Every time I go home and tell a family member or friend of the family that I’m going to the University of Arizona, their reaction is always the same.

“”Oh man, Arizona!”” they say exuberantly, as if they can already imagine themselves living vicariously through my college experience. “”You must be getting tons of tail!”” or, “”The ass out there must be ridiculous!””

Of course, I nod my head and smile.

“”You bet!”” I reply.

I hate lying.

Somewhere along the line, a probing, false rumor began that everyone seemed to believe. Want to party? Bikini-clad coeds as far as the eye can see?

Is this heaven? No, it’s Arizona.

Nowhere is this faux image of UA academia more evident than in the recent Playboy rankings for top party schools, for which the UA took the number 5 slot.

“”Would I rather walk around in board shorts and sandals, looking at gorgeous girls in bikinis for eight months out of the year or shovel snow and freeze my nuts off in Boulder?”” Leo, a senior, told Playboy. “”I made the right decision.””

Is this a fantasy, or am I being left out of the loop?

And why would people be walking around in bikinis? The nearest body of water is dozens of miles away. Board shorts? Who the hell is this guy?

Leo, if you’re there, tell me this is a joke.

When I’m walking around campus, I see lazy sweatpants and hoodies two sizes too big, no matter how bad the scorching heat is reining down upon the desert. Bulging bikini tops? Not in this world.

These huge parties, these masses of scantily-clad women getting their drink on – where are they? No, seriously.

Most of the parties I go to are sausage fests, with way more dudes than chicks and a few awkward people in the corner trying to keep a beer pong game going. You know the Dos Equis commercials with the “”most interesting man in the world?”” Imagine that, but the exact opposite.

Of course, knowing the reality of the situation, we must keep it as secret as the Priori of Sion in “”The Da Vinci Code,”” lest our reputations with complete strangers be damaged.

Believe me, no one wishes as much as I do that the UA was a front for burlesque, but the Surly Wench we are not.

Of course, maybe I’m just living in a separate reality, one that is cruelly hidden from the treasures that lie within the secret temple of Playboy’s infinite wisdom. Maybe the issue is with me, not the university.

If that’s the case, someone please bring me back down to earth with the hell-fire sins that make fantastic party favors.

Maybe I’ve been blind this whole time, and I only need to nudge open the door to see the UA’s full party potential.

…Or maybe Playboy’s full of shit.

– Shain Bergan is the news editor of the Arizona Summer Wildcat. He can be reached at letters@wildcat.arizona.edu.