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.

My best friend, Captain K. Leigh, introduced this concept to me after some rando at the Pink Panties Party (an exclusive soiree hosted by me and my lovely roommates — speaking of roomies, HAPPY (early) BIRTHDAY SIOBHAN & EMILY) walked up and made-out with her. I won’t divulge all the gory details of that situation, but believe me, it could merit its own column. After the Pink Panties Party incident, I became intrigued by the idea of making out with someone upon meeting them. Imagine no longer having to practice my come-hither look because I was ballsy enough to walk up to a guy and lay one on him. Sounds pretty good, doesn’t it?

Naturally, I decided to conduct my own “study” — all for purely scientific purposes, of course. So a few weekends ago I went to a frat party (my favorite excuse for drinking too much Keystone and subsequently making an ass out of myself on the dance floor — I’m sorry to say that the Arctic Monkeys have lost many a bet based on how good I look on the dance floor) with some friends and arbitrarily chose my first victim (uh, subject?).

“Hi, my name’s Hazel, what’s yours?” “Ian.” After confirming that Ian did not have a girlfriend, I told him that it was nice to meet him and proceeded to aggressively make-out with him. Not only was Ian up for the making out, but he also got a little handsy. Trial one: success.

I went on to do more or less the same thing with nine other randomly chosen subjects — Luke, Eric, Mike, Andy, Tim, Raymond, Dan, Robert and Dennis. The results? 90 percent of the subjects kissed me back (I’d say one rejection out of ten trials is pretty good, wouldn’t you?). 10 percent (by which I mean Dennis) told me I was a “drunk as f***, b***h” — false, I was not “drunk as f***.” 60 percent groped me (groping was only reciprocated with 30 percent). 10 percent tried to take off my bra in middle of the dance floor (that’s right, Eric has some major game — watch out ladies!). 30 percent asked if I wanted to go upstairs. 10 percent (by which I mean Luke) asked me to mother their children. Lastly, 40 percent asked for my number — none of them got it (I’m not THAT desperate).

One guy didn’t even have his phone on him, so when he asked for my number, he pulled out a $5 bill and a pen and asked me to give him “my digits” (real classy, right? Yeah, I thought so too). Statistics aside, I’m quite surprised with how well making out on introduction went. Perhaps my success was a result of my gender. It would undoubtedly be more difficult for a guy to randomly make-out with girls — no one appreciates a sleazy frat bro. Or maybe my success was heightened by the fact that I waited till our friend, the Swine, left campus — a point at which people were so starved for physical attention that they’d even make out with a creepy Sun columnist.

Regardless, here is my final take on MOI. If you are drunk enough, go ahead and be a little adventurous. There ain’t no harm in that. However, I highly doubt that you will meet your soulmate using this technique. So for those of you who still believe in true love and all that crap because you have yet to be turned into a cynic by the harsh winters and even harsher grading that epitomizes Cornell, there isn’t much of a need to explore this new fashion of meeting people.