“Don’t you know who I am?”, originally uploaded by lenachen.

For about two months, I’ve been marveling on a daily basis about how happy I am with my life at the moment. Junior year is more than I could’ve asked for. Here are snapshots from last night (taken at the student pub) of good times with blockmates, who are some of the people responsible for making my fall particularly memorable:

It’s official: there is absolutely nothing redeeming about Harvard’s social scene any longer. As of this morning, the Undergraduate Council’s Party Grant program has been eliminated amid concerns of underage drinking, alcohol abuse, and “overcrowding”. The most WTF part of the press release:

It is quite apparent that the UC Party Grant program, in practice, has funded parties where the focus is on drinking. Alcohol abuse is the number one student health concern at Harvard as it is on other campuses nationwide. We have taken many proactive steps to mitigate the harm that results from high-risk drinking and have also tried to develop spaces on campus where students can socialize with alcohol safely and legally. The UC Party Grant program is at odds with the message that students, parents, faculty and administrative leaders of this community should be sending about responsible and safe alcohol use…

… The common spaces of the House are better suited for hosting parties with guests, and in these settings Beverage Authorization Teams can be used to make sure that only those over 21 may be served alcohol.

Poor freshmen. The press release goes on to talk about the UC doing things for the “greater good” instead of just the burgeoning drunkards etc. Maybe it’s just me, but I actually think depression is going to skyrocket on this campus if the booze is taken away. There is very little to look forward to as it is. Without the occasional tipsy end-of-week party, what’s left? And all the emphasis on drinking age? Um, roughly 1/10th of the kids here come from places where they’d legally be allowed to drink anyway.

This is basically ridiculous. As if the higher ups who made this decision didn’t do the free love/Studio 54 thing back in the day. It’s not like the party grants were funding our experiments with shrooms and LSD.

Thank god I have a fake I.D.

This weekend harkens back to freshman spring. For the most part, I’ve been on a sober, monogamous, responsible streak. Maybe it was Cece’s visit during Mather Lather and my subsequent reintroduction to binge drinking. Maybe it was the festive year-end mood. Maybe it was my enabling friends. Whatever the case, this past weekend was more alcoholic than any other this year. Sure, I’ve had my blackout moments but it’s been a long time since a three-day streak with a different cock and cocktail each night.

Which isn’t to say that I broke the no-sex rule (let’s assume for a moment that oral doesn’t count). I just engaged in a lot of making out a la high school. It was kind of fun, I must admit. Besides the serious damage at Currier Formal (five glasses wine, a Lemon Drop, and a White Russian), I was going strong Friday with a sangria-fueled Quad-a-thon.

Things Lena Did Friday Night (probably not completely in order):
1. Drink three full Solo cups of sangria at Mather Happy Hour. Start feeling good.
2. Put on ridiculously short minidress with ridiculously tall stilettos
3. Quad Quad Quad with ZAP ZAP ZAP
4. Make out with male acquaintance at door of No Pants Dance
5. Make out with another male acquaintance inside No Pants Dance
6. Forget the name of second male acquaintance. Ask friend. Resume making out.
7. At some point in evening, yell at/hit Riley in the face seven or eight times. With permission.
8. Order $50 worth of sushi.
9. Consume $50 worth of sushi.
10. Ply Kay with alcohol. Unsuccessfully.
11. Go home with male acquaintance whose name I only vaguely remember at this point.
12. Get oral sex.
13. Tell him there’s no way I’m going down on him. (Sorry!)
14. Or so much as touching his dick. (Sorry again!)
15. Ask him mid-hookup — totally seriously — “You don’t happen to have a girlfriend, do you?”
16. Get more oral sex.
17. Realize that there’s been sexual tension between us for over a year. This is it?! Disappointed.
18. Roll over as he talks about his commitment issues and how he’s really not that bad a guy. Could care less.
19. Wake up in the morning. It is 12pm and all I have to wear are the ridiculous mini dress and the ridiculous stilettos.
20. His roommate walks in on me while I’m in a t-shirt and thong. Thanks.
21. Am invited to lunch in the dining hall with his roommates. Riiiight.
22. Attempt the Quad to Mather Walk of Shame in ridiculous minidress and stilettos. Get honked at. A lot.
23. Am complimented on ridiculous stilettos (purple peep-toes) by girl coming out of Leverett Dining Hall. Feel slightly validated.
24. Realize last night’s hookup has probably told all his roommates that we had sex in 80 positions. Hate him intensely.
25. Immediately email friends my account of the evening.

