Roxy’s no fool: she knows that, for almost all things, bigger is better. Everything’s exciting when there’s more of it — more intrigue, more shirtless boys on sunny days, more cushion for the pushin’, more money and even more problems (who doesn’t love a little drama?).

But one thing that Stanford has yet to embrace more of is the number of undergraduate students per class — a figure that has hovered around 1700 for years. And when there’s a bone to be picked about an issue like that, you know who to call: Roxy Sass.

Roxy remembers being a freshman: The campus was her oyster, and its aphrodisiac qualities were kicking in. So many new faces, so many people to meet, so many boys who had recently gone through pre-college or Turkey Drop breakups and were looking for some platonic and slightly-less-platonic comfort. Roxy’s social circle was mostly her freshman dormmates, and while the inevitable dormcest was awkward, she only had to look outside the confines of Wilbur to meet some fresh faces that were blissfully uninvolved in the web and were more than willing to be blissfully involved with her.

A few years down the line, however, the story’s different: Roxy knows that through casual socialization, introductory classes and the stalkery wonder of Facebook, the faces in your class start to look very familiar, and after a few rounds of hookups and breakups, stuff gets a little more complicated.

Roxy has found a few occasions where this is to her advantage: an amicable ex is, after all, only a few row houses away and usually down for a brief rekindling. But when she meets someone new, the unfortunate truth is that it’s rarely someone new. He’s dated that girl she knows; she used to hook up with his freshman year roommate. Friends hit on friends’ exes, bad breakups break up groups of friends as well and hey — Roxy’s even had the pleasure of finding a couple of hookup-history buddies: that is, girls whose paths through Stanford bedfellows have an awful lot of overlap with her own. And that, friends, is a special type of bond that can only occur after years in a limited dating pool.

But lest this be too dismal, Roxy’s got some advice: if you’d rather avoid the tangled web that is a class by its junior or senior year, date grad students until you’re old enough to date freshmen. Roxy knows plenty of TAs who she’d like to have grade her work week after week. And while her cougar-ing days are far ahead of her, Roxy’s also not above getting a little practice on the hunt with the Class of 2014. Watch out, freshmeat: there’s a new sheriff in town.