normally just sneak out).