I'll tell you what is disturbing. I was recently sitting in my study room, which is a good 10 degrees colder than the hallway, freezing my (expletive) off when I looked up and noticed that my roommate had turned the air conditioning on high. Was I irritated? Yes. But was I shocked?

Not particularly.

I take Nicole's stupidity with a grain of salt and remind myself that she is the girl who walked out of the dining hall with a life-sized cardboard Tony the Tiger. Then she dressed up like him and spent a week telling everyone about her new boyfriend named Tony.

This is also the girl who smuggled a bottle of wine from Olive Garden, drank the whole thing on a Sunday night, and blamed her stomachache and vomiting the following day on the swordfish dish she had for dinner.

Her drinking problem, however, did not end with the encounter with a full bottle of wine. She continued to have issues the next day when she chugged three or four doses of Maalox straight from the bottle that she got from Health Services. This was supposed to stop the vomiting but only made it persist for the rest of the week.

During this week, I might add, she actually attended only three out of 12 classes. I found myself lying repeatedly to cover for my absentee roommate with convincing stories about her getting unexpectedly attacked by vicious porcupines.

Despite the excessive absences, Nicole boasts an impressive (and misleading) 3.51 grade point average after her first semester course load of 18 hours. I am in awe of this simply because I witnessed her compose every paper that she turned in on zero sleep mere hours before the deadlines. I tremble at the thought and bow down before Nicole for her fine-tuned study habits.

My point? My roommate is not the type of person who can really afford to have another whole in the head. Nonetheless, our weekend escapades included a trip to the Half Pint Tattoo Parlor in Niles, Mich. so Nicole could pierce her nose. While Nicole got an unnecessary hole in her face, I got a whole new perspective on the world of tattoos and piercing.

Nicole's actual piercing artist, Mikey, was like a surgeon with his task. He began professionally by calming the patient and telling Nicole not to worry because the needle was sharp enough to cut through her nose cartilage like a hot knife through butter. In other words, very little pressure would be applied.

This comment scared me to the point that I almost pooped on myself, so I went to the bathroom to splash some water on my face and calm my nerves. The bathroom at the parlor contained high-quality reading material including Maxim, Stuff and other notable adult male literature.

By the time I returned, Nicole had the "nostril screw" inserted through her nose and had only shed one tear. Mikey, also a sensitive guy who enjoys long walks on the beaches of Indiana, was kind enough to wipe away her tear. For this reason, Nicole has fallen madly in love with him and sits around waiting for him to call.

Not surprising, the tattoo parlor experience left me slightly more disturbed than sitting in an air-conditioned cubicle in the middle of winter. But, it was eye opening … and I can appreciate that.

My advice to those who are sheltered as I was before this break-through experience is simple. Take the trip to Half Pint Tattoo Parlor. Ask for Mikey. And no matter what he says, don't let him pierce your labret.

• Like a hot knife through butter...