This nightlifer is sick of chronicling State College after hours from behind a velvet rope -- or more accurately, from behind a bouncer's arms outstretched for my cover.

Because when you hit the big 2-1, everything changes.

One will immediately find that it is no longer necessary to trek to Fairmount toting an Aquafina bottle discretely filled with vodka and Coke. Frat boys, who were once clamoring to whisk you away to their suite, winning your love with their Wii skills and never-ending supply of Natty, are long gone. No, my friend, you're a barfly now, and while that may seem exciting at first, as many of us have discovered, after approximately two weeks it gets old.

With its fine home cooking and family atmosphere, the Easter holiday reminded me that sometimes it's best to go back to a simpler time.

Here's my grand plan for reverting to my days as a naive freshman before I graduate: I'm going to slap on a jean skirt and some pumps, wait nervously in a line of underagers and sign someone else's name to that guest list at the door. I'll slip in by claiming to know "Tim," cause as we all know, there's always a "Tim" and proceed to that area that kind of resembles a kitchen where there will undoubtedly be a healthy supply of jungle juice. Bars are great but there's nothing like a good ol' fashioned frat party.

First of all, it takes a lot to get kicked out of a frat. Spill your drink, draw on yourself with a highlighter, dance on a table... all acceptable activities.

Which brings me to my next reason for loving the frat scene: Dancing is encouraged. Sure, Indigo's got a dance floor, but God forbid you slip and fall while attempting to two-step. No gentlemanly frat brother will be there to pick you up and commence grinding. You'll be out on the street before you know it.

And let us not forget that at a frat beer is free. You might have to pretend you're pledging or bat a mascared eyelash, but that Miller Lite is gonna run you $2.50 in the real world.

Bathrooms are also plentiful; and due to the amount of booze coursing through your veins, it is easy to overlook the fact that they are almost always contaminated by disease and used condoms. Girls... just squat. Guys... let's not kid ourselves, you'd pee in a corner of the dance floor if it was socially acceptable.

Another plus for frat goers: theme-nights are never in short supply. Who doesn't love dressing up like a CEO or his "ho?" Try wearing that get-up to the Lion's Den. While you will attract attention, you will also be instantly labeled a prostitute. And unless you're low on cash from spring break, that is never a good look.

Perhaps the greatest reason for attending a frat party is the eternal game of beer pong or flip-cup that is in session somewhere on the premises. Nothing tastes sweeter than a solo cup filled to the brim with warm beer... not to mention the unique flavoring added by the dirt and urine particles that have weaseled their way into your beverage by way of the pong ball.

While I once longed to sip cocktails in one of our many classy downtown establishments, now I dream of chucking my discolored bottle of water into a bush as I'm being run down by the cops. If you have yet to turn twenty-one, treasure your remaining time wandering the streets of Penn State's glorious Frat-land. Relish in the sounds of rap beats blaring from busted-out windows and the feel of the icy pavement beneath your shoe-less feet. At the end of the night, there is nothing really like a belly full of luke-warm beer topped off by a greasy slab of Canyon.

-Mary