Hedwig and the Angry Inch is about a boy named Hedwig who wishes he was a girl. I do not wish I was a girl. Girls have cooties! One time, Sarah Marsh tried to kiss me when I was finger-painting so I pushed her off the monkey bars at recess.
After ten weeks at Wesleyan, you start to get your bearings and can clearly see what’s what. Here are just a few senses I’ve come to thus far in my first semester:
ALCO 251—Intermediate Drinking
Students will use the higher tolerances acquired from the Freshman Drinking Seminar and begin to make the move from drunk to shitfaced. Topics include keg stands, double fisting, the proper uses of Everclear, and the relative merits of PBR.
My mom never went to college. This weekend I promised her I’d show her what college is really like. I think she was pretty impressed. We went out for dinner in Middletown. She was amazed at all of the fancy foods there were to eat at McConoughy Dining Hall. On the way out she put three bagels, five apples, and some breadsticks in her purse.
THINGS I WISH MY FRIENDS DIDN’T SAY TO MY PARENTS: “I heard Katie tied the world record for abortions!” “I heard Jess tied the world record for abortions!” THINGS I WISH MY FRIENDS DID SAY TO MY PARENTS: “Did you hear that Katie didn’t set the world record for abortions?” “Did you hear that Jess […]
In the four years I’ve been here, my parents have never visited me during Parent’s Weekend. Not once. It may sound sad, but it’s sort of a blessing in disguise. I’ve found Parent’s Weekend is a lot less stressful when you’re not busy trying to entertain two cranky bickering middle-aged Baby Boomers who complain that ethnic food gives them gas.
I cannot believe everyone’s parents decided to come visit on the same weekend! That was so crazy. I hope you showed them a nice, wholesome time. This issue is, of course, inspired by true events and dedicated to the people who birthed us.
A lot of people at Wes don’t appreciate their parents. I’ll admit, in high school I thought my parents were the enemy (Do the dishes? What am I, a serf?) Then I figured out that if you just treat the primary caregiver in your family like they’re Bob Barker, everything works out nicely.
As summer slowly fades into the arboreal utopia of a New England autumn, a plague descends on our glowing campus. Its stinging pain resurrects itself every few months with that familiar nagging, always seeming to arise at the most inconvenient of times. No, not herpes, you silly promiscuous hoebag! Parents!
One time, I took one of the public safety cars, not one of the stupid SUVs, mind you, but one of the real deal Police Interceptor cop cars. Anyway, I took it in the middle of the night, and turned the lights on. Not, like, those red ones that stay on all the time, but the real kind that flash and look intimidating and everything.