Editor’s note: The following is a continuing journal of a fictional college student. It is intended to be a humorous and enjoyable feature about an average Joe. Though written by Iowa State’s own Scott Jacobson, a Daily staff writer, people, places and events detailed below are not analogous to a real student.

April 21, 2000

So there I was, flipping through posters in the mall, trying to find the perfect Backstreet Boys pin-up for Chet’s graduation gift, when I stumbled across some decorative words of wisdom.

The poster said, in large letters, “All I really needed to know, I learned in kindergarten.”

Yeah, whatever.

If that’s the case, then life’s little lessons can be summed up in three words: Don’t eat paste.

Sure I learned back in the day not to lick a frozen flagpole, run with scissors or mess around with electricity. I was taught to zip up my fly and always Velcro my shoes. And I discovered early on not to kick my sister in the mouth with cowboy boots on. At least not if we’re in church.

But is that really all the information I need for the rest of my life?

If so, then I’ve spent 12 years of grade school and 8 years of college learning things like calculus, humanities and reading for absolutely no reason at all.

As my last few weeks of formal education draw to a close, I’ve tried to look back at the past decade and ask myself what I’ve actually learned at Iowa State. The way I look at it, I was already aware of the dangers of flagpoles, Velcro and cowboy boots, so I must have picked something up during my stay in Ames.

Here’s a quick rundown of a few things that come to mind.

A semester-long project is called that because that’s how long you have between the time you get the assignment and when you’re expected to begin.

Ninety percent of homework is done between the hours of midnight and 5 a.m., and that’s only after the dishes are done, the floor is swept, your room is rearranged and you’ve called everyone you know to check in on them.

Naps are good, even if they happen to come in the middle of the lecture hall. Just make sure you don’t twitch and knock your books off your desk. However, if that does happen, just glare at the person sitting next to you and scream, “What the hell is that all about?”

Certain words can mean many things.

For example, you cover a friend when you’re charged a cover at the door to see a cover band perform. After the show, you may take cover from the rain with someone special or play under the covers when you get home.

And I won’t even get into the range of emotions “friend” can convey. Think about it. You’re a true friend. Good. I hope we can still be friends. Not so good. Enough said.

Working out at the Rec Center is good, clean, wholesome fun. And it’s free. But the only times you’ll appreciate it are your first two months and your last semester. It takes a lot of laps to make up for years of dormancy.

Croquet is a lot tougher than it looks.

Decisions in the grocery store come down to which gallon of milk is 7 cents cheaper or how many packets of noodles you can get for a dollar, but that night you’ll spend three bucks for a beer or two bucks for a shot you don’t even think twice.

If you’re expecting an important phone call from someone special, the phone won’t ring for days. However, if you’re dozing off after lunch on the couch, calls will come every seven minutes or whenever you achieve REM sleep — all of them for your roommates.

I can’t claim to know much about life’s greatest mystery — women — but there are a few certainties I’ve come across.

If you meet a nice young lady and an amazing conversation ensues, she’s either got a boyfriend or she’s from out of town. If the two of you really hit it off and you’re sure there’s chemistry between you, then the boyfriend is a jerk or the town is in Montana.

Ex-boyfriends are hard to understand. If you’re the ex, she needs to make a clean break. If he’s the ex, she just needs time to work things out and see if there’s still something there.

And no matter how much you want to call her after it’s over, you’ve gotta be strong and not pick up the phone. The only time there’s a happy ending after a breakup is if you live in a John Cusack movie.

The only thing I’ve figured out is that things happen for a reason. You may not like it at the time, but if it was meant to be, it will all work out in the end.

Or maybe I just read that on a poster somewhere.