Most people have heard of Shasta, even if they aren't affiliated with one of Oregon's state schools. Even TFM eagerly awaits early May so that they can repost the epic video footage of our favorite college weekend. Unfortunately, though, the widespread stories of Shasta aren't of the positive experiences, but rather the few tragic events that have taken place over the many, many years it has been a tradition.

While it is true that going to Shasta requires some common sense and a lot electrolytes, these tragic events have completely overshadowed the positive for those who have never attended. So, in honor of my last Shasta ever, and in hopes of bringing about some positive stigma surrounding this infamous weekend, I would like to share my own Shasta success story with you all.

I'd like to start by pointing out that I thrived the entire weekend, through rain and shine, clay and mud. I welcomed three beer bongs while the sun was rising over the water at 5:30 a.m., and even remembered to drink Odwalla for breakfast. I wandered through the redwood forest, climbing trees and taking Svedka pulls amidst the insects.

I found a football (sorry Jarell) that only left my side to be tossed to frat boys who were overly confident in their drunken ball-throwing skills.

I kept track of all the "dope boats" by writing them up my entire forearm, and even began having people initial next to their own.

I made friends in high and low places, and was able to overcome my stubbornness by accepting helping hands in efforts to deboard boats on wobbly debris deemed as planks.

Our boat (and the lobster) even made it on TFM.

I mastered every word of 'Sweet Caroline,' to the point where it, along with constant bass, reverberated through my head for days after setting foot on land. I danced in the rain in a bucket hat with strangers until my fingers turned to prunes. I even saluted an officer and pet his drug dog.

I may have fallen once, twice, or seven times, but there were no lacerations or serious injuries; just a few bruises to be counted once I got home.

I kept hydrated with Pedialyte and coconut water, proudly represented Chi Phi (RIP), and got proposed to on two different occasions.

I took fantastic Polaroid photos, and DIDN'T LOSE ANYTHING.

We partied until the sun came up, dancing atop three-story houseboats, next to bonfires, among the trees and in the water.

I managed to come home with more than I went there with; more clothes, higher tolerance, greater memories, and even more love for my fellow Beavers.

All in all, I thrived in a place where most people merely survive. Although it's been great and the memories made on Slauterhouse Island will remain in my heart until the day I die, I rejoice at the fact that I will never, ever, have to put my body through another OSU Shasta again.

Oregon State University is, without a doubt, the craziest, coolest, BEST school out there. 'Sco Beavs.

For those of you who missed out, check out this year's recap: