It was just another night in the city for 18-year-old New Jersey residents, Jennifer Moore and Tara Keenan. They put on their mini skirts, sexy wedge-sandals and hopped into the car for the 30-ish minute drive into downtown Manhattan, probably singing along to the tunes of Gnarls Barkley and Shakira. They pulled up in front of their destination for the evening'a Chelsea bar'and made their way through the crowded room to the back.

Unfortunately, the night didn't stay normal for long.

Upon leaving the bar at the end of the night, the girls found their car 'and only way home'had been towed. They went to the police impound lot to retrieve it, but after finding out they could not retrieve it (due to the fact that they had been drinking), the girls somehow got separated: Tara was escorted to the hospital for excessive drinking and Jennifer began roaming the streets of New York City alone.

Jennifer's body was found in a garbage dumpster in New Jersey yesterday. Medical investigators have concluded that the cause of death was a severe blow to the head and strangulation. Her alleged murderer'a man who has had repeated run-ins with the law'has been arrested. No one knows exactly what happened, but Jennifer was seen in both a cab and a hotel lobby with the man.

As I watched the story unfold on the news this morning, fear pumped through my veins; as a 23-year-old single woman living in New York City, I spend every weekend in places like the one where Jennifer and Tara had their last few drinks together. I go to the bar with friends, I flirt with men, I go home alone. Questions flooded my mind: What was she thinking as she walked alone so late at night? Obviously, she didn't think she was in danger. What was it like for her as she finally realized that something really bad was about to happen … that this wasn't just another night out with her best friend? Did she fight back? Did she even have a chance against such a large man? When she realized that her life was doomed, if she did ever have the chance to fathom this, did her mind provide her with any moments of solace? Thoughts of her family? Of her boyfriend who slept while she was being murdered? Of this fall, when she would be entering the University of Hartford?

What happened to Jennifer is a lesson that I hoped we had all learned earlier this summer when another woman, Imette St. Guillen, was murdered after leaving a New York City bar ' drunk and alone. It is yet another reminder that a woman walking alone at night is vulnerable. It doesn't matter where you are, how often you work out or how much you believe in the power of a woman. The truth is most men are stronger than we are, especially after four or five drinks. The truth is, if we were alone and a man wanted to do something to us, it is a near guarantee that he would succeed.

We are not safe; at least, not as safe as we think we are when we leave a bar alone and stumble home.

One of the things that scares me most about these rape and murder cases is that they seem to be completely unprovoked and random. It could happen to anyone. But what is really scary is the fact that these attacks can be easily avoided. By being aware of reality and staying in a group, women have the power to protect themselves. You don't need some crazy Tae Bo classes or a can of pepper spray (though I do think that is a good thing to have on you at all times) to stay safe; you just need to think. Be smart. Be aware.

The murder of Jennifer Moore is no doubt a tragedy for her family and friends. But for the rest of us out there'women and men alike'it has to be more. I think it is vital that we do more than simply read her story and sympathize with her family from afar. We must realize that we, too, are all vulnerable in some way and must do whatever we can to protect ourselves. Do not walk alone at night. Do not believe in the safety of your neighborhood. Do not forget what happened to Jennifer Moore.

After a decade of working hard, partying harder and eating healthy only every other day, CO-ED Editor-in-Chief Kirk Miller decided to try out a six-day personal detox/fast plan. For the first three days, he could only drink water and drink juice; there was also a strict regimen of vitamins and assorted body cleansers (warm water with sea salt) that he had to ingest. Days 4-6 he was allowed to add brown rice, raw vegetables and fruit to the mix. This is his blog on his food journey.

DAY ONE: My inevitable first post about the fast. I wasn’t going to post anything on this, if only because my energy levels are a little low, but the lovely Angela [Kirk's friend] insisted I do so (following an extraordinarily uncomfortable conversation about poo and urine … neither of which women do. Weird but true biological fact!)

Day 1 wasn’t bad, except for the lack of caffeine. I can have all the juice I want (that gets old REALLY fast), spring water and … wait for it, it’s exciting … decaf herbal tea. That’s it. Oh, and lots of vitamins, which have apparently turned my piss a lovely fluorescent color. It’s like the Miami Vice of urine. Wait, that was more of a pastel. Never mind. Maybe I’m thinking about Colin Farrell too much, ha ha. Note: I’m not gay.

