Illsutration by Cody Angell

Friday October 26, 2001

Confessions: Mom, Dad... There's something you should know

Family Weekend is a special event for many families, and a time when many students feel that it's about time to come clean.

Many students have recently discovered a newfound sense of freedom after entering college - freedom to make their own curfew, freedom to eat as much pizza as they like, freedom to · well, freedom to do whatever they please.

And this creates a problem. For many UA students, their parents are either completely or partially footing the bill. And they realize they still have an obligation to be loyal, honest, and forthcoming - others not so much.

Lots of parents have driven down or flown in for Farent's Weekend, and it is reasonable to assume that they all will be doing some serious checking up: dads peeking into dorm closets and snooping around in desk drawers and mothers grilling daughters about late-night activities. And this presents a problem to the average UA student: do I lie, or do I come clean?

The Arizona Daily Wildcat's staff has decided to be bold and not only admit our most secret stories to our parents, but to the entire campus. No matter how ridiculous, ignominious or foolish the circumstance, our writers believe that the least we can do as sons and daughters is tell the truth and offer our apologizes, explanations - simply, our confessions.

I almost got arrested in my underwear

By Jessica Suarez

In a matter of minutes, I lived out all three of my biggest dreams: I was in a band, I was in my underwear in front of a crowd and I got arrested. Well, I almost got arrested.

For four months I was in the band Obsession In Pink. We played at Club Congress, which unplugged us during our show because we pissed them off. We played the Epic Cafˇ, which cut us off during our show because we pissed them off. We also played Skrappies, which cut us off, had a committee meeting and voted to ban us from playing there again. I think they were pissed off too.

Our best show was when we played a laundromat on Sixth Street - in our underwear - without their permission. It's the laundromat across the street from the Stadium. Don't do your laundry there because the owners are fascists who, I know for a fact, don't like little girls in their underwear. I checked.

We tried not to tell too many people about our show. Somehow, lots more people than we expected came, bringing alcohol, cameras and, in a few cases, laundry. We undressed and carried our clothing inside in laundry baskets and started to play. Someone tape-recorded the show, though I'm barely noticeable next to our singer's bulging crotch, swathed in pink underwear (an Obsession in Pink merchandise exclusive).

Halfway through the show, the owners ran in yelling. They called everyone a bunch of "freaks" and "faggots" which was, I think, pretty accurate. Then they threatened to call the police if we didn't get the hell out of there. We did and finished our show at a house a block away.

Another piece of Obsession in Pink merchandise was our buttons, which we sold out of quickly. If you see someone wearing one, go "Dude, hey, remember the laundromat show? That was awesome!" and they'll probably go, "If you can remember that show, you weren't really there."

Then you can go, "Uh, yeah. Sorry."

Jessica Suarez is an undeclared sophomore. She can be reached at letters@wildcat.arizona.edu.

Right now · I mean, sometimes I take drugs

By Zack Armstrong

So · this one time · I was tripping on acid or mushrooms - I can't remember which - although it lasted quite a while so it was probably El Cid, and I drove up to Mt. Lemmon with some friends. I like Cracker Jacks.

Whoa! Non sequitur. Sorry. Where was I? Oh right. So I was going to Mt. Lemmon with some friends and we had these little stuffed dolls that talked and said things like, "Longfellow's my name" and "Hahahaheeheeheehee" and we got stopped by this Mt. Lemmon cop patroller guy and he was like: "What are you guys doing up here at this time of night?"

And we were like: "Just gonna check out the view, officer."

And then he was all: "Well you guys know you're dragging something under the car, right?"

And we were all: "What?"

And then Longfellow said, "Hey copper, why don't you let my friends go before I go all wild-ass lion crackle on your ass" because Longfellow was a lion; then he jumped behind the wheel and totally tore off into the dark, dark night, listening to some dark-ass Portishead song and humming something completely dark-ass different.

Hey.

What?! I'm sorry where was I?

Oh. So this one time · over the summer or the fall, I can't remember which, although it was quite a bit warmer so it was probably El Diablo, I drove up to Mt. Lemmon with some friends. I like Cheetos.

Mostly just the crunchy kind, but any will do.

What?!

I want to go watch Buffy now, OK?

Oh. I didn't know it was on already. I'm sorry. Have a nice day. What?!

Zack Armstrong is a creative writing senior. He can be reached at letters@wildcat.arizona.edu.

I'm so sorry; he stole my shoes

By Shane Dale

Yesterday upon approaching Euclid Avenue and Speedway Boulevard, I was hit by a city bus. The bus driver got out of the bus, kicked me in the ribs and stole my shoes.

But that was just a dream. What really happened to me the first day of fall semester 1999 was rather dull in comparison. But it still taught me a valuable lesson. Sort of.

It was my first day at school with a car - I didn't have one available to me my freshman year, so I was rather excited to have my Saturn and Zone 1 (general parking) permit this time around.

But to my astonishment, once I got to school that first day (I live in an off-campus apartment), I couldn't find a parking space. Did I forget to mention that I was naive and stupid back in the 20th century?

So not wanting to be late for my first class of the semester, I parked just outside of a row of parking in a Zone 1 lot - in other words, I wasn't parked in a "legal" parking space.

When I got back to my car that afternoon, I had my first and, to this point, only parking ticket nicely placed in the bottom right corner of my windshield.

Out of my anger and frustration over the whole emotionally distressing ordeal, I appealed it. Strangely, I lost.

So, this is what I've learned: Either live on campus, don't get a Zone 1 permit or save up some "ticket paying money" over the summer. Dad, I'm so sorry. I've learned from my mistakes and I swear I remember what you taught me: Don't let bus drivers steal your shoes.

Shane Dale is a political science sophomore. He can be reached at letters@wildcat.arizona.edu.