If you happened to find yourself walking or driving at the west end of Beaver Avenue on the corner of that down-sloping turn, there's a house there that might have caught your eye -- and then made you look twice because you probably didn't believe it the first time you saw it.

In the front yard of the house was a 10 feet tall waterslide called "The Banzai Double Drop Falls Waterslide."

Picture this: You hoist yourself up the back of the slide with plastic rungs, then once you're situated at the top, you let yourself slide over the two bumps and land in a small pool of water at the end.

Now, instead of 8-year-old kids sliding into ecstasy, picture 21-year-olds flinging themselves onto the top and sliding into a mud pit and you'd have what consumed the better part of my Sunday.

We also broke out the barbecue and pong table in between waterslide phases, which didn't help anyone avoid that mud pit. There was also a competition of sorts for best slide. There were different categories - freestyle, dismount, creativity, etc. At one point, we even had judges with number cards. (The freestyle slide that included a beer in hand got a 10.0 score.)

We were quite a spectacle. Little kids would stare out of car windows and drool. We were the envy of every fully clothed person walking by. I'm all about being careful and safe, but water slides are just damn good fun.

It was a perfect way to celebrate a win over Florida International. It was a ridiculous game with a ridiculous score so we celebrated in a ridiculous way. It's the stuff college dreams are made of and it made me glad that I'm still young enough to get away with it.

--Erin

This weekend, it was my job to be "embedded" into a Notre Dame tailgate to see how Penn State fans were treating them. There had been problems in the past with Ohio State fans and their band, so needless to say, we expected the worst. I mean, two exceptionally traditional football programs clashing in the "White House"... what wouldn't happen?

I was really apprehensive about this story. I didn't want to be seen with Notre Dame fans. I wanted to get some quotes and go. An all white shirt shows up really well when you're surrounded by Irish green and I didn't want to be exposed.

I set out to chat a little with some Notre Dame fans and I happened upon a tailgate right outside the stadium sporting a lot of green. Jackpot.

The first people I met at the tailgate were the husband and wife who had the tailgating spot - Mr. and Mrs. Witmer. The wife was decked out in all her Notre Dame apparel and the husband was wearing Penn State white. They explained their unusual, but endearing situation of clashing teams and then introduced their son, who "chose on his own" as his mother put it, to attend Notre Dame.

I met Mike, Jay Jay, Scott, Tara, Joe, Pat, and Michael. (They're not Irish or anything...) Pat and Michael are students at Notre Dame and didn't know the Witmers or their friends, but were welcomed to join after they impressed the tailgaters with their Irish flag capes. One flag was blessed by the current pope.

Mike walked around in a plaid fishing hat. Tara single-handedly beat out six guys in a flip cup game. Pat and I talked about Beaver Stadium and compared student tickets. Joe took a nice swig of Patron tequila, took off his aviators, and sat down for a breather on the back of his rental SUV, which was wrapped in masking tape to hold a Notre Dame flag. Classy. Five minutes later Joe joined the "flippie cup" game, but never actually got the chance to drink the beer, since the Penn State side of the table -- composed of my friends and three random guys in white paint -- was dominating.

When I told them my name was Erin Elizabeth, that was the end of it. I was a closet Notre Dame fan, they said. No one with an Irish name like that can hate Notre Dame. Those are the rules apparently. End of story. And who was I to argue? Didn't seem half bad to me.

Someone came by selling raffle tickets and Mike bought three and wrote my name on them all since, as he put it - "What do I want with a Paterno signed football?" So if I do win I'm supposed to send them a picture of me holding said ball with a thumbs up. Priceless.

Scott got out his cell phone to check the weather and when he predicted rain Mike got really excited.

"It'll be the largest wet t-shirt contest in the world!" he said.

Mike had been to Happy Valley before, for the Snowball I believe, and said with a finger wagging menacingly at the stadium, "This was the site of the coldest day of my life."

They were exceedingly generous and really class act people. I couldn't have happened upon a better tailgate - Penn State or not. They had me laughing till I cried, swapping stories with way too much information and arguing civilly about football.