DAY TWO: Yeah, food would be nice right about now. I left a party early last night to go home and … well, the plan was to read and watch TV. I lasted 10 minutes before I zoned out. I woke up, felt slightly hungover (?), fell back asleep and then decided I better start my day. Strangely, also feeling very, very … well, to be honest, frisky. I think my hormones are enjoying the detox period.

I’m currently rocking out with a half-glass of some cranberry/orange/mango juice thingy (not so good), some water and, moments ago, I just took a “salt wash” (16 oz. of warm water and two teaspoons of non-iodized sea salt, swallowed quickly). According to Seth, my co-faster this week, I’m supposed to “hang out by the bathroom after I take this, cause [I'll] be in there for 30-60 minutes.” Hmmm, can’t wait. Wonder what I’ll be doing in there? Maybe some macram'!

Supposedly, the “fun” part of this fast is to see what your body craves. It’s not quite what I thought. My carb obsession hasn’t kicked in too much … I’m starting to crave things I don’t even eat so much. What I’ve missed, food-wise, in order:

Coffee (9 a.m. yesterday)
Cheesesteak (about 2 p.m.)
Miso soup (6 p.m.)
Beer (7 p.m.)
Any form of chicken. Any form at all (10 p.m.)
Coffee (9 a.m. today)
Bagel with cream cheese and lox (11 a.m.)

Soft-shell tacos (noon)

Four and a half more days …

DAY THREE: Starvation is Healthy
I’m weak … hard to walk for too long, and any strenuous exercise (walking, running, sex, mountain climbing, cliff diving, running from the bulls … ok, I’ve only done three of those) makes me feel like chowing down.

I’m really craving an everything bagel with cream cheese. That’s been the constant for three days. Indian food (the more benign stuff) has also been on the list. Pizza SMELLS good, but I can’t imagine eating it. Actually, I’m now hungry and not craving anything except an end to this … craving.

I’m six hours and 15 minutes from part II of this, where I can eat brown rice (whee), fruits and veggies, along with the water and juice. I’m actually not that excited about this … it’s food, yeah, but I feel like I'm just going to be teasing me. I’m sort of getting used to having nothing … what will almost nothing do to it?

No weird body functions to report, although I’ve started grinding my teeth and making weird chewing motions with my mouth. Tongue is white. I think I’ve lost weight, but I feel strangely bloated at the moment (must be that half-glass of cranberry juice.)

I’m already planning my Wed. night (well, Thu. 12:01 a.m.) meal. I’m thinking it should be something really mellow, like the world’s blandest chicken quesadilla. Maybe a granola bar. Crackers? Soup? I need white foods. Bland, white edibles.

I have four hours of work to do and no energy. Should be fun!

Oddly, I had a really nice weekend, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Even an everything bagel.
I think the problem with diets and fasts is that all you think about is food.

DAY FOUR: Cookies! I crave chocolate-chip cookies. Homemade ones. I want to make chocolate chip cookies. This is all I could think about last night when I was making my first meal in three days, an undelicious mix of organic brown rice and assorted vegetables.

I’m excited to bake cookies. I haven’t done this in 10 years. I think there’s some sort of “going back to childhood” or “comfort food” statement to be made here … or maybe I just really fucking want COOKIES.

The Cookie Monster had issues, no? I mean, was “cookie” a euphemism for “crystal meth”? I've never seen a creature so adamant about getting Toll House.

Cookies.

By the way, all food seems gross to me now. That brown rice? Ick. The piece of fruit I had this morning? Making me ill. Thanks, fasting plan!

I think I’m going to try the sauna at my gym today, sweat out some toxins. That should be nice and gross.

I miss toxins. Esp. the ones you mix with a tonic and lime.

DAY FIVE: What's Up with Vegans?
Romaine lettuce, grilled vegetables, roasted red peppers, cherry tomatoes … my lunch, and yet still bland.

