Last Saturday I woke up with dried blood on my lip. I examined myself in the mirror, trying to recall how I could have busted my lip open. Nothing was coming, and then there on my chin: a bruise. I began to remember . . .

I was partying upstairs in Phi Sig. It was a bedroom, so it quickly grew too hot and sweaty and crowded. Taken with a restless feeling, I shot up from my seat and descended the stairs. When I landed, I was immediately swept onto the dance floor. After about 20 minutes of doing the robot, I realized upstairs wasn't so bad, so I began making my way to the stairs - only, unbeknownst to me, I was going the wrong way.

Somehow, a conga line had formed behind me by the time I had reached the front area of the house, and judging by the pushing and shoving, some people were not taking kindly to it. Then, without warning, I was pushed from behind, which forced me to bump into someone. She reeked of tequila and people and did not take kindly to our contact. As she put it,

"AAAAAARRRRR, YA JACKASS!"

I asked her if she were a pirate and she punched me in the face. I took that as a yes.