I got a lot more than the few quotes I initially sought. I was invited to South Bend and took a picture on my phone to remember them all by. Considering that when I showed up writing things down on a small notepad, and they thought I was giving them a parking ticket, things ended wonderfully.

I left with Irish eyes smiling and an "I shamrock beer" button as a souvenir pinned to my belt loop. Perfection.

--Erin Prah

Penn State played Notre Dame this weekend, and both nightlife bloggers have stories to tell about the game. First, Lauren talks about the game atmosphere. Below, Erin recounts her experience tailgating with Notre Dame fans.

I decided to do something totally unique Saturday night, something crazy that only a true nightlifer could pull off. So I put on this white T-shirt I bought, trekked 76937584 miles from my downtown apartment, and went to some football game against some team whose mascot appears to be a leprechaun or something of the sort. They were from the University of Notre Dame, if you've ever heard of such a place. Perhaps it's in France; sounds French to me.

Anyway, I learned a few things at this game. For one, according to the students in section EDU, Notre Dame's quarterback, Jimmy Clausen, apparently has genital warts -- at least according to a raucous chant that occurred throughout the game. And at 2:58 left in the game, section EDU had some advice for this Clausen kid. He was told to "give up, you [rhymes with cluckin'] [insert expletive here]."

And another thing I discovered while attending this sporting event. The United States needs to stop searching for Osama Bin Laden overseas, because he is somewhere in State College, or so the students in section EDU think. Frequently, I heard them chanting "[rhymes with cluck] Bin Laden!" with such vigor and resolve that I am sure he was somewhere in the stadium, or at least near Franco Harris, an ex-PSU football player who was in the box right behind where I was sitting.

So after this sporting event, which we won, by the way if you didn't hear, I was faced with quite the quandary. It's the second Saturday of September, the Nittany Lions annihilated Notre Dame and Michigan is 0-2 to Oregon and Appalachian State. So, what to do?

Well, if you are me and/or a fellow Collegianite, you go check out the Blue Band post-game, take pictures of the ridiculous amount of trash the football players have to clean up the day after the game and you sit where the normal people sit -- in the sweetest chairs with seat backs ever. I highly recommend obtaining one, if you have graduated or are just incredibly lazy, like myself.

Anyways, after investigating what the old people sit in while we stand for four quarters (again, WHY), you go in search of food from previously mentioned "old people," a.k.a. alumni who tailgate like it's their last supper.

Things I learned while unsuccessfully begging for table scraps:
1. Playboy and PSU fuse during football season -- there is this incredibly sexy tailgate that advertises its sexiness by displaying a Playboy bunny symbol over its equally sexy hot dogs and cole slaw.

2. Lastly, upon walking back to my downtown apartment and seeing a hand-made, artsy-fartsy poster hanging over an apartment balcony, I learned that the only difference between Charlie Weis pre-and-post gastric bypass surgery (did he actually have gastric bypass surgery? Note to self: investigate -- Wikipedia.), is that after the surgery, he eats only double cheeseburgers and has his pants around his ankles, or so the poster advertises.

--Lauren McCormack

A little quiz to get things started.

Q: The weather in Happy Valley on Saturday was...
a) frigid
b) warm
c) windy
d) comfortable

And the answer is...all of the above! Trick question, suckers!

So, as State College weather decided what the heck it wanted to do, I left my dorm around 9ish a.m. to search out every Buffalo fan that came to Penn State for a news story. Yes, all 5 of them! Hurrah!

Actually, there were about 44 according to my UB sighting tally through out the morning and game. I managed to talk to seven of them, so that's like 16 percent, which is pretty funny. "By the numbers" things are cool so I thought I'd give it a shot:

1 - UB cheerleader walking by herself outside the stadium.
1 - motorized cooler complete with steering wheel, ice cold beer inside and a middle-aged man driving it down Park Avenue yelling "LOOK OUT!"
2 - Larry Johnson jerseys
6 - Buffalo Bills' Posluzny jerseys
1 - Heinz Ward jersey
1 - Donavan McNabb jersey

What the heck, people... I am totally fine with the Larry Johnson and Posluzny jerseys, but Ward and McNabb? Really? Reeeeeally?