Weirdly, I think my co-faster Seth is getting much more out of the cleansing part of this diet. My bathroom habits haven’t changed recently, I don’t think I’ve lost much weight, and instead of energy, I just have a headache.

Off to eat organic grapes … which is about $4 more than the non-organic type. Nice.

DAY SIX: I'm Doing okay …
Just heard that Lance Bass is gay. Big surprise. Anyway, my fast: yesterday: the worst. Headache, tired, moody. Today: don’t feel like eating, but I’m doing just fine. Weird, right? I tried to sweat out some toxins yesterday in the sauna. It may have worked.

Seth and I are planning our 12:01 a.m. meal tonight. Mmmm … food.

DAY SEVEN: Ahhhh …
I hate Seth. We arrive at 7A, the local crappy 'bistro' (in other words, they serve food 24 hours a day, never a good sign), and he pulls an 'I'm not hungry' speech. I've been thinking about this moment for almost a week! Regardless of Mr. Anorexic, I'm eating. Chicken fingers (protein), quesadilla (dairy) and a Red Stripe (alcohol). The fingers are tasteless, the quesadilla is gloppy and the beer is warm.

I don't care. It's the best I've felt all week.

Would I recommend a fast? Seth's gone through 4-5 of 'em and swears they work. While I don't feel the need to shove food in my face or drink excessively, it will be nice to get basic food requirements back into my system. Next time I'm feeling fat or weak, I'm going to just tone it down a little.

It beats starving. And, if you've noticed, I'm definitely a better writer when I'm not obsessed with food.

I just couldn't get work.

I had been trying to make it as a working actor for about three years, got a few auditions, a few callbacks, but that was it. It was getting a little discouraging … that is, until I perfected something no other actor could pull off:

The gentile fro.

Sure, you have seen black men with Afros, and even Jews with Jew-fros, but a gentile? It was exactly the edge I needed when I answered a casting notice for an early-30s mulatto with an edge. I would have never pulled off that look without my new fro!

The casting was for a new cop show called Miami Vice, which was about a couple of undercover cops working narcotics in the seedy underworld of Miami. Lucky for me, I had a ton of experience to draw on since I hailed from the middle-class, white suburb of Fair Lawn, NJ.

Don Johnson had already been cast as Sonny Crocket and I was reading for the part of his partner, Raquan Smith (a black first-name with a white last-name to drive home my mulatto heritage). He was a cop with an edge, a man who didn't fit in either the white or black world. He also had a strange attraction to fish; his house was literally a giant aquarium, and he was never seen with a woman.

The fro wasn't enough (on its own) to pull off the half-black look, so I had to get a tan. This was before fake tanning was possible, so I had to lay on a bed of light bulbs to get the desired effect. There is nothing like a 60-watt bulb on your crotch to wake you up in the morning.

The fake tan, fro and the dashiki with the signature bolo tie made the character come to life. And of course loafers with no socks.

Don is known through history as the person who pioneered the solid T-shirt with the blazer look, along with the no socks and loafers. A little known fact is that Johnson initially was wearing Mickey Mouse socks, and when the producers forced him to take them off, it spawned the no-socks craze.

Don and I really clicked in my audition, and they called me to shoot the pilot, which featured my character infiltrating a group of Chinese triads. Amazingly, they accepted my mulatto character as an Asian opium dealer, and all was going well, until they took me to a sushi restaurant.

Despite my best efforts, the site of dead fish sent my character into a rampage and I shot three triads and ran through another with a chopstick. I was suspended and spiraled into a drinking binge, until Crockett pulled me out of it with some late-night speeding in his Ferrari, while Phil Collins’s 'In the Air Tonight' blasted. It was my suggestion to use Collins’s song; they initially wanted to use 'Africa' by Toto.

I thought it was a pretty solid episode, but, unfortunately, the network didn't see it that way. They ended up replacing me with Philip Michael Thomas and changed the characters name to Ricardo Tubbs. The only thing they kept was the fro.

I could have been on one of the landmark shows of the 80s, but apparently my character was to ahead of his time. The look did get me one more audition'for the movie Soul Man'but that part ended up going to C. Thomas Howell.

