So, it's been a while, but here I am.

I've been living in my dorm here at college for about a month now, and as you know, in college, you

1. Study hard, 2. Work hard and

3. Party hard!

I had never been to a real party, but I knew one thing; all the hot popular girls did it. 

And that was my dream, after all, to be a hot, popular girl. I didn't have the money to bleach my hair blonde or buy thirty different pairs of shoes, but partying was something I could do. 

So, last night, a friend of mine invited me to go out to a bunch of frat parties with her and some other girls. It was the weekend all the new frat boys had finished rushing, and it was supposed to be the biggest party night of the year. So, I put on two bras (which really does add like at least 2 cup sizes, btw), my feather earrings, and my cutest high heels. When I walked down the halls, I could feel guys staring me over. The effect was almost like a drug. 

There were about six of us in our group, only one of which I had met before. The leader, I was soon to find out, was a greasy blonde wearing a dress that cut off right below her crotch. She was the only upperclassman, and she knew where all the hotspots were. 

So we followed her out the door and across campus at about 8:30. We arrived at the first frat to find that we were the only girls there so far, and all the guys were already hammered. Three of them had their shirts off, one was putting on neon green fishnet stockings, and almost all of them were coming up to us and putting their arms around our shoulder. The drug effect began to wear off quickly.

As I tried to get the hang of everything that was going on (playful grappling every five minutes, an outbreak of "chug, chug, chug!" every thirty seconds, guys putting on weird stripper costumes- yes, there was more than one), and trying to gauge how drunk everyone was, I noticed that there was a commotion going on outside. 

Our beloved party tour guide was sitting in a lawn chair, barely conscious, drool dripping down her chin, her head swinging like a dead weight. I was quickly filled in that she had been drinking since about 4:30, and she had just had a whiskey contest with her boyfriend (whom she was cheating on). Our other friends were trying to feed her crackers and water, but she spit them out. At one point, they gave her a styrofoam cooler to throw up in, and she started eating it. 

Finally, we decided to take her inside and put her on a bed while we decided what to do with her. It took four guys to carry her in, and they dropped her in the middle of the floor, where she proceeded to puke her guts out. As they tried to get her back up again, the puke got smothered around her face and in her hair. 

They tried to pick her up again and carry her through the kitchen, but didn't get very far. I was standing in the corner, trying to stay out of the way, when the jacket her friend had put over her crotch fell off. Because she was wearing a thong, I saw everything that girl had going on down there. And I wasn't the only one. 

All the while, her boyfriend slid his arm around me (and many other girls), and said in a slurred voice, "I'm not hitting on you!" Then he would say something about how his girlfriend needed to learn to hold her weight, or how he had beat her in a whiskey contest, and then go on to ask about whatever poor girl he had captured's major.

The frat boys finally lifted her into an arm chair, where she passed out. No one bothered to clean up the puke, and the entire room started to smell. As people walked through from the living room to outside, they stepped in it. The fluids would squish out around their shoes, leaving a footprint.

Eventually, the owners of the house, drunk themselves, started to freak out and tell us that she had to go. They repeated this to us about thirty times within five minutes while we repeated to them that we had called an ex to come take her to another frat house where they trusted the guys. 

I was disgusted. I lost all my respect, especially for that girl, but also for every drunk person in that house. It was only fucking 9 o'clock.

After we made sure the girl was safe and sound in her ex's bed (we came back later to find them spooning, both asleep, although the door was locked...), we went to about nine other parties. I didn't enjoy any of them. 

All in all, it was a shitty night. My feet were killing me, I was freezing, I was sick of being hit on by drunk guys, and halfway through the night, I was so sick of the smell of beer that I wanted to puke. I do not plan on partying again. I don't see why all the "hotties" are so into it, unless they're really so insecure that they think that some random guy trying to grind on you and slurring out some shitty pick up line is flattering. 

I think that if you've read any of posts before, you would know that I'm dating an illegal immigrant. And I love him to death. But dating an illegal immigrant makes a lot of differences that I don't think you would usually have in a normal relationship.

So...

#1. Your boyfriend (or girlfriend) most likely has a really sexy accent, and really amazing tan skin, and let's face it, gorgeous eyes. Congrats on this.

(seriously, can you say no to this?)

#2. Any time they have been driving and don't text you back...you will worry yourself into a frenzy. Tears are common, as is shouting when they finally text you back, only to say, "sorry, I was busy." This is one of the not-so-great side effects. You never know when they are going to be pulled over for having a break light out or speeding or some other minor violation, hauled off to jail, and sent back to Mexico. It's a very unstable lifestyle.

#3. You will have to face a lot of prejudice, and a lot of people telling you that your dearly beloved should rightfully be ripped from your side and sent back to Mexico because he's a big bad criminal. You will have to resist a lot of urges to punch these people in the face...so self control is necessary. 

#4. You will get to learn Spanish! Which I think is awesome...other people might not so much. Of course, most of them will not tell you, "learn my language or I'm dumping you," but most will be more than happy to help you practice if you're interested. 

#5. You get authentic Mexican food, which is a major treat. I'm hungry just thinking about it. 

#6. Once again, I will emphasize...sooner or later, they will get pulled over, for whatever reason. And then you will have a looming court date. So you will have to be strong. None of that, "I just can't take it anymore" crap, because they need you now more than ever. It's not fair to you, but this was written in the contract when you agreed to committing to an illegal (or even potentially illegal) immigrant. If you claim to love him, no bailing. That's selfish. Now, I'm not saying you should support his illegal status....in fact, by all means, you should try and change it to legal...and certainly don't even think of kids until it is...but he or she is most likely not illegal by choice, so don't blame them for it. If they were legal, they would be home in Mexico and you never would have even met them. So be thankful. 

So...of course, there are some major cons to dating an illegal immigrant....major, major cons. But the most important thing a spouse with an illegal immigrant knows is:

#7. Love does not know a legal status.

Yes, this is stupid. No, this is not a wise decision for your future. But if you love someone, what can you do? Just know what you're getting into. Because it's not easy to date an illegal immigrant, but it can be worth it. 

Have you ever dated an illegal immigrant? Am I leaving anything out?