Anyways, while I was waiting for my friends to meet me at the stadium I heard one guy say - "I think I'm gonna buy that ticket from that blonde girl just cuz she's hott."

Meanwhile some guy on the corner was screaming - "Who needs a free ticket! Free ticket here! Who wants it?" - and couldn't give the darn thing away. Too bad he didn't have blonde hair and a sex-ay bod.

But the game was fun. My only disappointment was that people left early. One girl in front of me had a very admirable philosophy and I admired her moxie. While her friends left at the start of the fourth quater, she said - "Pshh! I'm staying. I'll make friends!" I talked to her for a bit and she said that she would feel bad leaving when she was lucky enough to get season tickets and since there are so many students out there who would love to have them. Bravo.

So now to get back to the title of my blog. I went to a 21st birthday party on Saturday night and it was simply splendid. It was a REAL birthday party with streamers, balloons, cake, brownies, celebratory champagne, singing happy birthday and yes -- parents playing pong.

Some dads beat two guys who are an infamously winning team. In fact, the guys were almost shutout and were threatened with a naked lap around the apartment, but thank God it never came to that. I don't think the moms watching the game could have handled that.

Sorry, guys. Just a little too much trash talk was probably your downfall.

There was also a puppy named Saddie at the party! She made me think of "Saddie, Saddie, married lady..." Ok, nevermind... She wasn't really a puppy though, more like a full-grown dog, but she was an adorable mut, just relaxing on the hardwood floors and soaking up all her adoring fans. She belonged to one of the mothers and just rested peacefully at her owner's feet with her head between her paws and a green party hat on her head.

The birthday party eventually turned into a dance party. We had The Beatles' "Twist and Shout", a little Rihanna, Bon Jovi, Jay Z, N'sync and dare I say it -- Def Leppard.

Yeah, it was awesome. A true birthday party in fabulous style in a beautiful apartment. Here's to many years of ab fab birthdays to come.

Happy 21st Birthday, Caitlin!

--Erin

My name is Lauren McCormack, and I am a Halloween addict.

Yes, I know it's September, and no, I don't just get dressed up in weird costumes randomly. Well, actually, um ... we'll talk about that another time.

My friend and I decided to take a day trip to Target on Friday to stock up and do whatever it is 19 year old girls do in Tar-jay. Naturally, amidst grocery shopping and shoe browsing, we went hunting for Halloween costumes.

Rocking the right costume is an art every nightlifer needs to master, especially those ladies out there. There is one easy costume that you honestly can't go that wrong with -- the "Mean Girls" route:

1. Throw a pair of cat/bunny/mouse ears over your perfectly tousled gorgeous waves of hair.
2. Attach a pair of "Nipple Petals" (they actually do exist, and yes, they actually do what they sound like they do). I saw them hanging neatly in rows at Target, begging for a Lil' Kim wannabe to come along and do them justice.

Image courtesy of EW.com

Unfortunately, I humbled myself and realized I honestly cannot pull this off, no matter how much I wish Diana Ross would feel me up at the MTV Video Music Awards.

So I moved on in search of a Halloween costume, certain that Target held all the answers to The Greatest Halloween Ever. I looked at ears. I mulled over a wench costume. I considered being a geisha. I thought about the possibility of going Keira Knightly on the State College nightlife and dressing myself up as a pirate.

No, no. Definitely not, and a negative on the pirate. So what's a girl to do?

Then, we found it -- or them, I should say.

Hanging very unassumingly on the racks next to bunny-printed pajamas and silk camisoles for old ladies (eww), we spotted them: fleece onesies, a la Ralphie in A Christmas Story. I myself was examining a skull-covered sleepshirt when my friend called to me, excitement in her voice. Glancing over, I was partially paralyzed by their uber-sexiness. I instantly knew my curves would be highlighted in the most flattering way in the fluorescent lime-green dinosaur printed one. Even better, I thought to myself. Not only will people want to see how bootylicious I am in footie pajamas, but they'll have to see! I'll glow in the dark!

