While I was home for Easter Break, I discovered something horrifying: no, not that Sean Preston had tragically fallen from his high chair.

Worse.

Commencement announcements.

For months, I had been pushing aside the inevitable, denying my enrollment in Senior Seminar, pretending the rumors weren’t true. But alas, it was staring me in the face.

I am graduating. Whether I like it or not.

Ever since the infamous 50 Days ‘Til Graduation (drink specials start at 8:30 a.m.!), seniors have been cashing in their chips, getting in their last kicks and defying the limits of their livers.

“These are our last weeks together, dude!” I heard a girl squeal to her friends, as they assessed their game plan for the last month of school and reminisced about their fondest memories of the past four years.

I began thinking of what I would consider to be the best and worst times at Villanova – the infamous Pike Party freshman year, Hurricane Isabel and the celebration that ensued in the Quad, Novafest ’04 and its aftermath in Pike Lot (oh, the destruction!) and rugby games in the rain at some random field in the middle of Philadelphia.

As I continued to recall random nights out and early morning recaps, the greatest house parties and the worst dorm gatherings, I realized something:, that no matter who we go out with, no matter who we come home with, no matter where we go or what we do, one thing is always the same: our after-hours rituals.

We all have them. As exhibited by my roommates, here are a few of the most common and widely practiced behaviors of them all.

Eating. By far one of the most popular late-night activities, mainly because the possibilities are endless.

Villanovans have Campus Corner and Wingers on speed dial. Domino’s can make a living off of starving Stanford residents on a Saturday night. Sometimes, a buffalo chicken sandwich and a tall glass of milk are the perfect ending to a perfect night. And, if you are lucky enough to catch a ride to Pat’s (from a pledge), well, you’re just spoiled.

Other favorite snacks include McDonald’s, Easy Mac, Trader Joe’s burritos and other weird combinations of leftovers in your refrigerator.

At 3 a.m., you might find yourself indulging on what you swear to be the greatest feast of your entire life (until you wake up the next morning and promptly throw it up ).

Dance Partying. The truth is, Main Line bars lack adequate dance floors. Most of the time, they are so filled to the brim with juniors and other under-agers that it’s nearly impossible to walk to the bathroom, let alone shake it.

For those of us who feel the need to bust a move after a drink or two, we are forced to feel the rhythm elsewhere – whether it be at our apartments, in our dorm rooms or sometimes even the street/sidewalk.

Although any song playing after closing time can be considered the best song ever, we all have a favorite late-night jams. For some, it’s “Murder on the Dance Floor.” For others, “Hey Juliet.” For guys, it’s “Don’t Stop Believing.”

Oftentimes, a Disney sing-along somehow ensues, causing the best of us to break out the ballet twirls we learned when we were seven.

On the upside of the embarrassment you might face the next day, dance partying poses a great way to work off the cal-fest you just indulged in.

Drunk Dialing. Whether it be the booty call or the fight with the significant other, it’s annoying.

Slurred speech when you are trying to sound seductive? Not attractive. Keep forgetting your point while trying to carry on an argument? Less attractive.

Still, we all do it, because we think the person we have a crush on might think we’re cuter during the wee hours of the morning or because what we just can’t wait until tomorrow to tell our significant others just what we think of them and their mama’s-boy/high maintenance girly-girl tendencies.

Because the practice has become such an epidemic, some cell phone carriers actually began offering a service that prevents users from calling certain numbers for a period of twelve hours in the hopes of preventing drunk dialage.

Lurking. While the dictionary defines the term as “moving furtively or sneaking,” Villanovans define it as “a popular after-hours game plan.”

Ever wander around your dorm/apartment building during odd hours of the night with no particular place to go?

You’re a lurk. Lurking includes turning up unnoticed at friends’ places, looking disheveled, as though you had been wandering around the streets in a rainstorm, as well as showing up uninvited at a stranger’s.

For example, after returning home from the bars or a frat party, you knock on a random door because something smells delicious, and you’ve got a serious case of the munchies. You end up making four new friends, all of whom you may have sworn never to speak to during soberer times.

The next day, you are semi-mortified to receive their friendship requests, but secretly look forward to hanging out with them again after happy hour.

However, no matter what your after-hours ritual may be – stuffing your face, sending hundreds of text messages or just plain passing out – our next-day reactions are the same.

“Uhhh, what happened last night?”