It was a muggy summer night on our DP balcony and my friends and I left our boxes unpacked and beds unmade, opting for a celebratory box of Vella to christen our new home. One glance at our eager neighbors and our pact was made: to maintain an amiable relationship with our nearby residents while controlling the wandering eyes which had got us into trouble in the past. That casual hookup with your I.V. neighbor is full of bliss until the inevitable end to the relationship. At this point, you start having daily awkward run-ins with your neighbor Nick and receive 27 unanswered booty calls a night, while you also seethe with rage each time he brings home a different girl.

Our pact, though made with good intentions — and a cheap, boxed wine buzz — proved to be a lot more complicated than any girl could have initially anticipated. The pact ended two days after its emergence, requiring each and every one of us to retract our vow to not get freaky with the neighbors. However, after much experience, I have come to the conclusion that hooking up with your neighbors, or at least with some new blood, is vital to the fresh-start feeling of summer in I.V.

Summer is a time for kegs at the beach, spending five hours filling U-Hauls to move all of your shit two houses away, debauchery with the locals and the inevitably large Irish population, and most importantly, meeting and spreading your love to your brand new neighbors in good ol’ Isla Vista. Sweaty, summer sex is a great icebreaker and cheaper than the alcohol to play getting-to-know-you drinking games. It’s a great way to expand your social circle and hopefully establish some sort of sexually gratifying situation, which will ensure a 3 a.m. booty call if you ever feel inclined.

Also, if you are lazy like me, hooking up with a neighbor is convenient simply because you don’t have to wander very far to get some ass. I love sex, but I am so lazy that I have turned it down simply to avoid a cold, sore footed trek at 4 a.m. and an equally horrendous and long walk of shame in the morning, mocked by the brightness of the morning sun and the early morning crowd at Bagel Café alike.

Late night hump fests with Neighbor Nick will most likely guarantee that your two houses will spend more time together, between boozing, dance parties and the token simultaneously unattractive and unaware roommate hoping to cash in on his brother’s success in your house. This opens the door to the potential of a whole new group of friends. Before you know it, you’re playing on the beach with your amigos nuevos, drinking cold Coco Locos and eating fresh lobster burritos in Mexico. You could become so tight knit with the friends of your hookup that even if things turn into a nasty, non-verbal relationship dependent on drunken screaming and throwing empty Hefeweizen bottles, even his friends will stick up for you and claim that you really aren’t psycho and can be a pretty legit chick.

Have a fling with a foreign summer subleaser or that senior looking for their last post-graduate hurrah in Isla Vista. Not only do you receive all of the perks of a summer hookup, but you get to avoid the awkwardness of realizing you have to spend an entire year living next door to the person you boned all summer without having to worry about things turning sour and your whole complex finding out about your toe fetish or the fact you dig a finger in your stinker as you climax.

Hooking up with your new neighbors equals convenient sex filled with the exploration of new partners, as well as the deliciously sinful perks of summer: sun-soaked bodies, sleeping in late, warm nights and a miniscule amount of clothing required to remove. So hop next door, introduce yourself and let the fireworks that fly rival those smuggled into I.V. for the Fourth of July.

Daily Nexus sex columnist Jenny Paradise was a very friendly neighbor to Mister Rogers.