Besides a guest spot on The Commish and a small part on Laugh In, my acting career was over, but I will always have that one episode of Miami Vice, which they curiously refuse to include on any of the DVDs.

Imagine this: a young girl, only 16-years-old, gets raped by her uncle'her mother's brother. The event was traumatizing, but the aftermath is even worse: she is pregnant. Afraid to tell anyone in her family, this young girl turns to a teacher for help. She begs and pleads for her teacher to keep this a secret from her family. Secretly, this young girl blames herself. What she tells her teacher, though, is that she doesn't want to tear the family apart.

The teacher doesn't know what to do, but she cares deeply about this student and wants what is best for her. At the age of 16, the girl is in no way ready to have a child; she is young, immature and the victim of a horrible crime. The teacher agrees to take her to get an abortion. Unfortunately, in this state, abortions are illegal for women under the age of 18 without the consent of a parent. So, teacher and student pack up the car and head across state lines to get this girl what she needs. The next day, they return home. The student is sore and emotional, yet extremely grateful to her teacher for giving her back her future.

Now imagine that teacher being thrown in jail and slammed with a large fine for helping her student. This is a harsh reality with a new bill passed yesterday by the Senate. The bill, which was passed 65 to 34, will make it illegal for anyone to help a minor cross state lines to get an abortion. More important, though, this bill is yet another roadblock, keeping women from deciding the fate of their own bodies and lives.

Abortion is a very sticky situation. When I was in 6th grade, I chose to oppose abortion for my debate class. I truly felt it was wrong to kill a defenseless baby; to end the life of an innocent child. But, as I’ve grown older and experienced the world, I’ve realized that it is not my (or anyone else’s) choice. I also realized that if I were to find out that I was pregnant, I would seek out my options. Including abortion.

But how I feel about abortion is not the issue. Neither is the way the government feels about it. No one should even have a say in the issue except the woman whose body is in question. You (or Bush or the Senate or your grandmother etc.) may be morally opposed to abortion, but sometimes there are more than just morals on the line. There is the future of both the mother and child. There is the question of capability, responsibility, money and mental health. Not everyone can be a mother. Not everyone is ready to be a mother. And not everyone should be involved in the decision of who should be a mother.

As an American woman'a free woman'it is my right to decide what happens to my body and in my life. It is not your decision or his. It is mine. And even if I was 14 years old, and I knew in my gut that I was not ready to be a mother, it should not be my mother's decision what happens to me. It should be mine. I shouldn't have to tell my mother. I should be able to go an do what I need to do. The fact that minors can't get abortions in all states is already a problem. The fact that they still need to turn to someone else for help is a problem. Don't create a bigger problem by punishing those that are kind enough to help.

In what was the slowest sales-week since Jan. 23, 1994, NOW! That’s What I Call Music 22 held onto the top spot on the Billboard 100 chart for the second week in a row.

Featuring tracks from Chamillionaire, Kelly Clarkson, Rihanna, Daniel Powter, Ne-Yo, Nickelback and the All-American Rejects, the compilation moved 207,000 units. It was the only album to sell six figures.

Los Lonely Boys’s sophomore album, Sacred, earned them their best chart position yet, entering at No. 2 with 67,000 sold, as did country singer Rodney Atkins’s second album, If You’re Going Through Hell, which entered at No. 3, with 55,000 sold.

Gnarls Barkley’s St. Elsewhere moved up from 5 to 4 with 53,000, and the soundtrack to Disney’s High School Musical ascended from 7 to 5 in its 28th week on the chart, with 52,000 copies.

After 45 weeks on the chart, the Pussycat Dolls moved back into the top 10, from 13 to 10, with 43,000.

When I was a sophomore living in my sorority house, I was blessed with the honor of living in a quad. Not only did I have to share a room with three other girls (who all had way too much stuff), but the room was also tiny, and there was absolutely no privacy.

But after living there for a few months, I realized that there were some perks to this unwanted living situation. For one thing, the girls I lived with were hilarious. We were always having a good time drinking, watching movies or just hanging out. They were also nice to have around in a time of crisis, kind of a 24-hour support system. Even with all these perks, though, the small space created many issues, the least of which was a lack of drawer space.

