Hanging out with the roomies has gotten old, and a cappella jams just don't hold the same allure they used to. As the temperature drops and the desire to curl up with a warm body increases, Harvard students are on the prowl, and Wellesley girls have made their presence known on campus. Much to the chagrin of Harvard women, the men of our fair institution have welcomed them with open arms. This week, two FM writers go where no Harvard woman has ever gone before--incognito as Wellesley girls to get the 411 on the competition.

9:53 p.m.

Fresh from the shower, ransack roommate's closet for clothes worthy of a Wellesley girl. Luckily, said roommate once appeared on "The Grind." Emerge with: tube top, tight black pants and stilettos.

10:14 p.m.

Scrupulously apply makeup, banking on the liquid eyeliner and body glitter for competitive advantage.

10:46 p.m.

Accost annoyed upperclassman for key card swipe into building. Curse House master for outlawing universal keycard access, and crawl up five flights of stairs. Arrive at "party" of 10 Harvard men. Met with wide eyes. "Ooo. This is good," the so-called men coo.

11:01 p.m.

Harvard man eats fire for competitive advantage.

11:04 p.m.

Strapping Junior male approaches, offering expensive mixed drinks. Reveals, "I went to Wellesley once. It wasn't as `exciting' as I expected." We question our Wellesley girl strategy.

11:32 p.m.

Party sucks. Leave. Stumble upon inebriated Senior en route to Masquerade. He questions, "What are you supposed to be?" We bat eyelashes and reply, "Wellesley girls." He responds, "Wanna have sex?" We run.

11:41 p.m.

Enter exclusive all-male club on Mt. Auburn Street, familiar territory for any Wellesley girl. Asked to a private dance in quiet upstairs room. Note to selves: no Harvard man likes to be called "sketchy" to his face.

12:06 a.m.

Dodge cross-eyed bouncer and enter renowned Harvard sports bar. Accept drinks from underage hockey player. Drink unfortunately-named "Kumoniwannalaya." Translation: "Wanna have sex?"

2:13 a.m.

Closing time. Oops! Missed the last truck home. Guess it's time to find a warm, twin, extra-long bed to crash in. [Pause.] Just kidding! Do not have to go home with first sweaty, overweight beer-guzzler who approaches. Harvard women don't have to do that shit.

2:14 a.m.

Go home happy.