Saturday morning, when a lonely freshman girl wandered into my kitchen on a whim to introduce herself and complain about the dozens of water balloons that have struck her since move-in, I decided that someone should stick up for these poor, misguided newbies.

Really, it’s a simple dynamic: Freshmen are thrown into the large potpourri population of horny, curious 17- and 18-year-olds in the dorms with little or no experience of living on their own. No doubt, these freshies all spent their summers using Daddy’s credit card to travel with high school buddies in order to find themselves, grow up, build character, learn life skills or some other bullshit name for “getting kicked out of your parents’ house.”

Unfortunately, as these new UCSB recruits may be learning already, life before UCSB doesn’t quite prepare you for the hazards of Isla Vista and a lifestyle of casual sex and late-night food. So, when I take this into consideration – that the freshmen class is just less experienced and unaccustomed to this beach paradise fuckfest we call school – my derision for freshman mistakes fades and is replaced by unbelievable amusement.

It’s for this reason that I can forgive freshmen when they mistakenly wander into my house, projectile vomit in my living room, subsequently slip on their own vomit, hit their heads and pass out ass-up on the floor, then end up somewhere unfortunate - like duct-taped to the underside of my dining room table. For, that next morning, when I set my cereal bowl on the table and wake up the bewildered kid I forgot about, the hilarity that ensues is well worth the mess in my living room.

The hidden lesson here is this: Instead of lamenting the very existence of a new round of freshmen on campus, rejoice in their senseless abandon to the temptations of I.V. and appreciate that you are no longer making similar mistakes you undoubtedly committed during your freshman year. And yes, I’m sorry to say, that probably means you should hold off tossing empty beer bottles at the freshman who decided to drink enough to paste his own pants with fecal matter while he sleeps in your roommate’s hammock.