Cute Girl Report

A little back ground: These were weekly reports written when I was getting my college boy degree. I'm currently pursuing a career as governer which explains and excuses the drunken spelling. Dave Ninja saved my email reports and compiled 'em into one big mound of crap. And he supplied me with the "explains and excuses" line.

Due to unpopular demand, I've broken this down into month size chunks. Lucky you.


Okay, here's the set-up. I met this girl the first day of school, and then lo and behold she turns out to be in one of my classes. I came home, and started writing the Cute Girl Report up on my roommate's wall. Some days it kinda sucks, and some days it ain't so bad. But it is long and it is text based, and after all, you are just killing time at work or between classes. It makes me laugh, anyway.

Tue., Sept. 5: Meet cute girl, talk about her field work in Ireland.

Wed., Sept. 6: Cute girl shows up in California Archaeology. I sit across the room from her and play hard to get.

Fri., Sept. 8: Walk into Arch. class. Cute Girl (C.G.) sitting in front of my spot from Wednesday's class. Her short sleeve shirt reveals a tribal tattoo! Ooh-eee, She's a modern primative! She introduces herself as Andrea.

Mon., Sept. 13: I'm in class first, and C.G. sits next to me. She says, "So where did you say you lived?" I tell her. She complains about the poor parking, and asks if I take the bus. I tell her motorcycle. She says she takes the bus because the parking sucks. Then complains about how long the bus takes.

Wed., Sept. 13: She's in class first and I sit next to her. She talks about where she lives--Haight and Stanyan, "You know, Upper Haight." Nope, I say. Not a clue. She says by the McDonalds and I say okay, now I know where. She has to leave right after class for a doctor's appointment. She's got a few AIDS Walk buttons on her backpack.

Fri., Sept. 15: C.G. says, "Hi Dave!" she's already in the class. She complains about her arm, and I ask what the doctor's appointment was for. She has to get regular cortisone shots because she needs surgery. Her shoulder is fucked up from the lack of power steering on her Honda CRX. She had to sell it and buy a Nissan 240SX with power steering because of it. Further attempts to get her to talk did no good--she was busy reading. When she left, she said, "Have a nice weekend."

Mon., Sept. 18: Walk out of bathroom at library and run into C.G. She asks what's up, and I say I'm just killing time before class (usually a 2 hour process). She says she's making copies and asks if I wanna go with. I say sure. She makes copies and asks what I did that weekend. I tell her I went to see the Fastbacks and she says, "Who?" I start to tell her about the barfight at the show at the Nightbreak. It's the most violent barfight I've seen. A big ol' skinhead (6'8"? tallest and biggest guy in the bar for sure) had started fucking with some white guy with dreadlocks. The white guy kept getting punched, walking away, and then going back for more. On one of his return trips his girlfriend went along for the ride. She jumped up and punched the skinhead. He laughed and put his fist in her face. Later reports said she got half a dozen stitches. Soon many people jumped into the fight, and the skin just kept laughing like he was playing a game and kept on kicking ass. Many busted glasses and spilt beer later, they finally got the skin to leave. He was still laughing. But not after some little guy (yeah, even littler than me) tossed his pint glass into the fight. Some guy was lying on the ground no moving for a minute or so, but I'm not sure if he had been punched or if the little guy connected. The pint glass wasn't aimed, just heaved into the crowd. I saw many people walking around with blood on them--if not their own than from the blood spraying when Punchy the Skinhead was playing too rough. Anyways, I start to tell C.G. and she's totally unimpressed. She says "Ooh yuck" and shuts me up before I even get to the good stuff. She buys a Peach Ice Tea Snapple and Jr. Mints that she shares with me. She tells me she wants to write her archaeology paper on shamanism and/or peyote. Blech. She's a 2nd year Junior. She's Eastern European Jewish, and wears those Doc Martin clogs with her jean cuffs cut off. Oh, and she has one of those backpack purses in addition to her regular backpack.

Wed. Sept. 25: See C.G. before class whilst I'm mailing Credentials of Ministry postcards (I had ordained some people with whiskey or tequilla--their choice, a shot or two for each of us down the hatch and a congratulations reverend handshake). I tell her I ordained some people and that I'm a five dollar Archbishop. She's unimpressed and walks off to buy bottled H2O. In class she sees my tattoo of Krazy Kat & Ignatz and is unimpresses except by the colors. Very little talking is done.

Fri., Sept. 29: C.G. complains about having a migraine last night. I ask her what she's doing tonight and she's hanging out with friends. I mention I'm going to Gilman tonight. She thinks it's kinda quaint, "Oh really, I used to hang out there when I was 15." We part with generic "See you Monday" type things. Oh yeah, today cut off cuffs, and HIGH HEELED clogs.