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.

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November 22, 1996

It’s been over a week and a half of no contact with Chelli, so last night I realized I was ready to get on with my life so I went out ready to head into break on a good note.

After a couple hours and several bucks worth of buck drinks, Eddie and I were ready to head across the street and shake our thangs on the dance floor.

When we got over there, we did the traditional stand-by-the-dance-floor-scanning-the-crowd-without-looking-like-we’re-scanning-the-crowd-while-nodding-our-heads-to-Rumpshaker ritual.

Then I spotted her.

It was the black cat from Halloween night whose name I never got and she was here, in the flesh. Well, not exactly in the flesh, but it’s a nice thought.

I sliced and diced my way through the bouncing crowd until I not-so-accidentally bumped into her.

She recognized me without my Mr. McFeeley costume and was more than happy to be my partner for “Humpty Dance” and then “Tootsie Roll” but I knew I was set when “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails came on and she said,”Ohh, I love this song!”

Cha-ching. Cha-ching.

When the night finally ended, I offered to walk her home again since it was late and it was cold and yada yada yada.

So we’re walking to her apartment and when we get there, we talked for a while outside her building.

The whole time we’re talking, I’m freezing my ass off. I loaned her my flannel to wear on the walk home, so there I am left shivering to death in a T-shirt.

After a not-so-quick kiss goodnight, she heads inside and I turn to walk home when I realize that she’s still got my shirt. My only protection from the arctic cold was being walked up three flights of stairs inside where it was toasty and warm.

Then I remembered that most places have tenants’ names listed by the apartment numbers so that you can be buzzed inside. I’m saved!

That’s when I remembered my little problem.

Knowing I’m screwed and that hypothermia is taking a hold of my extremities because I still don’t know her name, I just decide to head home.

I started to walk, then jog, then finally sprint down the block thinking that the increased pace would not only keep me warm, but it would get me home in bed quicker.

Only problem with that theory was the sidewalks were a bit slick.

I fell. Several times. I cut my head open. Bad.

Even worse than when I did a swan dive down a flight of stairs simply because I had fond memories of rolling down hills as a youngster. It just wasn’t the same.

My situation only got worse when I came upon the mall. I don’t live anywhere near the mall. In fact, if we were playing hot and cold and my house was hell, I was at the North Pole.

So I curled up next to KFC, gathered my thoughts and searched for the Northern Lights to guide me home as I wrapped my t-shirt around my melon to slow the bleeding.

I finally got my bearings and took off on my 4-mile not-so-fun run toward home nipping out with my teeth chattering the whole way.

I’m just glad that next week is break, so I can heal up, warm up, and try to find out my sweet little kitty cat’s name.