Unfortunately, I got stuck with the red racecar ones after my friend claimed I-found-them-first privileges on the dinosaur ones, but I dealt with it.

I can say with confidence that trying on the onesie pajamas was the formulative experience of my 19 years: the way they only came up 3/4 of the way to my wrist, the gorgeouus plastic zipper than ran from my toes, across my thigh, to end at the top of my torso, giving me the possibility of going risque by not even zipping it up all the way. This. Was. It.

So, State College, amongst the Victoria's Secret Angels, the Playboy Bunnies, and the girls that will not be wearing clothes this Halloween, look out for Lauren and Cady -- rocking the onesie pajamas. JT thinks he brought sexy back? Well, from what my momma taught me, you need a receipt to bring anything back, including sexy. And on that receipt, for 12.99, you'll find CHILD'S FLEECE ONESIE. Daaaaaamn.

--Lauren

This blog is going to be short and sweet. We all know what happened this week...*insert collective sad face here*

After this weekend's football game, it was understood that we would drown our sorrows, cry into our beers and well...just get plain wasted.

But drown isn't even the word. More like immerse, drench, douse, sink, soak, steep, saturate, bathe... I used the thesaurus for this.

It was like downtown was being christened in beer after our first loss of the season. (Sorry if that's sacreligious.) Maybe it was just what I was seeing but wow...just wow. That's a whole lot 'o sadness there, kids.

But, alas, there was a glimmer of happiness still alive in the happiest of valleys, for this was a weekend of birthdays. Excuse me while I croon...

Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday tooooooo (deep breath) Megan, my little sister who's 19, Lonett who turned 21, Stephanie, my roommate's sister who turned 18, Ana, who has a cool name and that kid in my English class from freshman yearrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr (whew). HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU! Cha, cha, cha! - You know, like they used to do at Chi Chi's before they got hepatitis? Fun.

Now, here are all the cool things you can do once you turn 18, 20, 21, 22, etc.

18 - Congratulations, you can now do all those things you've been dying to do since...forever! You can buy tobacco products and lottery tickets. You can also get married and get a credit card. You can join the military and oh, yeah - now you can drive your car after midnight when you go to buy those lottery tickets when you're on your honeymoon. Woo hoo!

19 - Yayayayay! You are still a teenager! Hurray for being lumped into all those wonderful teenager stereotypes for one more year! It's cool though, because you can also still get away with a lot of stuff. We don't quite expect you to be "responsible"....yet.

20 - Sorry this age is just dull. To anyone turning 20, I apologize. Stick it out for one more year.

21 - WOOOO FREAKIN' HOOO! You made it. You may now legally drink alcoholic beverages and spend a fortune doing so. Oh those tempting little bars downtown with their "specials" and "happy hours." There's a reason it's called happy hour and that may just be because everyone - including the bar owners - are ridiculously happy... think about it.

22 - I have conflicting thoughts about this birthday. You're probably a little wiser about bar hopping now that the novelty has worn off, but now you're like...old. Instead of a "0" or a "1" after that 2, there's another 2. And after that there will be a 3, and a 4 and eventually a 5! Damn.

etc - If you didn't turn any of the following birthdays, sorry you don't get a cool description. But that's OK, because that means one of two things: Either you're really young and you just had an awesome Dora the Explorer birthday party, or you're old and you don't want to celebrate it anymore. If it's the later, you're probably going to get one of those really awkward birthday cards with a scantily clad girl or guy on it to remind you of your vanishing youth.

Ok, so this got longer than expected, but I think birthdays are important and I for one will celebrate each and every one because birthdays involve cake, ice cream and lots of it. And my birthday cake is always a pineapple upside-down cake that my mom makes every single year and that my uncle bemoans because it doesn't have real frosting. Whatevs, it's my fav.

Hope everyone has a good week. Now go eat more cake!

