Daily Staff Writer

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 will run 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.

September 6, 1996

Well, it’s been a week since I’ve written anything. A lot has gone on and I haven’t really felt like writing it down, but I guess now is as good of time as any.

So there I was last night, just getting silly sloppy. The night before, Tina and I had a talk. Make that “the talk.” Having “the talk” was not fun.

She started out by saying she had to tell me something and that something didn’t look to be good. It took her an hour of stumbling over words before she could say it, but when she did…hoo boy.

Remember those two ex-boyfriends that she said that she had kissed? Turns out that kissing was the good part. Come to find out, girl got a little nasty when I was out of town. A couple times.

She justified it by saying she was confused with where we were at in our relationship. I took care of that confusion by letting her know exactly where we were at.

A few curses later (by both of us mind you) the situation had been resolved, I told her where she could go and who with, and I told her I never wanted to see her again.

Maybe I overreacted. I doubt it. Oh well, Ob la di, Ob la da, life goes on.

So after “the talk,” I talked to Eddie and he told me that there are other fish in the sea. I’ve never liked that saying, but that’s the one that he used.

So back to last night (or ahead to last night, whatever), I’m silly sloppy and on my fifth or ninth drink of the night and I see an attractive young lady.

Now she’s not the most beautiful girl in the bar, but she’s got these soft, brown eyes. I’d say puppy dog eyes, but I don’t like that saying either. But, that’s basically what they’re like.

So I go up to her in that great “why, no I’m not approaching you to hit on you because I’m drunk” way and attempt to start conversation.

I ask her what she’s drinking. (Usually a safe starter) She says whiskey sour. Very nice. I smile, nod and feel better about things.

She mentions that she enjoys a splash of amaretto in her drink as well. Then I realized that I’ve found my soulmate.

I ask what her name is and she says her name is Michelle, but everyone calls her Chelli. Like Shelley, but different. I figure that’s pretty cool right there.

We discuss things for a while and I think we covered all of the “what did you do this summer” and “what are you up to this semester” type of stuff and then we had our first brush with mortality.

Bar patrol. Chick cop.

She asked Chelli for her ID and I figured that the newfound apple of my eye (not a great saying either) was about to be hauled outside.

But she produced identification without a pause (looked real, too!) and it didn’t get a second glance. I didn’t get checked (hardly ever do) and chick cop was on her way.

The bar closed down and I had spent the whole night with her (Chelli, not chick cop) so I offered to walk her home (for safety purposes of course) and she accepted. This was a good thing.

So we talked the whole way home and when we got to her door, she thanked me for a pleasant evening (she actually said pleasant) and said that she’d like to see me again (actually I asked her if she’d like to see me again and she sort of nodded).

I was getting kind of worried that we’d talked about everything and wouldn’t have anything to talk about on our date. And there would be a date, oh yes, there would be a date.

So I told her that I should take off and I gave her a hug.

Not a cheesy, congratulations on graduation or saying goodbye to the aunts and uncles hug.

Not an overzealous reunited lovers on the beach end of the movie hug.

Just a hug between two people that had enjoyed each other’s company while they were together.

I came home, sat on my couch, cracked a beer, and listened to Dancing Lucinda on repeat until I fell asleep for the night.

When Eddie came downstairs this morning, the song was still playing, the beer can was still in my hand (turned sideways now) and I had spilled half a can of Bud in my lap.

And I was happier than I’d been in a long time.