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. It runs weekly, on Fridays. 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 7, 1997

Midterms suck.

So there I was, staring at a blank blue book, dreaming of driving south on I-35 on my way to the tournament, knowing full well that I was about to fail this exam.

I knew I was in trouble when I didn’t know the very first question on the test. Especially because it was the only question on the test.

Maybe if I would have studied, I would have been able to discuss the early childhoods, historical contributions and sociological significance of Galileo and Louis Pasteur as well as how they are connected with the Chicago Fire and any astrological advances that came about as a result.

All I could come up with was that one inspired an Indigo Girls song and the other is the milk guy, the connection being that neither is alive today, sad but true.

Instead of learning three months of information during commercial breaks of movies for guys who like movies like a good continuing senior, I chose to go out the night before to celebrate Eddie’s cousin Chet’s roommate Pablo’s 21st birthday.

I chose poorly.

That was obvious this morning when I woke up covered in dried mud with that distinctive taste of cat turds in my mouth and still wearing my hiking boots — tied securely around my waist holding up my swimsuit.

It was a weird, weird night.

So there I was, sitting next to the birthday boy, watching him throw down Vulcan Mind Probes as if he were Spock’s twin brother when I heard him belt out his battle cry, “Show me the whiskey!!”

After three years of college and five fake IDs, he had finally arrived at the promised land of legality.

His special day started at Happy Joe’s where we gave Pablo a loud round of applause and even got him to stand up for us and wave as we all joined in singing “Happy Birthday.”

Because Eddie was such a good singer, they even let him play with the horn while some guy behind the counter made siren sounds through the loudspeaker.

That’s what it comes down to. Free sundaes and a pitcher of Old Milwaukee combine for family birthday fun.

After three large taco pizzas, eight pitchers of Old Mud, a couple not-so-free sundaes and several games of Pole Position, we were ready for a night on the town.

This is where the events of the night get a bit hazy.

Here are the things I know for sure:

I fell off the stage at the bar.

I got four phone numbers in the short time I was out.

I burned a hole in my flannel shirt. Again.

I spent $45.

I slept under the Campanile for a few hours.

I traded clothes with someone in the fire station parking lot.

Here are the things I’m not so sure about:

How many times I fell.

Why all the phone numbers start with 1-900.

How the hole got to be 8 inches in diameter and why I’m not scarred.

Where the hell I got $45 and why I still have 30 bucks still in my wallet, half of which is Canadian money.

Where I got the electric blanket and pillow and if the Campanile had a plug-in.

Whom I traded clothes with, when she wants them back, if any firefighters were watching and why the hell they didn’t help me put out my flannel inferno.

Aside from those few concerns, it was just like any other night out on the town with the boys.

Pablo ended up spending the night on Swan Island in Lake Laverne.

Eddie made a snow fort and pretended he was on the Ice Planet Hoth and that Han Solo was on his way to save him from that one ugly, hairy monster.

Chet sprained his ankle trying to swim laps in the Memorial Union fountain because he forgot there wasn’t any water in it this time of year.

With break right around the corner, I’ve just got to sit back and count my blessings.

I’ve got a place to stay at Embassy Suites with 10 other guys so I won’t be sleeping outside the eighth floor elevators again. Pablo is finally 21 and still standing so he doesn’t have to use his sister’s fake, and I think I got partial credit for that milk-guy answer.