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.
Due to unpopular demand, I've broken this down into month size chunks. Lucky you.
SEPT - OCT - NOV - DEC - JAN - FEB - MARCH -APRIL - MAY
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.
18 Jan 1996 13:45:29 -0800 (PST)
Subject: It's not the CG report, it's Me-hee-co!
Friday Bill and Dave Ninja and I rented a 1996 gold Cadillac Deville with 1,250 miles on it to drive to San Diego to see Village of the Midgets and to go to Tijuana to eat tacos, buy switchblades and drink tequilla. Jorelle Father of Superman went with us, but Janelle didn't appreciate me calling her Jorelle Father of Superman and she got mad, so sometimes I wouldn't call her Jorelle. We jumped up and down at the car rental place asking for the pimpiest Caddy they had and they almost wised up enough not to rent to us. They blew it, and let us have it. We had it fully insured so we could destroy it worry-free and went home to watch Terror of Tiny Town, a midget western.
Bill bought a mess of 2 dollar cigars and a bottle of Bushmill's whiskey. I put on my white furry jacket and threw in a tape of Inna Godda Davida. Janelle's friend Dave drove to 924 Gilman Street and I sat in the back smoking a cigar. When we pulled up playing Inna Godda Davida really loud some punks just had to see who it was. Surprise! It was no one they recognized and I just sat in the back smoking and looking straight ahead. I wouldn't even acknowledge the presence of others until one punk asked if we were listening to Iron Butterfly. And then, all I said was yeah. We drove around San Francisco and Berkeley playing Street of San Francisco jumping hills and squeeling around turns.
The Caddy had a top speed of 112 mph (or 180 kph) at which the digital display would flash "Top End Reached" then "Fuel Cut Off" and it would cut the fuel forcing you to slow down. But it'd cruise at 111 mph just fine. Dave Ninja almost got his ass whooped in some hick town by some mean looking hispanic gangsters with tattoos on their necks when he didn't see them coming and failed to get out of the way, "Hey holmes, don't you see we're with our lady? Get the fuck outta the way." Oh yeah, that was right after we cut up and ate Twinkies from the engine block because it was so damn clean.
We reached San Diego at 4:30 a.m. and slpt in front of Kirstin's house. The next morning she wouldn't take us to see Village of the Midgets. I think she was bugged that we'd rent a car and drive 600 miles to see a couple of houses that midgets used to live in. Sheesh. We drove around Coronado and I tried to crack the oil pan on a rough dip, but no such luck. Kirstin quickly ditched us and left us with her friend's number who said she might go. We drove around killing time shocked by the realization that everyone in San Diego wears khaki shorts. I drove up to a naval base and asked to see the planes from World War II. The squid manning the gate was impressed by the Caddy and I blew it by letting on it was a rental and saying, "yeah, but when all the neat toys on this thing break in 5 years, this'll be the biggest piece of shit on wheels." He said, "You are a man who obviously doesn't know his Cadillacs" and gave us directions to the correct naval base. When we left I burned out, just like I did from every stop. It's just something you do in a Caddy--like parking with one front wheel on the curb. We blew off the other base and got directions to the midget houses from the tourist info center.
Two houses, with slightly smaller doors and windows, with addresses written in crazy midget writing. It was well worth it, and when we finished taking pictures Bill drove off and the Caddy started smoking. We got excited hoping it would burn up, but no such luck. We went to Tijuana instead.
We walked across the border and bought tacos, margaritas and pina colidas, Franken Berry cereal, toothpaste, switchblades and booze with the worm and booze with the Virgin Mary on the label. We blew it and didn't get our picture taken with the donkey painted to look like a zebra. Oh yeah, Bill bought some Mexican wrestler action figures too. On the cab ride back to the border the cabbie honked constantly and usually for no reason. On the way back, we stopped at McDonalds, poured the fries on the dashboard, squeezed the ketchup on the dash and ate that way. Like the kings that we are. We split for Sacto to drop off the ninja and made it back to Frisco by 3:30 am Saturday night--just in time for Freaks on cable teevee.
Sunday Bill and I picked up Steve Mar and his girl Jennifer to drive around and play the last of Streets of San Francisco in a 300 horsepower, $40,000 car. Steve was hung over and my driving was making him sick. I stomp on the gas at every stop and stomp the brakes to stop. I floored the brake and the gas to see who was master (the brakes). We sped up every hill so that the front tires would leave the ground and the tires would chirp when landing. We rolled backwards down hills and slammed the car into gear and punched it. Jennifer gave us directions to a scarey hill for jumping where there were no stop signs. I chickened out at flying across blind intersections at high speeds to jump the car, so Bill took over. Who woulda thunk a brand new Caddy could be jumped so the ALL FOUR tires would leave the ground and sparks would shoot on landing? Certainly not the rental car company, and probably not Steve Mar who puked up his spaghetti dinner two blocks later saying, "Spaghetti Worms!!" The Caddy stalled, but re-started. We only got it to die on us twice, the other time was rolling frontwards down a hill with the car in reverse. It didn't like that much either.
When we took the Caddy back the next morning, we left bullet shells, an empty vodka bottle, receipts from Tijuana and a Singles magazine opened to the ads for hookers on the floor. We took back our Pine Tree Air Freshener though. The rental company called, but I didn't return the call. I really doubt I'll be able to get a car at Enterprise under my name anymore.
Date: Tue, 30 Jan 1996 19:33:58
Subject: Oh my god, she's back: 1/29/96
After a not at all long enought respite from the Cute Girl's zaniness, she's back in one of my classes. Almost two, but she got tossed outta one on her raving ass. Anyways, she asked how break was and I said swell. She said hers was horrible--she needed surgery. Yeah, we should've had a pool on this one, but yep, it was her arm. Crippled from lack of power steering. We should take up a collection for the poor people that can't afford power steering, before they're all crippled, too. After her surgery, she couldn't drive because driving with one-hand is very difficult, don't you know? She had to just sit around a lot without her wheels. So she promised lots of rave stories for me, but then got kicked outta class for not having a pre-requisite. Luckily for us, she turned up in my geology class, so that means field trips with the Cute Girl. Maybe she'll let me steer her car, heh heh heh.... So geology was just filled with pointless yammering (much like my reports), but nothing that was amusing--not even in a retarded DaveSmith sort of way.
Date: Wed, 31 Jan 1996 14:53:15
Subject: Cute Report 1/31/96
I walk into Geology, do a quick CG scan and sit. She hollers at me for being an idiot and not sitting next to her. I completely missed her. She was wearing a damn hat that looked like a boring earth-tone brown and white fez pulled down over her coconut. And you thought rave fashion was the worst--try mixing it with hippy stuff. She did a lot of squawking, but hell if I remember what she said. That happens a lot when she's yammering at me. She asked if I'd be her lab partner, so maybe I'll be probing her mantle by the end of the semester. Ha ha, I slay me. I'm sure Dave Ninja the Geology weenie knows all the cool innuendos. Maybe I should ask which ones would work on her like a controlled experiment. Oh yeah, if you have any questions you want me to ask her, let me know. That's what she's there for.