I think I hated my college. something I will never tell my parents. I went to a small, liberal arts school on a beautiful campus with excellent faculty. I was recruited to play field hockey. I hugged my sweet parents goodbye the fall of my freshman year, and off I went for the picture-book experience.

Not so. At the time, all socializing was through an arcane greek system. The sororities were "dry" (and stupid), which meant everyone had to come grovel down at fraternity row to mix it up. While I made some incredible friends, that set-up was just wrong. Beer was thrown in girl's faces, "What does your dad do?" was a common question, voyeurs prevailed. Stories that would make your head spin. These loser-snobs made me sick.

The summer before my senior year, my home-town, best friend Sally presented me with a great offer. Her mom, a wonderful person who'd had great success in the workplace, had rented a precious beachhouse in this adorable town. I could live there for free, with the understanding that when her mom and workfriends came out, I had to split. I jumped on the offer and decided I'd just wing it when I got kicked out.

Late spring, Sally & I found jobs at a hot spot in town, a few blocks for our digs. We went in for our first day to find a tight-knit crew who were somewhat dissintrested in us. I felt like Baby, as our creepy boss awarded me with the hostess position, and the rest went out slinging food. I sat up front, sipping sodas and prancing around with menus for the first few weeks, bored. Sally and I would walk home together. Ho-hum. We both decided to get in shape. It worked.

Summer kicked in. I noticed two bartendars in particular: a very handsome, kind Pat and his sidekick Jimmy, pulling up stools and talking with us before the rush. Flirty drinks were slid my way throughout the night. The previously tight-lipped girls started spilling all the juicy gossip. I learned that Pat had his pick of many of the blond, tanned female staff-- Pat & I quickly became friends. But only friends. I was worried I may end up with my eyes clawed out.

The place was teaming with masses of sunburnt revelers. 3-4 rows of people clammering for drinks with Pat and Jimmy cranking out the orders. I became a cocktail waitress after my hostess shift. I was in.

Jimmy had my back with the rude customers & staff. He was a hardworking guy; tall, broadshouldered, dark hair, blue eyes, not as handsome as Pat. I was not at all interested in him until one day, I changed my outfit 4 times before going into work. I realized I couldnt wait to see him. He was funny, confident and nice. Before very long, he had me wrapped around his finger. Just in time, too, 'cuz Sally's mom started coming down on weekends. Perfect! I'd crash out in his small, cave-like, beach-house room until Sunday a.m.

The rest of the summer was a sunny, youthful blur. My schedule: wake up by jumping in the ocean, lunch, jog, shower, back to work, out late. I was completely carefree and surrounded by nice co-ed peoples. We all did things together every single night. We planned trips to neighboring towns. We gambled in Atlantic City. I had a 1-speed beach bike that I would zoom all over the small beachy roads. And I was crazy about Jimmy, which, after three years of putting up with stupid, spoiled boys was pretty magical.

It was sad to see the summer end, but it was just that. A summer gig. We all said goodbye and I went back to Abercrombie U and happily went to a whole lot less keg parties.

As an 'atta girl for launching a huge web site [that had basically usurped the last 6 months of my life], Scott decided to take his lady out. I was back! I went shopping, bought a pretty new dress and he squired me to one of downtown's snazziest joints for dinner.

By snazzy, I mean, hilarious. The walls are laquered black, the carpet is leopard. Gilded framed "art", piano bar, men in tuxes. The food is ridiculous-- sinful, delicious, overly expensive. I love it. You pull open the door and walk right into a scene from Port Charles.

We arrived a few minutes early to sample the bar scene. Big hair and deep clevages to the left and right, greasy skin and lipsticks. "Hello, Danny, yeah, I'm ready, but this time less ice." The tannest white man I've ever seen stared at me the whole time. He wore a light suit with a silk scarf. Yes.

Our toothy host floated us over to our cozy table, tucked in an intimate corner with a nice view of the room from one angle and of a naked woman painting to the other. Drinks were promptly served, warm treats were laid before us. I started in on a wonderfully salacious story, when I realized Scott wasn't listening. He was highly distracted by something behind me. And it hit me: the table behind us was populated by the world's biggest jackasses.

A father and son duo were clearly in a verbal pageant of sorts. They both ignored their spouses, who quietly picked at their oversized plates, bejeweled and bored. The volume only increased as the wine was consumed, we all had the involuntary misfortune to absorb all their blowhearted opinions: "If I saw a homeless person come into MY dialysis center..blah blah blah". It was a tireless competition of pretense for all of us in the room to be made aware of, the son was clearly winning. Excruciating.

I did what I could to ignor them, but no little avail. My juicy story didn't even compare. Hopeless. Finally, Scott's put his fork down, not moving his eyes from staring right at the son and said "I swear. I am going to take off my jacket and shoes and beat the shit out of that guy."

Classic. Shoes? I love it.

I should know better than to call a meeting at 4:30 on a Tuesday. Nowhere near a day off, not too close the end of the work day either.

I ran through a web site, clicking and asking questions, digging deep to try and cajole creativity out of all of us. I stopped, glanced around the table and saw all members of our small army slumped way down in their seats, chewing on pen caps, looking a little hot and annoyed. I soldiered on only to hear Ryan chuckling, as he was draped like an arachnid over a large presentation pad. I looked to find that he had lovingly drawn charicatures of all of us. I looked like Phyllis Diller.

I logged into youtube and we spent the rest of the meeting looking at stupid kitten videos. We're all a little fried, we just finished a huge launch.