I'll admit it -- I went out for State Patty's Day last year, and it was a pretty good time. I was only a sophomore and I have blurry, frenzied memories of a green-clad Beaver Canyon gone completely insane.

But this year, the magic just wasn't there. Despite it being my first fake holiday where I could go to the bars, I had visitors to attend to and the comfort of my apartment was just too much to venture out.

That means, of course, two nights of carefully engineering festivities in my apartment to meet the needs of a variety of people. I don't care what anyone says; being a hostess is hard work.

The first night wasn't as difficult, because it was more of a small gathering based around an unwillingness to brave the blizzard. All that was needed to appease the masses was a case of Lion's Head and the party staples of beer pong and Kings.

For those of you unfamiliar with Kings, I suggest a.) you play it before you graduate and b.) find a set of rules and stick with it.

Case in point: In a fit of disagreement, we had to turn to Wikipedia to set some sort of standard. How embarrassing.

The real story is in the next night, which you might say was a poster child for out of control-ness. Here are some do's and don'ts I discovered Saturday and from times past:

Do:
1.) Buy more beer than liquor. People will get less drunk, it's less expensive, and the real heavy drinkers (usually guys) prefer it anyway.
2.) Try to greet everyone. Don't be the jerk host that lets people come and go without acknowledgment.
3.) Keep yourself borderline tipsy at most. It's a lot harder to deal with problems and enjoy everyone if you're wasted.
4.) Throw people out if necessary. You won't come off as rude, and chances are they won't remember even if you do.
5.) Heartily encourage BYOB. Or you'll go broke.

Don't:
1.) Leave your own party. That's just bad form.
2.) Save the cleaning for the next day. Sneakily set the example by starting to clean up as the party thins. The best guests will follow suit, and you won't be swamped in the morning.
3.) Be a music control freak. Just let things happen naturally, man.
4.) Leave your good alcohol out for the masses. You will regret it and highly resent everyone.
5.) Forget to enjoy the unexpected things, such as friends climbing up onto your balcony or people showing up in funny hats. It's all fodder for memories.

For this week's blog, I wish I could tell you I went to Cancun over break and partied with the Hiltons all day and all night.

No dice.

I spent my break in Downingtown, Pa., a suburb west of Philadelphia. Exciting, right? Well, don't judge it yet.

Downingtown just happens to be the home of a fine destination for the cultured nightlifer -- or at least one that likes beer.

Victory Brewing Co., 420 Acorn Lane, is about as difficult to find as it is to describe. You don't know you're there until you're practically on top of it, and this is from someone who has grown up five minutes away.

But the trek is worth the confusion -- especially when the microbrewery, bar and restaurant finally completes its massive renovation.

Twelve years after humbly emerging from the old shell of a bakery plant, the venue is set to add tons more seating, a new menu to complement its bevy of beers and updated brewing facilities.

In the meantime, there's a sadly tiny seating area and a big, plastic-covered wall that partitions the old section off.

But, really, none of that matters when you taste the beer.

I tend to think that undergrads get the wrong idea about beer sometimes, what with guzzling it out of a tap and pounding back watered-down can after watered-down can.

It stands to reason that so many girls I've run into turn up their noses and declare, "Ew. I hate beer."

But really, beer is a drink that when taken properly, can complement fine dining as well as any Pinot Noir or Cabernet Sauvignon. You just have to know where to look.

At Victory, if the bold and spicy signature brew Hop Devil isn't your thing, a Blue Moon type known as Whirlwind Witbier puts a fresh twist on an old classic.

And lovers of Guinness can try Donnybrook Stout, which I can attest is more refreshing than the name-brand version.

The list goes on, with each beer selection described by alcohol content (one is as much as 12 percent by volume), type of hop, beginning and end taste, color and more.

They even have specific glasses for each type of beer to maximize the flavor experience.

It's like each beer has it's own personality, complete with historic roots, and the knowledge of this offers a grand drinking experience.

I chose a simple Caesar salad from the temporary limited menu and complemented it with a Whirlwind for a summery treat. I follow with a Golden Monkey, served in a fancy goblet, which tasted a bit like a Hurricane with flowery notes.

I was good and tipsy as I walked out (not driving), and fully satisfied that this was the most exciting part of my break.

Cheers to beer.

Though I have thus far established a tradition of bar hopping and imbibing on weekend nights, this Saturday was dominated by something straight out of science class. That's right, I went and saw some dinosaurs.