My all-time-worst moment in this itty-bitty box of a room happened after a sorority date-party. For those of you who don't know, a sorority date-party consists of asking guys to join you at a bar where everyone gets very, very drunk. Unlike every other night of the week, date-parties also involve dressing up, “dark buses” (buses that have no lights on in them) and a photographer. Anyway, needless to say, my roommates and I got quite intoxicated. Upon returning to the sorority house, everyone proceeded to leave her man outside and completely pass out, fully clothed.

At some point during the night, I suddenly woke up and inhaled: something smelled really bad. It took me awhile to figure out where I was, why I was still wearing heels and why there was a slice of pizza in my hand. I also noticed that my roommate Jamie (whose bottom bunk was a mere 4 inches away from mine) was also up and sniffing the air with a not-so-happy look on her face.

'Dude, what is that smell?' she said, sniffing the air like a puppy in heat. I began looking around the room, trying to figure out what was going on. Considering the small size of our living quarters, it took only a second to find the culprit: at 5:30 in the morning, wearing a beautiful black BCBG dress, my roommate was squatting over the bottom drawer (MY DRAWER!) of the dresser … taking a dump.

'MARISSA!!' I screamed, 'What the hell are you doing in my underwear drawer!?'
'What?' She responded, confused. 'Why are you in the bathroom stall with me?'
'You are not in the bathroom, you moron, you are in our bedroom … taking a crap on my thongs!' I didn't know whether to laugh, cry or throw up all over myself. A moment later, I was ready to do all three.

As Marissa finally realized what she was doing, she (in a still-drunken stupor) attempted to clean up her mess, effectively wiping her excrement on every wall from the room to the bathroom. I couldn't help but scream. And kick. And cry. And throw up a little in my mouth. Soon the entire sorority was awake and screaming along with me. Thank God for our house mother; she sent us all to sleep in another sorority house for the day, while she called in a cleaning crew to fix the mess.

I ended up living in a triple for the end of my sophomore year. Marissa ended up living alone. Normally, a single would be impossible to get for a sophomore, but as it turns out, no one wanted to live with the pooper.

My parents love to talk about the worth of a liberal arts education. You go to college, you take a wide range of classes, you work hard, you get somewhere. Simple as that. Sort of like that whole 'American Dream' thing. But does taking a bunch of different classes and working hard really equal post-graduate prosperity?

Other people, evidently, are asking the same thing. A big story in The New York Times recently cited, with grave horror, the decline in achievement among guys in relation to those up-and-coming girls. A lot of guys, though, suggested in their comments for the article: why bother?

Still, to this day, I wonder what the point of taking classes like Astronomy and 'Math in the Arts' (a real course at Connecticut College, when I went there) and Music Theory was. A perfect example of a useless class is the latter. I would definitely consider myself a musician. I played piano for six years, cello for 11 and have been playing guitar for 13. But one thing I have never excelled at is reading music. I hate it; it's very mathematical and concept-oriented, and I've never been good at those sorts of things. So I had to go through a hellish semester-long music theory class, which was taught with good intentions (by a nice guy, Professor Stoner'that was his name … no joke) but just bored (and at times, confused) me to tears. And I wasn't great at it, which I already knew. And all my friends were, like, 'Dude, what's the matter with you?' because all I ever talk about is music. What a waste of my time and my parents' money.

I'm left wondering why I put so much time and effort into that course. Was it to take on the challenge of something I wasn't good at? (No.) Was it to keep my GPA up? (Yes, in part.) Or was it because I was a helpless, hard-working automaton (who should've been getting drunk and stoned with my friends instead of memorizing the 'circle of fifths')? (Absolutely.) There are so many students out there that believe that if they put their heads down, work all day and all night and do little on the social front in college, they will surely achieve success in the post-grad job world. Maybe this is so, in some cases, but in most, it's a much different outcome. You need to be good at things like making copies, faxing and multitasking at most office jobs. At many employers, interaction with coworkers is paramount to getting things done'to actually working. If you're no good at interacting with people, you might as well kiss employment good-bye. It sounds funny, but there is worth to going to all those parties and drinking all that beer. Think of those parties as busy offices, where you're new and don't know anybody. Think of that hot girl or guy in the corner as your new cubicle mate. How do you introduce yourself without coming off like a complete asshole?

