Okay kiddies, clip this out and stash it away in a drawer for later. Yes, freshmen, I 'm talking to you. Go ahead, take a pair of scissors and cut right between the editorial and the turnstile.

After two years of living in the dorms, I can safely say there are certain dynamics that exist on every floor section on every green across campus. So here is a profile of everyone you'll ever live with for the next two years. Circle all that apply.

The Stoners: I can hear the sound of 1,000 bongs dropping in surprise. "They're on to us, man." Yep, that's right. Every floor section has a room full of them. Everyone on the floor knows they smoke up Ñ it's hard to ignore the scent of incense masking patchouli masking pot at 3 a.m. The sound of a gurgling water bong, the Grateful Dead music, the references to "munchies" and the telltale fan blowing all night add up. The RAs even know; they just can't prove it. The Stoners outsmart them every time.

The I-Got-Your-Beer Guy: The I-Got-Your-Beer Guy usually walks around the hall in his boxers, scratching his butt, at about 1 p.m. every Thursday. This is the day I-Got-Your-Beer Guy starts bragging to the rest of the floor about how much beer he has stocked in his fridge at the moment. "Man, we've been drinking since, like, 12," he'll boast. The I-Got-Your-Beer Guy never has good beer; it's always cheap. He usually has fleshy photos of Pamela Anderson splashed on his walls and wears a white hat that looks like it's been peed on for several weeks.

The Bass Man: Hello! Learn something besides the first few cHords of "Stairway to Heaven." There is always a person on the floor, usually male, who insists on imposing his musical talent, or lack thereof, on everyone else. He leaves his door wide open and plays the first few riffs of some song he picked up in high school for most of Fall Quarter. Winter Quarter rolls around, and he begins to "expand" his musical horizons and learn a few notes of a Pearl Jam song. He'll insist he's been playing for years. Spring Quarter you get embarrassed for him when he plays outside on the green. And it's all in the name of gettin' chicks.

The Players: "Bitch." "No, man, you're a punk." "This game sucks, wait till I kick your sorry ass in Doom." And so goes the rousing, intellectual conversations that take place in the Players' rooms. The Players are, of course, any male or group of males who play video games more than three hours a day. By year's end they have Carpal Tunnel Syndrome and a 2.3 g.p.a.

The Grease Chicks: Baby, steal that soundtrack now before it gets out of control. The Grease Chicks insist on playing the soundtrack from the movie Grease whenever they get drunk. Actually, they don't even need liquor as an excuse if they are diehards. These are the same people who view Spice Girls as high art. The Grease Chicks are, you guessed it, usually girls. Color me surprised if I ever find a male joining in a chorus of "You're The One That I Want." See also, Greenery Enthusiast.

Lounge Lizards: The myth is that lounge lizards are actually getting stuff done down in that study lounge. Ha! They're not. I can say from experience that the Lounge Lizard uses studying as a thinly veiled excuse for socializing with other Lounge Lizards. The Lounge Lizard's night usually goes something like this: Highlight notes on chapter two (20 minutes). Gossip with friend about slutty roommate (30 minutes). Read chapter three (15 minutes). Flirt with boy/girl standing at e-mail terminal (10 minutes). Bum 60 cents for a Coke (10 minutes).

The Shackers: Learn the word shack. It is both a noun and verb at OU. And as my friend aptly put it, freshman year is the year of the shacker. These are the people who spend most nights being a shacker or a shackee, depending on whose RA is stricter. This person is usually seen leaving the room of a member of the opposite sex at odd hours, like 8 a.m.

Greenery Enthusiasts: The smell of sweat, townies and girls screaming the lyrics to "Brown-Eyed Girl" constitute a good time for this person. These people try to rally the troops every Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and sometimes Sunday nights, even though The Greenery is closed, in the hopes they are actually going to meet someone. They are spurred on by the girl who once flirted with them upstairs. Maybe she'll come back, they think. But she never does, and they end up hitting on a 14-year-old from Athens High.

Mystery Person: Every floor has one. Midway through the year, someone realizes that no one has actually seen that person living in the single across the hall. You start to make up names for the Mystery Person. I'll tell you what Mystery Person is doing. Playing Dungeons and Dragons, probably with Bass Man. That, or they moved out three months ago. Nobody has noticed.

I could probably go on here and tell you about the preppie-turned-hippie or the random girl who falls out of her bunk bed at 3 a.m. and injures herself. I'll spare you the gory details.

Broder, a junior journalism major, was definitely the only person on her floor from Herndon, Va.