In Hazel Gun's last sex column, she lists some popular myths about sex.

 Ever wondered what it's like to be a phone sex operator? Hazel Gun finds out!

Though I have never done it, as a female, I have the unique option of claiming that I’m on my period when I’m not so that I don’t have to have sex (assuming that I don’t want to, that is).  Nothing gets someone off your nuts as fast as those four words.  Well, maybe “please have my babies.”  Actually, I’d guess that they’re tied.  But sometimes Aunt Flow comes around when yo

Since “Sex on Thursdays” has already covered online dating and text message break-ups, the only technological advance that has affected our generation’s love and sex lives that has yet to be discussed is cybersex.

As soon as Thanksgiving hits, we get caught up in hustle and bustle of holiday activites: gift giving and getting, dreidel playing and edible underwear consuming, just to name a few. I think we can agree that eating your own edible underwear just isn’t the same as having someone else do it, so you start your search for a significant other.

I live with four girls, two of whom have boyfriends. Excluding me, 50 percent of my apartment is single. Since I’m no statistician, I think it’s perfectly fine to use my apartment as a model for the entire undergraduate population. Thus, according to my research, roughly half of Cornell students are single (and good for you — love is for dopes).

Earlier this week, my subpar grades caused me to have a mini mental breakdown. Instead of dealing with my problems, I decided to nap. In my dream, I met Stephen Hawking (I’m all about mysterious science), and he gave me a signed copy of A Brief History of Time and said “Happy Hanukkah, Hazel!”

Remember that one time you almost had sex but didn’t because you still had some of the morals that your evangelical mother / neighbor / friend /kid-that-sat-behind-you-in-AP-Physics-that-you-kind-of-knew-a-little had instilled in you? Or, if you’re like any normal college student (read: quasi-slutty Ivy Leaguer), remember the multiple times that you almost lost your v-card but then didn’t?

Well, here’s a story for all of you whose virginity is, or has been at some point, in any type of in-between state (virginal purgatory, if you will) where you may be a virgin, but you definitely aren’t virginal.

I’m proud to say that by writing this column, I have had one of the greatest pick-up lines ever bestowed upon me: Want to help me do research for my column? But what if you didn’t need pick-up lines at all? How does one go about cutting out all the awkwardness of attempted witty banter while being completely schwasted? By MOI, duh.

For those of you who aren’t terribly acronym savvy, MOI is not just some pretentious way for me to throw around French words as if I were très Parisian (I can clearly find other outlets for my pretentious tendencies). It stands for making out on introduction.

I’m not sure how it came to be, but for some reason, kissing another girl has become a bucket-list experience. Maybe it goes back to Sarah Michelle Gellar and Selma Blair’s saliva trail in Cruel Intentions. Maybe it was Madonna and Britney swapping spit at the VMAs a couple of years back. Or maybe it was Katy Perry’s writing a song for the masses about her own bi-curious experience. Who can say? And while I have no problem with those who wish to kiss others of the same sex, it was never an item that made my bucket list. Nevertheless, there is nothing (or rather, very little) that will stand between me and my quest for a scandalous story — and luckily for you, kissing girls is not one of those few things.