Over dinner the other night, my roommate, Sita, revealed that she wasn’t going to be around on Saturday evening.

My RA, Carson, shook his head in disappointment: “It’s only the biggest event of the year.”

He was, of course, referring to Full Moon on the Quad.

The first time I had encountered the event was in the Unofficial Guide to Stanford, where I had imagined it as a spectacularly organized ritual — rite of passage, even — with freshman lined up on one side of the Quad and seniors on the other, midnight marking the merging of the lines and 1,600 very happy, very Stanford freshmen.

No, no, no, my RA had told me. All classes go, some people kiss, some people don’t. So my initial version of Full Moon was gone. But in it’s place I had concocted a new, more wild version, and I still very much looked forward to this Stanford-wide kissing party . . . “The biggest event of the year.”

So came Saturday, and I must say I was — mildly put — mildly disappointed.

Get there . . . huge crowd of people. Some naked, some naked and painted, some scantily clad. Some entertainment. Not bad. Stand around for an hour or so, mingle, people watch. Someone starts the countdown to midnight. I look around. Most people have on nervous expressions. I hear one say, uneasily, “All right, find your kissing partners.”

Midnight! I am lucky enough to encounter an absolutely gorgeous Asian sophomore whose kiss is an orgasm in my mouth — my boyfriend. We stop kissing, and I look up. Everyone is kind of just looking at each other. The brave ones go for it. The mass just stand around. Oh, and the Band comes. That would have been pretty sweet to see, had everyone not been buttcheek-to-groin trying to push their way to see them as well.

You’re all wrong, you may say. And I may be. Hell, I probably am one of the few who didn’t have a raging good time. I’m a freshman. I’m not way hot. I wasn’t scantily clad. And I wasn’t inebriated. Nonetheless, I figured that Full Moon would have been — and still think it should be — an event for the sober, fully clothed, non-way-hot freshman.