Writing an email to the university insisting that they turn on your house’s fountain for formal. TSM.

Grossly overpacking for a trip that will be spent half in my swim suit and half in my birthday suit. TSM.

Intentionally sitting next to the boys with the backpacks administered by the student athletic department. TSM.

I wish my hair was as forgiving as my liver when it comes to the damage I subject it to. TSM.

The only thing fake about me is the DOB on my ID. TSM.

Midwest charm, Southern class, West Coast tan, and East Coast sass. TSM.

Soberly picking out what clothes you will drunkenly shack in and subsequently steal. TSM.