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.

February 12, 1999

So there I was, watching “Growing Pains” on the Disney Channel with Chet and Eddie when Sydney came in the living room, cuddled up to Chet and asked one of the many questions that guys fear.

“So, what are you getting Taylor for Valentine’s Day?”

That girl and her damn questions.

“We’re just really good friends.”

“Yeah, but you’ve hung out with each other every day for the last three weeks. That’s deserving of recognition.”

She had a point.

“I’ll get her a card.”

Eddie hit mute. “A card? You’re going to get the girl a card? Cards are what you send your sister, your kindergarten teacher or your parents’ dog. Cards are what you get in the mail from the ex-girlfriend that’s happily engaged. Cards are what your boss from your part-time mall job hands you on your way out the door.”

“So what are you saying?”

“You send her a card, you gotta move out.”

Then they started ganging up.

“He’s got a point,” Chet chimed in. “You guys seem to connect. Even if you did make some stupid vow that you wouldn’t get involved with her, you gotta show more heart than that.”

Sydney smiled. She was proud of her man. That and we were talking about her best friend, and if I screwed Taylor over, she’d be hearing about it for months.

The problem wasn’t that I didn’t want to show heart, it’s just that I wanted to regulate how much I showed. Too much and I freak her out. Too little and I piss her off.

They need to come up with conversion tables for birthdays, anniversaries and holidays. Five years equals engagement. Four months equals jewelry. Three weeks equals dinner and flowers. Two nights equals dollar bottles at People’s.

But then you’ve gotta figure in quantity and quality multiplied by length of relationship. If you’ve gone out every night for three weeks, it’s more intense than being together every other weekend for two months.

Then you’ve gotta look at each outing in context. Were you with your friends and she was with her friends and you ended up at the same place or did you plan a romantic night alone by the fireplace?

Mmm … fireplace.

In order to make sense of all these variables, you’ll need one of those fancy calculators that engineers carry around that have the capabilities of launching the space shuttle while toasting your grilled cheese sandwich and programming your VCR to tape Tinky Winky and the rest of the Teletubbies.

And when you come up with the answer to that equation, you’re still not done.

Because you haven’t figured in the friends factor.

The expectations are going to be a lot different if you’ve been friends for years as opposed to getting hot and heavy the first night you met.

In our case, the friends factor is even more complex since her friends are my friends, and my friends are dating her friends, and our friends have met friends of friends, and in the end, the two of us are just really good friends.

But I think I’m starting to like her.

A lot.

I know; I promised. I made a pact with myself that I wouldn’t like her and wouldn’t think about her with any impure thoughts, but damnit, I’m only human.

Two people spend that much time together, and something is bound to happen. I’m not talking about a little sumthin sumthin; I just mean they’re going to find something that connects them. And Chet was right. We connect.

I just don’t know what the next step is. And damn the forces that be for screwing up my timeline with a major romantic type of holiday.

Give me a couple more months, and I’ll know for sure where we stand. But what’s in a couple months? April Fools Day. That’s my luck.

So, I’ll take it slow, play it cool and drop subtle hints about my feelings while still being the great friend that she has come to know and like. And when the time is right, regardless of holiday or general mood of my roommates, then I’ll drop the hammer.

Until then, I’m just going to go simple. I’ll still get a card, but I’ll give it to her with her own copy of “Say Anything,” the first movie we ever watched together.

I just hope she doesn’t give me a pen in return. Or a card.