It was a stone-cold sober outing that wouldn't seem fitting for a college student -- not unless it was a student who still delights in the kindergarten wonders of Disney World. Again, that's me.

There's something to be said for suspending disbelief and sitting back to pretend you're in prehistoric times and you don't see the legs of the man inside the raptor suit. And it's not difficult to do when privy to the big-budget Walking with the Dinosaurs show. Its magically appearing props and impressive special effects will have even the most skeptical of attendees wanting to be a paleontologist.

And while no one wants their Saturday to consist of a geological history lesson, the information espoused by the Indiana-Jones-like narrator is just enough to make the show about more than giant animatronic creatures. It actually has a cohesive storyline, and a Jurassic Park nerd like myself was happy to see the show corrected Spielberg's error and put the T-rex in the Cretaceous Period. Though it was pricey at $30 a head, I would highly recommend the show for all ages, and especially for undergrads stuck in a party-every-weekend rut. And now I really want a ride on a Brachiosaurus.

Of course, I ended up at the bar afterward, true to form, but got a late enough start that my spending was significantly curbed. It was a very Phyrst-heavy weekend, but I like it that way. It's the bar that always kind of feels like your best friend's basement, if your best friend's basement had loud music and a variety of spirits.

I'd like to think their green beer specials aren't a weird leftover from St. Patrick's Day, but a fitting tribute to the BJC's reptilian visitors. After all, the Phyrst is one bar that will never go extinct (ba-bum ching!)

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

You know the feeling: You awake in an inescapable tangle of sheets, various body parts aching, face-down in a puddle of your own vomit. It's the morning after a night of heavy drinking and it's time to pay for all those shots ... again.
Hangovers have been destroying the lives of innocent college students everywhere and I am literally sick of it.
It's approaching noon and you had big plans for this weekend. Campus has been buzzing with exciting events that every young intellectual should experience -- from commitment ceremonies to presidential hopeful Barack Obama's visit. You might not make it to these, although that probably won't matter much, considering the amount of brain cells you have remaining.
The first step to escaping from this hang-over hell is to locate your belongings. I imagine guys don't have much difficulty in this department--if they've got their wallet they're golden--but girls can spend hours picking up bras, lip glosses and uneaten slices of Canyon that are strewn about the room.
At this point you have probably realized that you are missing either your camera or your cell phone and you may want to take a few moments to cry mildly. If you have managed to hold on to either of these items, however, it is time for a review of the night. If you are pinned under the arm of a random lover, you may want to return to your home base before proceeding. If not, crawl out to the living room where your roommates will almost certainly also be experiencing nausea and dizziness that no amount of Pepto could cure. Recapping is an amazing coping technique and laughing about those 20 text messages you sent to your ex is therapeutic.
Now that you have pieced together your night and discovered the sources of your numerous bruises, may I suggest some nourishment? A healthy serving of saltines paired with a king-sized bottle of Gatorade should do the trick. You may also want to consider popping a few Tylenol, because by now the slight buzz you were feeling is transforming into full-blown sickness. You'll probably find yourself on the toilet in a matter of minutes but for now lying on the cold linoleum of your kitchen floor feels so good.
After expelling your body of every item you've digested recently, its time to try to salvage this day. Pop in The 40-Year Old Virgin or Anchorman and curl up--after this you swear to yourself you'll do homework. Around the time Ron Burgandy starts ranting about a "whale's vagina" you'll be dozing off. When you awake some four hours later and realize it is now late afternoon, you might feel slightly unproductive. After a quick shower you'll be ready to bang out that Astro homework.
Chances are that shower lasts a little longer than expected, due to the feeling of ecstasy you receive from warm water streaming over your muddy, possibly bloody, body. The smell of some kind of noodle packet simmering on the stove is now probably wafting into your nostrils and this reminds you that it is again time to eat, temporarily postponing your adventures with Astro. Another re-cap will ensue among roommates at this time, eating up another hour.
As you glance at the clock over your Ramen, you may note that it is now approaching 9 p.m., and there's probably a show on you want to watch. After this, your bed is looking particularly comfy, granted you washed your linens. If not, you can just ball them up and throw them in a closet. Sleeping on a bare mattress never hurt anyone.
As the Day of the Hangover comes to a close, one may find that they are feeling like a worthless piece of crap. I'm here to reassure all of you boozers that this seemingly wasted day is an unavoidable slice of life. All in all, this day may have been full of pain, unpleasant odors and grieving over lost items but without a little R & R how are you expected to go out for round two tonight?
--Mary