--Erin

My Friday, my Michigan Game Eve, was filled with nakedness and broken dishes. In that order.

Two out of my four roommates went home, and with the other one out for the day, I began my dreams of a Michigan victory by dancing around my apartment -- with myself -- to the likes of BSB, NSync and pre-shave, pre-baby Britney.

After my intense dance to the PSU victory gods (which apparently was not good enough) I decided to take a shower. Not wanting to end the solo dance party, I turned my music up, forgot a towel, stripped down au natural and lathered up.

At the end of my extraordinary shower, which was highlighted by a stellar rendition of Spice Up Your Life by The Spice Girls, I stepped out of the shower, dried off with a hand towel, and looked up to find my roommate's boyfriend -- who apparently has a key to my four-girl apartment -- gaping at me in my birthday suit.

Very nice, how much?

Later, after I decided to cover up and save what little dignity I had, and after celebrating one Katie Maloney's 20th birthday (!), I trekked over to Meridian Apartments, 636 E. College Ave., where I was soon engulfed in World War III. Hence the broken dishes.

Alcohol affects people in different ways, as I'm sure you nightlifers have noticed. My one friend tends to gravitate towards police officers (don't try that at home, kids), another is prone to Wing Zone (can you say freshman 15?) and one particular nightlifer tends to not only annihilate his otherwise-nice apartment, but break dinner plates over his mass of blond hair. No, really. I can't even make that up.

I met him on the street despite the fact that he knew my friends and I were coming over to his apartment. He had no idea where he was going, but once he us, he turned around. With a mumbled "blah mrah blahrahrah BITCH" he led us back into his apartment, his yellow duckie-printed pajamas clearly giving him a pretty satisfying wedgie. Well, unfortunately for him, his wedgie would be the least of his problems that night.

Now it's time for the nightlifer's imagery. First, the once-blue carpet was stained with (I hope) fruit punch everywhere. Stepping into one of his bathrooms, I noticed that someone had clearly never learned the proper way to use a toilet. Feces goes inside the toilet, toilet paper outside. A whole roll of Charmin, however, seemed to be taking a bath in the toilet, accompanied by a shower stall door that "somehow" was off its hinge.

An ear of corn on the floor and some insulation dangling from the ceiling later, my friend spontaneously decided that breaking dishes over his head would be great fun for the whole family. I assume he was drinking Guinness that night. "BRILLIANT!!"

After somehow breaking two dinner plates -- ceramic dinner plates -- over his head despite our attempts to stop him, I was privy to more blood on one person than in the entire movie of Gladiator. To be quite honest with you nightlifers, there is nothing sexier than a man dripping with blood standing in front of you, wearing duckie PJs and with a towel mummy-wrapped around his head. And it's also opposite day.

And that's my naked, broken-dished Friday night.

And then we lost to Michigan on Saturday, and I do not have a reason to live anymore. Anyone got a couple ceramic dinner plates they don't need?

--Lauren

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, nightlifers and nightlifettes, meet That Girl.

You may think you're on good terms with That Girl, but the That Girl you're familiar with is nothing but a facsimile, an imposter of the true That Girl.

Allow me to introduce That Girl with an inner monologue I had with myself -- "This Girl" -- just this past Friday afternoon:

This Girl: Wow, what a week. First, I saw my friends get plastered Wednesday afternoon as I remained sober, trying to be a Good Girl.
That Girl: Let me out!
This Girl: Then, I pulled an all-nighter to cram for that Stat 100 exam.
That Girl: Let me out!
This Girl: I've had it. Time to get funk-ay.
That Girl: YAYYY!

That Girl has a few distinct characterizations, some of which may be applicable to you:

First of all, That Girl understands that, given the right combination of cheap jungle juice, pregaming and sleep deprivation, sometimes, with an emphasis on sometimes, a little ass is better than having some class.

And, like This Particular Girl who may or may not have morphed into That Girl on Friday night while at a house party, That Girl understands that yes, you may look a little ridiculous teetering around on three inch heels while attempting to dance to some classic Michael Jackson, but not everyone is born a Fly Girl.

