50 Shades of Blacked Out

ARRIBA, ABAJO, AL CENTRO, Y PA' DENTRO! You live for Tequilafest and Salsa Sundays. Hell you'd spend any day with your good friend, Jose Cuervo.

After stealing a bowl of limes and a salt shaker from Malott you have a grand old time takin' shots with your pals. You swear you don't feel anything! So you keep taking "just one more." The shots are easy now, you don't even need a lime--it practically tastes like water! You're such a pro. Finally, your friends pry the half empty Cuervo out of your sticky hands and this shade is named after the sidewalk you faceplanted into when the tequila finally hit you.

After missing six cups in a row at TNR beer pong you decided to take the L and drink your miseries away with that random bottle of Hennessey you bought "as a joke." Ten minutes later you're swimming in the Flamson Plaza fountains in full gear from Scuba class while your suitemates are makin' it rain mozz sticks on your glistening body.

We know you don't remember it--not to worry, it's all on snapchat. That's why this shade is named "Wall Street" just like the place you'll never get to once those videos go viral.

You’re past the blackout spectrum: You’ve finally achieved “going clear.” You don’t see darkness, you only see lightness. Your rose-colored glasses have lost all hint of tint as they drown in a sea of Smirnoff. You were last seen gurgling in the Kube’s waters as your eyes stared distantly into the infinite reflection of the mighty glass structure before you.

Y'all FINALLY won, breaking that 7 game losing streak and you know you have to celebrate with the team. Break out the Natty Light! Wait no. You decide to go all out--this calls for some Bud. Shotgunning and keg stands galore you're throwing up in the suite sink by 11:30pm. At 2am you're finally able to rally like a true Stag/Cock and you make it to the Hub just in time to realize it's closed. Still a 'little' inebriated you make a barely coherent call to your trusty Domino's and order five "everything" topping pizzas. You passed out before the pizza tracker even says they're in the oven.

You started the night off just wanting to "chill with friends." Pulling out that high class boxed sangria from Liquorland you blast some of those 90's tunes the 'first-years' are probably too young to even remember and you slap that bag like JoJo should've slapped her cheating beaux. 20 minutes later you're "so sick of love songs so tired of tear, so done with wishin' s/he was still here." You pull open your bottle of Prosecco you were saving because you deserved it right now and you cry it out under the twinkling fairy lights of your best friend's super cute room. The night ends with you stumbling back to your room throwing up purple red vom all over your roommates white converse. That's why she's hella passive aggressive this morning. And no, trying to convince her you saved her from a dying trend is not helping.

Don't even kid yourself, the only "fog" you have this morning is your exhaustion from staying up into the wee hours of the night finishing your linear algebra pset. At least tell people you drank some Pamplemousse La Croix to save yourself from a little ridicule.

You decided to channel your inner Pitzerite tonight and after at least a few shots of vodka you stumbled your way up to the mounds and smoked halfway to paradise. Honestly might've made it all the way to paradise if your body hadn't separated into two beings and prohibited you from moving for a good 3 hours. But really, you weren't all that high, right?