So I put this to you: This semester, spend a little more time nursing a beer than working on those nursing degrees. Go to as many parties as you can, without being 'that guy' or 'that girl' that shows up at every shindig and gets f–ked up drunk and says stupid things. Make a concerted effort to socialize but in the way I have mentioned. This is your life. Life is a bull. You need to grab that mother—-er by the horns, or you're going to be in for a long job-searching process. Take my advice: party like there's no tomorrow ' or there won't be one.

Unless you have a girlfriend, dating in college doesn't really exist. So on the rare occasion that you do wine and dine a sexy sorority girl, you have concerns: Will she like you? Will you avoid awkward silences? Will you get laid? But most of all when the check drops onto the table, should you pay?

This is a touchy subject since in some cases women are insulted when you insist on treating them; in others they're insulted when you don't. Let's shed some light on the matter.

You should always pay …

On first dates. Your best bet is to make the first move towards the bill. If she doesn't seem to object, throw your cash down. Paying indicates that you are responsible and women like that.

If you asked her out. When it comes to these situations, you should ask yourself, 'Who asked who?' If you asked her to dinner, you'll be expected to pay.

On special occasions. If it's your anniversary, her birthday or even some spontaneous celebration, it's nice if you offer to pay. It's a great way to show her how proud you are to be her man.

Single life is getting dull. The random hook-ups are losing their appeal and you've been seriously considering (okay, yearning for) something more exclusive.

Yet when you attempt to make things less casual with your flavor-of-the-week, he suddenly becomes less available.
What gives?

Stop pouting. It's time to evaluate your actions. What could you be doing that's holding you back from a romantic relationship?

Some things to think about …

Never make the first move. If he is interested in you, he will approach you. Definitely flirt, but try not to come on too strong. Men are entertained by the mission to get you to want them.

Be 'chill.' Don't talk about him, especially to his friends. If you have hooked up a few times and you make him the topic of every conversation, it could very easily get back to him. Men like a challenge; once he knows you are interested, the chase is over.

Never follow him out at night. If he winds up where you are, great! If not, don't worry; there is always next weekend. The worst thing you can do is ruin your night by trying to go where you think he will be. Trust me, you will get screwed. Go where you want to go. More often than not your smart decision will bless you with good fortune.

Do NOT sleep with him. The biggest mistake you can make is to give it to him right away. Not only will you drive him away with your promiscuity, but he will also lose his respect for you as a potential partner. If you have slept with him, he can only imagine whom else you have slept with.

These tips are simple ways to keep your guy interested. However, don't expect immediate boyfriend/girlfriend status; fostering a committed relationship takes time.

For many of us, our awkward teenage years are something we're only too glad to forget. So what is it about our first love that stays with us years after we've grown out of our high school personas?

Despite having moved on ages ago, and maybe even happily involved with someone far better suited for you, you occasionally find yourself wondering how he's doing. But don't despair ' you're not alone. According to a classmates.com poll, 54 percent of respondents had thought about their first love in the past year, many of them even married with kids.

When you stop and think about it, it's easy to understand why our first foray into romance holds a treasured place in our memories. How could we forget something as intense and exciting as our first relationship? Not only is it something we'd been dreaming about since Cinderella was rescued by her prince; it's also a 'first' for many other things, like being so close to someone outside of your family or kissing (or more!). It's the first time we've openly shared an attraction with someone, and the first time we might be feeling the ups and downs that accompany any intimate connection.

Researchers have found that falling in love has a similar effect on the brain as using cocaine, and that falling in love as a teenager is more intense than the experience is when it takes place in adulthood. It's no wonder. As an important step in maturing into adulthood, what we share with our first love reveals a lot about who we are, and does a lot to shape our identity for other relationships down the road.

And when it eventually did come to an end, it was probably a shock to believe that you two wouldn't be together forever. But now that you've grown, you realize that while you still might care about your first love, there are so many more wonderful people out there, and so many fascinating loves (and heartbreaks) to experience!