Different Strokes for Different Folks

I hate reading about my sexual performance the next day on BoredatBaker. Disagree! Disagree!

There are only two to three weeks each year when it's warm enough to complete the Dartmouth Seven.

Dick's House is currently warning against getting within six feet of another human being, let alone climbing into bed with someone.

Dartmouth is the only place in the country where the term "doming" doesn't refer to giving head.

Only Dartmouth students consider the pill and condoms "gender-normative."

It's always awkward having to return that black North Face she left in my room the night before. It's even worse when it happens to have a different girl's name written on the tag.

Food Court is the most romantic option for a morning-after breakfast.

Pong is considered a first date at Dartmouth, and first dates don't usually end well when two brothers across the table keep yelling, "Drink faster!" and, "Stop hitting low!"

The beds are so narrow a stick figure could barely fit on one, let alone two grill food-eating, Keystone-drinking Dartmouth students.

The only place to flirt with other students is a frat basement, most of which are way too reminiscent of a scene from "Silence of the Lambs."

My Blitz inbox is always too full to send out morning-after blitzes. Those who don't receive a blitz the next morning, blame it on Macs.

Dormitory walls are paper thin, which makes for awkward conversation when my community director asks me the next morning if I "remembered to wear a condom."