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.

March 5, 1999

So there I was, captivated by the latest “Road Rules” controversy on MTV in which scammer guy gets decked by attitude girl for getting nasty with last year’s innocent sweetie in the group’s RV, when Melissa walked in the living room and asked what I thought was going to be a simple question.

“So what’s the plan for spring break?”

“Jump in the car, drive a couple thousand miles, camp out in a parking lot in the mountains with an empty gas tank, find civilization, fill up with fuel, drive home. Why?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Well, we’ll probably stop and take funny or obscene pictures with peculiar road signs along the way.”

“No, dumbass. The fact that we’re going with you.”

Doh.

I had almost forgotten the conversation Taylor and I had after F.A.C. a couple weeks ago. When she propped my head up at 8:15 that evening and told me that she was looking forward to spending time with me and my boys over spring break, I was mildly confused. Then she explained it to me.

“Well, Chet and Sydney didn’t want to spend the week away from each other, so Chet talked to Eddie and Sydney talked to Melissa and they both talked to me and we all decided that we’d take Eddie’s Cherokee somewhere and spend the week as a group.”

I’ve gotta remember to write down anything relatively important anyone says to me after one of Paul Wright’s shows.

Back to Melissa and her inquiry.

So there I was, trying to find a way to change the topic, when she suggests going back to her uncle’s summer home near Phoenix.

At first, I was foolishly enthusiastic. We’re talking million-dollar house with an Olympic-sized swimming pool and a hot tub bigger than my hometown situated on the 18th hole of one of the nicest golf courses in Arizona.

Maybe that’s why I said “Yes,” and then she said “Goodie,” and then I said “Well, wait a second,” and then she said “I’ll go tell the others.”

And then I kicked myself in the head. Figuratively, of course. I can’t even touch my toes without requiring two days of recovery and a full-body massage.

Mmm … massage.

So why was I upset at the thought of spending a whole week in our own little paradise?

I have to admit, I’d enjoy the romantic implications of watching the sun set over the mountains from my seat next to Taylor in the hot tub.

But spring break with girls?

Now, girls you don’t know? Maybe. Girls you’ll never see again in your life? Quite possibly. Girls dancing on the beach with a margarita in one hand and a maraca in the other, singing reggae love songs to me in the moonlight? I guess I could handle that for a couple days.

But spring break with your two female roommates and the object of your obsession? It’s just sick and wrong.

Sure, Chet’s going to love it. In fact, it’s because Eddie and I showed up at this place two years ago while Sydney, Melissa and Taylor were staying there that he and Sydney are together.

It’s a classic love story.

Eddie and I just happened to be near the Rio Grande one night when Eddie found a phone number that Sydney and Melissa had given him the week before. We call the mystery number, get a few directions, and eight hours later we’re there. After spending two days with us, the girls found we weren’t all bad.

Once we got back to Ames, we started hanging out with the ladies quite a bit, and that’s when Eddie’s cousin Chet visited from Nebraska. Deciding that Chet was by far the best of the three, Sydney spent a weekend hanging out with him, and they’ve been inseparable after since.

It warms my heart when my shortcomings can bring happiness to others.

I’m just worried that when Taylor is strutting around looking fine in her bikini, she’s going to take one look at me in my trunks doing my involuntary impression of Jabba the Hut and never want to talk to me again.

But hey, there’s always the obscene pictures of road signs idea.