You know, the other day it dawned on me that I am an awkward turtle to the n-th degree.

Now, I know, I know, you’re all saying to yourselves, “But Cristina, you are très cool. You’re column is genius; your witticisms, witty; your flair, flair-like.”

Indeed, this is all true. But while I sound good on paper, in reality, the length of this column is about the length of my response to someone in casual conversation. In other words, I talk too flipping much.

Congratulations — you did it. You got that guy or girl of your dreams to agree to come back to your place and sleep with you. Lucky, lucky. However, there is etiquette that one must adhere to when participating in a one night stand — one night standiquette, if you will. It will help you avoid making the awkward pre-walk of shame morning-breath goodbye kiss any more awkward (assuming that your partner was kind enough to stay the night).

In the summer after my freshman year, I wanted nothing more than to wander around the house in my underwear and extra large t-shirt. Everyday, I’d sleep for no less than twelve hours and maybe, if I felt like it, I’d get dressed and go to a friend’s house just to sit around some more. My friends and I would then throw out suggestions on where to go, only to decide it was too hot outside and that sitting in an air conditioned room just felt right. Maybe tomorrow we’ll drive to the beach. Or next weekend. The beach wasn’t going anywhere, and we weren’t in a great hurry either.

Ah, that was the life. That was what summer vacation was all about: sitting and doing absolutely nothing until all hours of the night for three whole months.

We were all in the bathroom when she said it. Each passive-aggressively vying for mirror time as we adjusted our matching neon green beanies and re-applied our Dr. Pepper Lipsmackers.

“Ha ha ha, Shannan … you are so funny! I think that’s why I’m so skinny! You make me laugh so much. Ha ha ha! Do you know laughing burns calories? That’s why I’m SO skinny!”

To the Editor:

Re: “Glancing Back, Looking Forward — Toward Diversity,” Opinion, April 20.

You know them. You’ve seen them, talked to them, had the darkest corners of your lonely existence interrupted by the intrusive glare of their emanating love rays. You pass them in Ho Plaza, praying that their heavy-handed PDA is only the first staged scene of a sexual health demonstration. Their first language is couple talk, but they’re also fluent in condescension. They have little-to-no sarcasm perception, which turns out to be quite handy.

They are the human manifestation of Valentines Day, and you can’t help but hate them.