I know it’s a lot. There’s people talking at you every four seconds about how to register or how to use your MicroFridge. You can’t so much as sneak to the bathroom without someone with a name tag asking if you need a wipe.

You probably have a lot of questions yourselves  – When will food trucks start accepting convenience points? Who owns the obnoxious cars parked outside School of Management and whose lap do I have to dance around to get a ride in one?  In an attempt to shed some light on your queries I’ve outlined a few basics.

To start, if you decide to venture off Commonwealth Avenue’s concrete path, leave George Sherman Union behind and head for Allston. Kind of like Linsday Lohan after a night of partying on probation, Allston isn’t easy on the eyes in daylight. Once you cross that line (somewhere between Super 88 Market and a neon Coors Light billboard) try to avoid joining a gang. If you’re craving that connection and feel a little bi-curious join a fraternity on campus. Once you make the inevitable move to this side of town, take the rock flying through your window as a neighborhood “howdy-doody.” This is very important – if you get invited to an ABC party make sure to wear a turtleneck and when you’re next in line for a keg stand, tuck in your shirt. If you can’t find your shirt, just go home.

When the munchies got you itchin’, the dining hall awaits. I’m pretty sure West Dining Hall, which resembles a western dude ranch, was God’s gift to students. Don’t fight the “freshman 15” – instead, embrace it as your “welcome weight” as a testament to your commitment to really getting your money’s worth. “Late Nite,” which is open until 2 a.m. is a guaranteed delicious study and/or binge-drinking break. Just prepare for unexpected and imminent bowel movement in the lobby bathroom of Sleeper Hall.

Now, maybe you don’t like the idea of plumping up (although I seriously recommend you store the extra lbs. for winter) you can head to the gym. Never in your life will you find a nicer, cleaner, bigger excuse for a smoothie bar. The pool is enormous and if you’re not a swimmer (or like me, find swim caps claustrophobic) you can work it out on the elliptical upstairs. Muscle tees are not a requirement but highly recommended. Don’t be discouraged – I too lack muscle definition and in the three times I went to the gym, wore Converse and camped out at the Ping-Pong table.

What’s left? Class! Go to it. Good talk. Don’t be that kid with the rolling backpack. Not cool, ditch the wheels. You aren’t paying this much money to stay a virgin.

Mugar Library, or “moogs” as I like to call it, is a great place to eat chips. Make sure to open the bag really slowly, or if you’re in a rush, do the bag pop that was cool in middle school.  If you’re feeling feisty change your Boston University ID name to something creative to liven up the zombies who work in the print lab. Yes, it’s six pages for Bushtastic.

Don’t be startled by the sunken, dead look in a lot of students’ faces when finals start to heat up. Sleep deprivation is the new black; it’s all over Hollywood.

If you came to college purely to peruse your fellow peers (even though you’re pretending to give your high school relationship a chance) give up now. The ratio is out of wack. For the girls – good luck finding a man who you won’t have to share jeans with. For the guys – good luck finding a girl who doesn’t have a “Laxative Power Hour” playlist.

So you’re at college but don’t forget you’re in Boston, too. If Barnes & Noble has left you broke, I say get a part-time job. Two years as a cocktail waitress on Newbury Street showed me a whole other world outside BU. Why get an on-campus job to do your homework when you can get used to the smell of vomit and make some pocket cash downtown?

To sum up – eat as much as humanly possible. Burn it off at the gym (includes Ping-Pong) and get out in the city. If you opt for the duck tour make sure to pre-game and then never tell anyone you went. Also, the myth is true: Harvard parties are lame unless you like drinking gin in a small dorm room with a bunch of dudes who jerk it to Nietzsche (thank you spell-check).

For now, here’s hoping your roommate doesn’t have night terrors so you can rest your head peacefully on your egg-crated mattresses.