You strut through the door with all your girls, feeling and looking like Beyoncé as you make your way through the crowd.

As you study the scene, you quickly discover you’re not nearly on the same level as everyone else, so you make a beeline for the bar.

After getting your hands on some shitty flavor vodka, which has touched the lips of every other person in the room, you wince in pain from the taste. Your friends are supportive and accept the disgusting face you just made in public as they grab the bottle from your hands. No turning back now.

Now that you’ve got some liquid courage, you push through the sweaty, entangled bodies and scope out the elevated surfaces.

Once you find a countertop or table to jump on, you grab your friends and pull them up with you. You immediately regret your decision as you discover how many people are watching you dance, and how bad of a dancer you actually are.

Your moment of fame finally comes to an end. You hop down from the stage and look to find your other friends, as you swat away the gnats (or drunk boys) who are trying to get their hands on you. You are NOT having it.

Suddenly, you figure if you don’t get to the bathroom in the next two seconds, you are going to pee your pants, so you beg a loyal friend to come. You sprint to the filthy, unsanitary bathroom, which obviously doesn’t have toilet paper. You bond with other drunk girls who are being attacked by their small bladders.

After another hour of jumping and screaming the words to "Shout" and "Everytime We Touch," you discover you are surrounded by obliterated couples who are sloppily making out. It's most definitely time to go.

So you leave the party, tired, starving, a little lonely and sweaty. As you reflect on the night eating pizza and other junk you’ll regret in the morning, you know you’ll be back doing the same thing next Saturday night. That's the beauty of college, my friends.