Back in the day in Tempe,

I tried to be a dancer, fought flaming roaches, and almost saw The Pope.

High school in the 80s was exactly like the movies - all Fast Times and Flashdance - and as Lakewood High School's Head Pom, (captain of the halftime dance team) I wrongfully imagined myself the next Paula Abdul.

Upon graduation, I planned on chasing dreams in New York City, but when my dad literally begged me to go to college, I agreed, but only if it was to the:

NUMBER ONE PARTY SCHOOL IN THE NATION - Arizona State University.

*(being a brat since I couldn't go to NYC.)

The ASU Sun Devils had been at the top of the "Best Party School List" for six years running; and move-in day I was assigned Room 1104 in Manzanita Hall, (eleventh floor/west side corner) with two adjacent suite-mates (Rachel & Casey) and a roommate named Stacy, from New Jersey.

Her harshly teased hair, green contacts, fake nails, gold jewelry and tough as shit attitude, made Stacy a standout all through the building, (especially when compared to the Cali-girl clones) and she tolerated me because I also loved the Beastie Boys, and would blast 'License to Ill' at full volume every afternoon - cold kickin' it live.

Riding the dorm elevator with Stacy could be awkward- especially when she'd make a fist next to her head and growl,

"Whadda' you lookin' at?'

intimidating nearly everyone who stepped on and made eye contact.

The floors in the building alternated boy/girl, and a couple of guys I knew from high school (Kimo and Brad) lived on the Fourth Floor, next to an elaborate fake ID operation, where I paid fifty bucks to stand in front of a cardboard sign, and become twenty-one year old, Lisa Johnson from Tennessee.

Almost every weekend,

• the guys on Eight would set off the fire sprinklers by playing lacrosse in the hall,

• or we'd be evacuated to the parking lot because an M80 had been thrown down the elevator shaft, usually in the middle of the night.

KAAAA-BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

The massive explosion would shake the building, set off alarms, and send everyone stumbling outside in our pajamas, waiting an hour or more for the fire department to let us back in.

Manzanita was one of the tallest buildings on campus, and students used masking tape to write crazy stupid messages on the windows, easy to read by people on the street.

Sometimes they'd tell of a party in that room, or a phone number for a hookup, but usually it was just a crude remark about whoever lived next door, or something about that week's sports opponent - kind of like a pre-internet message board.

Most of my classes were in the ASU dance department, where I was waaaaaaaaay out of my league, quickly realizing that being a high school cheerleader does not make you a dancer.

Even though I was actually (kinda') good at choreography, I hadn't had nearly the level of ballet, or serious modern dance training required to be in such company; but for two years I stumbled along offbeat in the back of the class.

***

The entire drive to ASU my dad and stepmother laughed at me, while I cried like a baby, dramatically sad to leave my boyfriend (a guy I'd been dating a little over a month, who was six years older). Todd followed as soon as I got settled, moving his entire life from Colorado to Tempe, renting a duplex with a guy named Tom next to a couple of other guys, (Chad & Steve from Idaho) and everybody did a lot of blow.

Weekends at the duplex usually meant three-day cycles of:

1. idiotic people chopping lines in the bathroom,

2. those same people talking nonsense over each other, chainsmoking cigarettes in the kitchen,

3. eventually gathered on the patio (still talking over each other & smoking cigarettes) but waiting for Carl the dealer to show up, worried how soon they'd get more cocaine.

One of those weekends I'll never forget was:

THE ATTACK OF THE FLAMING FLYING ROACH

In the main bathroom with a few other people, slow movement behind the shower curtain caught our attention, and we watched a GIANT ROACH crawl up out of the drain, spread a pair of gross brown wings, and fly directly toward the mirror.

Someone grabbed a can of hairspray and doused it good, but it just turned around and flew directly toward their face.

Freaking out, someone else sprayed it with Arid Xtra Dry, and as it flopped around the sink, another person lit it on fire.

Instead of slowing down and dying, the roach monster rose like a phoenix into the air, and came toward us even faster, but now IT WAS ON FIRE!

We screamed, flung open the door, and ran down the hall.

Believe it or not, the Flying Flaming Roach followed, and as we shrieked around the corner back into the kitchen, Tom picked up a broom and whacked it hard- slamming the fireball into the glass patio door, where of course it kept buzzing and flying, soon catching fire to the flimsy curtains.

Even cokeheads act fast in a fire, and someone grabbed the dirty kitchen floor mat already wet with spilled beer and beat out the flames, while Tom used his broom to direct the disgusting bug outside onto the concrete driveway.

The entire party was now completely invested in killing the mutant roach, and we all ran out and watched while Todd drove over it, back and forth with his heavy motorcycle. We heard it crunch and break with every tire roll, and cheered and toasted our drinks in the air celebrating the successful kill.

BUT THEN... standing around congratulating ourselves, no one noticed it crawl away, and the next time we looked down it was gone.

Totally fucking paranoid, we all panicked and ran inside, because we were sure the mutant roach was on its way to get its family to exact revenge.

***

One day, not long after school started, SWAT agents scurried around the entrance to Manzanita, and about an hour later, loud knocking on the door demanded we come into the hall for a briefing.

They said our building was being secured for an upcoming visit by Pope John Paul II, and that we needed to: get out right away, and not come back until the following Tuesday.

"GO, Immediately. You have an hour to be gone, or you'll be arrested."

The cops in sunglasses and shoulder holsters didn't care where - we just needed to be gone.

So, five of us packed inside a random girl's Mazda from across the hall, and drove to Victorville, California (where she was from). We spent the long Pope weekend crashed on the floor of her parent's house, avoiding crack addicts at McDonalds, and playing beer pong with her high school friends.

Back in the dorm a few days later, some guys were going door-to-door selling t-shirts, and I just had to get the one with bible scripture and the Pope's likeness on the front, and the caption:

He Came

He Saw

He Kicked Some Ass

Ahhhh Tempe…. a great place for cockroaches, cacti, and cokeheads… even blessed by the Pope.