Screaming “that’s my mom” as your big dances on the bar. TSM.

Using a cute phone case all week, but switching to LifeProof on the weekends. TSM.

Taking “bitch” as a compliment. TSM.

Calling your alumnae advisor “The Godmother.” TSM.

Being overcome with a sense of uneasiness when you’re the one who has her shit together. TSM.

“Feel my legs. I just shaved.” TSM.

You were my cup of tea, but I drink champagne now. TSM.

Go Greek or go home. TSM.

Leaving a note reading “I’m back” in place of a stolen composite. TSM.

This water bottle is no doubt filled with vodka, so no, you can’t have any. TSM.

Finals are just tests, grades are just letters, GPAs are just numbers, and diplomas are just paper, but a rich husband? That’s real. TSM.

If you got 8 AM classes I feel bad for you son. I got 99 problems but they don’t start ’til 1. TSM.

Not even two weeks into the semester and somehow I’m months behind. TSM.

When will my bank account show who I am inside? TSM.

Sending a text to your crush then putting your phone on airplane mode until you’re brave enough (re: your sisters make you) check for a response. TSM.

I’d rather be full of wine than full of shit. TSM.

Sending a bag full of glitter to a girl you hate, because it isn’t allowed in the house. And, well, because she’s satan’s mistress. TSTC.

“His balls are so deep in my pocket after that stunt that it looks like I’m wearing them.” TSM.

Only two weeks in and already making more mistakes than last semester. TSM.

I could make a killing with something like “diet Prozac.” TSM.