Anyhow, I can’t have more than one of these weekends a semester. It’s way too draining. Besides, I really prefer regularity over a half dozen kissing partners, even if all that means is a three-week Reading Period fling.

Reader Poll: Despite the pseudonyms, do you guys know who the boys and girls of this blog are? Just wondering about the visibility of recurring characters like Adia, Terra, and JB.

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No better way to spend Friday night than consuming large amounts of your least favorite alcohol. Call it an acquired taste, I just never got into tequila — though it still trumps whiskey (which I’ve never attempted again after an unfortunate post-graduation incident).But I digress. Let’s start from the top. Met up around nine with my favorite gal pal who was then denied entrance to Casino Night, a Mather-only event, so we naturally decided to drink alone. After taking Aidan’s martini back to my newly cleaned room for a “power half-hour”, we decided it was time for Crashing Events We Don’t Belong At: Take 2.

Success! Casino Night for the two of us included a “How many chips can you fit in your bra?” game with Matt as well as girl-on-girl action via an arm-wrestling challenge (we were manipulated by sick, sick men). Adia urged me to eat before I drank so I ate a handful of grapes in hopes that they would ferment during digestion. Between my outfit (nonexistent) and her liver (also nonexistent), we pretty much knew this night could only end in nasty hangovers and regrettable hookups. Possibly with each other.

So maybe not. But thanks to Mather golf (different drinks at every hole, i.e. dorm room), we did manage to get nice and drunk and make new BFFs — with boys too, because guys are totally the best drinking buddies. I’ve determined since last night that group drinking is an uber form of co-dependency. Sometime between my third and fourth tequila shot, Aidan stopped pouring drinks, looked me in the eye, and asked, “Lena, are you at your limit?” — a legitimate question considering the last time I golfed. I glanced at everyone else present, including the petite, susceptible-to-suggestion Adia. A dismissive, sober “no” later, and I was on shot number six. I knew I was going somewhere good even if my liver disagreed. Impromptu dance party ensued, Adia disappeared (as she often does), I flirted shamelessly with ‘09 boys (never happens when sober), and Nate made a surprise appearance an hour too late to regulate my ass.

Somehow, I ended in my bedroom, said a somewhat drunk hello to Sue, and heated up rice because it was the closest food in proximity. Adia came over to pick up her shit, I chatted with Matt for a few moments, and my night ended quite uneventfully save for a drunk dial from Summer Guy at 5 a.m. (Um, time difference, much?) Today I woke up with nary a regret. Well, maybe a couple, considering the secrets I spilled in my drunken state. But I’m hoping my conversation partners were too inebriated themselves to remember.

In conclusion, Friday night is what every night should be like for the next month: Adia, alcohol, and abstinence.

Reunited tonight with my favorite gal, Adia (not pictured — she doesn’t like cameras). Hurricanes, midnight snacks, and hot alums! Yay …

New York was both ridiculously great and ridiculously bad … all about the company.

* Thursday night, I checked into the New Yorker and spent the late night wandering Times Square with a Harvard ‘08er who held me steady in my ridiculous stiletto boots. Lessons learned: McDonald’s and porn are an unbeatable combo.

* On Friday, Sam came to the city and we found a cute hotel on 50th. Met up with his friends, had sushi for dinner, and made him order me embarassingly girly drinks. Spent a good portion of the evening observing and making fun of the other people (namely, the reeking-of-desperate men) at the bar in the W Hotel.

* Saturday was spent in Staten Island … which prompted JB to ask, “Why the hell did you decide to go to Jersey?”

* I devoted Sunday to a tour of the Whitney Museum, alongside the lovely Rachel Kramer Bussel. Among the exhibits were a single blinding light and a piano shattered to pieces with accompanying video tape of its destruction. Needless to say, I didn’t “get” it.

* Sunday night, I ended up in Philadelphia, where I stayed until Monday afternoon. Long story.

And now I’m home. For at least three weeks. I think. For the time being, I’ll have to rein in my wanderlust.

In other news, it’s officially Ash Wednesday and I’m giving up sex for Lent. Penance and all, you know? Or maybe I’m just waiting for someone worth it …