Tonight is the first night of the rest of your life. Whether you spend it partying like you’d always dreamed or cooped up in your room, Bwog knows what you’re going through–and just remember that it all gets better from here! Read on for some Bwoggers’ first night memories:
My older sister went to Columbia, so for most of NSOP I was pretending to be totally over everything–to be fair, my first college party was at Pike when I was 15. My RA took our floor on an outing to the Staten Island Ferry, which was pleasant. I texted a friend who was having his own orientation at NYU and we met up downtown and walked around for an hour before telling each other we had to stop hiding and try to enjoy our orientations. So I went back to Columbia and joined some randos and we sat on the floor of a cramped Carman room and played a rousing game of Never Have I Ever (the perfect icebreaker) and I thought things were wonderful because I had made good friends. Needless to say, I never spoke to those people again.
I spent my first night in Morningside Heights with other transfer students, which meant that we were all equally committed to being too cool for orientation for the second time, and secretly wanting to do orientation for the second time. This unique combination landed us at Mama Mexico, now Maria Bonita, on 105th St., which used to have better food and be less expensive. Pronouncing our desire to “avoid freshmen” we went down to NYU and spent the rest of the night at bars with all freshmen. For what it’s worth, my best friends today were, in fact, freshmen my first night.
In all honesty, I don’t remember my first night at college. Not even because I was Loko-ed Out (RIP Four Loko and let those of us whose freshman year coincided with its triumphant debut and subsequent devastating illegality pour one out [of a lesser beverage]). Just because my memory is shit. So, I went to my Facebook to take a look and found a lot of pictures of me in September 2010 sticking my tongue out and hugging people whose names are probably in my phone but who I, for the most part, found to be pretty dumb. Have no fear, tho. A few scrolls up and there we have a picture of me pouring a drink for the person who is now my best friend.
I was a COÖP-er, so my first night at Columbia was spent under the dramatic shadow of Hurricane Irene. My first dorm party was on the 4th floor of Carman, where there were vague references to blacking out during the blackout (of which there was none), and plenty of new and fantastic Red Bull combinations. Later that night, a group of people ended up hanging out in my Carman dingle, and just as I was quietly celebrating my newfound popularity to myself, a new friend threw up and subsequently passed out all over my bathroom — the bathroom I had lovingly cleaned and furnished just hours before. I spent the majority of my first night crouched on that bathroom floor with another 12-hour old friend, the two of us making sure she was okay and eventually putting her to bed in the other unoccupied room in my suite. The amount of down time and forced care-taking made for quick bonding. Both of those people became two of my best friends at Columbia for the next two years, so I guess friendships built on puking are meant to last.
I moved into the Barnard quad early with other international students. We were warned not to go outside because of “Tropical Storm Irene”, so our OL’s rounded us up for some jet-lagged games in the ugliest space on Barnard’s campus, Hewitt Dining Hall. I sat on the carpeted floor and played Uno. Looking back, I can’t believe they let us sit on the disgusting floor of Hewitt. I did, however, get to know (and beat in Uno) some nice people.