Also, That Girl realizes that yes, that freshman over there may look like he or she is incapable of carrying any sort of intelligent conversation while gazing, eyes glassy, at the crowds of people milling around the keg. However, That Girl is confident, no, wait, damnit, she's SURE that freshman probably has a lot on his or her mind. So of course That Girl is going to plop herself down on that navy futon and introduce herself, starting with name, birthday, semester standing, major and relationship status.

And, according a facebook.com group that This Girl is a member of, That Girl goes "through [her] entire phone book calling everyone [she] can possibly find...including [her] mother and all [her] ex-boyfriends." That Girl realizes the importance of the cellular device during her prowls through State College and makes maximum use of her own personal "I'm-going-to-regret-this-in-the-morning-but-right-now-who-cares" phone book. Good for you, That Girl. You make those calls.

Then, That Girl understands that yes, she may be walking home the next day in a shirt that isn't hers, said three inch heels, and an oversized belt wrapped haphazardly around her waist, but that "Walk of Shame" builds character, morale and humility. Yes, That Girl may receive catcalls and humiliation, but when did a little bit of regret ever hurt anyone? Hold your head up high, That Girl, and strut your stuff, one pointy-toe shoe at a time. You got some, and they're all just jealous.

That Girl finishes off her weekend with an extremely obnoxious, self-centered album on Facebook with a moving title like "Messed Up Again," "P.S. We Pregame Harder Than U Party," "The PSU Shitshow" and/or some wild statement, in quotes, that apparently was funny that night but no one else will understand. That Girl is on the inside of the joke, and we're all on the outside.

I realized I may, in fact, be "That Girl" after my slightly off-color remarks were called "provocative" by a fellow Collegianite the day after after I unleashed That Girl in State College for the first time this semester...

So say it with me, That Girl(s) of the world: I'm proud to be That Girl.

Until next weekend at least.

--Lauren

Warning: this blog has pretty much nothing to do with my nightlife experiences this weekend. It does, however, involve popcorn - yummy!

You know those big tubs of popcorn with the three-way divider and there's butter, cheese and caramel popcorn inside? Well, I have one of these tubs and it has this cool Halloween decoration on it. It's pretty sweet. My Mom brought it up for me this weekend while she and my aunt and uncle were visiting.

Now, if you have any previous experience with these tubs o' goodness, you might find, like I have, that one section of the tub usually gets neglected. For me, this section is the caramel popcorn. Don't hate; you probably don't eat that part either.

It just kind of sits there and if you get a sweet tooth craving you might nibble on it, but other than that, it's like the black sheep of the tub. (I actually just ate some to remind myself of how it tastes and I can reaffirm for you my dislike. I swiftly moved to the butter popcorn in case you were wondering.)

I'm going to take a page out of Forest Gump's book and say life is like this tub of popcorn. At least my life is. Allow me to explain.

You're going to find people who are going to want to eat your favorite flavor, such as the artificial orange cheese flavoring. The people in your life who reflect that would basically be people who will want to rain on your parade and make you plain miserable. People like this would be professors who assign 23509827345 pages of reading over the weekends, or that person in your class who, when you get out of class five minutes early, reminds your professor that you still in fact have five more educational minutes to savor. 'Scuse?!

Then there are people who don't have any preference over what kind of popcorn they want to eat. They're happy just to eat the popcorn with you. These people would be your family, friends or pets. They'll eat a little bit of everything and let you eat your favorite because they like ya so darn much.

And then, there's that special someone you meet whose favorite flavor is your least favorite and things work out perfectly! For me, it's like finding someone who loves to eat all that caramel popcorn. Of course it would work out that my boyfriend hates popcorn, in essence compares it to glorified Styrofoam, and I could probably live on it for the rest of my life, but that's OK because this isn't real life, it's just an elaborate metaphor.

Yes, I realize I just metaphorically compared people with flavors of popcorn. But come on, you have to admit, it was a darn good metaphor.

Well, that's for another blog, friend. Have a good one!

--Erin