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. 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.

April 9, 1999

So there I was, relaxing on the couch with a couple breasts of freshly-grilled chicken, marinated in Italian parmesan dressing, touched off with a side of parmesan ranch dressing, when Taylor strolled from the bathroom to her bedroom with her face caked with green goop.

It was then that I realized that it’s going to take a while to get used to the girl I dig living with us.

It was weird enough when I mashed with Melissa on New Year’s.

And that meant nothing. It was one of those “whatever happens on New Year’s … happened on New Year’s” types of things.

Melissa was already my roomie before we got started, would still be roomie after our lips parted, and would be the older sister of my roomie if we ever got carded.

Taylor’s situation is different. She just moved in. We had an opening; she needed housing. She wanted to live with friends; we wanted to pay less rent.

The decision came about sometime between our “Police Academy” movie marathon and her walking in on my naked April Fool’s Day celebration.

She always complained about living with her older sister, Staci. They got along well enough, but it seemed like Staci was always picking on her. So says Taylor. And it seemed like Taylor was always on the phone and didn’t do her dishes. So says Staci.

The truth is out there.

So the night after our movie marathon, the six of us were sitting around Melissa’s uncle’s place counting the hours left in spring break. Taylor was telling us how much fun she was having (which I took quite personally, thank you) and how much she would love to live in our place.

Then it all happened.

There was a whole lot of love in the room and a whole lot of Captain in the Coke, and in no time, Chet and Sydney were going to share a room and Taylor was going to become our sixth resident.

As soon as we got back, she moved her stuff in. All four truckloads of it.

Within two weeks of becoming a roommate, she cooked us dinner, set up her electronic dartboard and washed the dishes faster than they were getting dirty.

And she saw me naked.

Needless to say, we had grown close. There I go again, saying it’s needless to say something, then saying it anyway.

Maybe that will be my new New Year’s resolution.

Because of that closeness, I felt part obligated, part excited about asking her to come to my grandma’s for Easter.

Before anyone jumped to conclusions, I alerted everyone via mass family e-mail that I was bringing a friend — just a friend, nothing more than a friend — home for Easter.

It couldn’t have been 20 minutes before Aunt Betty replied with “How good of a friend?”

That woman.

So Taylor and I made the trip eastward. She sat quietly as I sang along with the Gear Daddies, I smiled and nodded as she jammed to Stevie Wonder, and within a few short hours we were there.

My entire extended family was impressed that I had brought a female home, since up to that point they were sure that my 9-year-old twin cousins had more romantic interests than I could ever dream of.

That elation wore off quickly, though, as I explained the situation. Roommates. Nowhere to go. Alone in Ames. So sad.

I’m a gentleman, a hero and a teddy bear all wrapped into one, but I can’t work up the guts to just ask her on a date. Again, so sad.

It wasn’t a typical holiday.

Not expecting me to actually show up with a guest, there was one too few table settings available. So I ate in the kitchen while clearing plates and refilling water glasses. My crazy Uncle Joe tipped me 87 cents.

It was the type of weekend where you find out that your grandma gets more speeding tickets than the rest of the family combined, your older cousin’s income is doubled from scratch-off lottery tickets and your younger cousins were hitting on your roommate/friend while you were enjoying cold turkey and soggy corn while your grandma’s bird clock whistled at you every 15 minutes.

Needless to say, Taylor was amused.

Damn.