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 19, 1999

So there I was, pacing around the kitchen Sunday night, waiting for my Valentine’s Day feast to finish cooking, when a knock at the door let me know my dinner guest was early.

Forgetting I was wearing an apron I stole from food service as a freshman, a Fat Albert T-shirt and my boxers, I hurried to the front door and opened it to find Taylor standing on the porch.

Damn, she looked good.

She had an oversized red turtleneck and black bar pants on. The outfit seemed perfect for the holiday. Either that or sitting front row at a Bulls game. I can’t believe they’ve only won one game.

Anyway, she looked good.

I had promised her dinner, and though she thought it would be fine to go out to eat, I insisted. Afterward, I realized it was fear and not courtesy that brought about her suggestion.

Regardless, the eats were cooking in the oven, Taylor was chilling on the couch and I offered to make us a drink before dinner.

After putting some pants on, I began searching our liquor shelf for something tasty to sip. That’s when things started to go wrong.

It seems Eddie, Chet, Pablo and Carl had played cards until dawn Saturday night and had finished off the last of the Bacardi Limon along with an entire bottle of Captain. While I frantically searched for alternative beverages, I smelled something nasty and saw smoke coming from the oven.

And that’s how the potentially romantic night turned into an evening of sitting on the couch watching “The Simpsons,” washing down burnt Hamburger Helper with Busch Light.

After dinner, if you can call it that, we decided to exchange gifts.

I gave her my card, which had the personalized touch of a poem I had written about a guy who can’t seem to find the right words to tell a girl how he feels, and her copy of “Say Anything,” a tribute to the night we met.

About the card, she said, “That’s neat.” About the movie, “Oh, you remembered.” And about the poem, “It rhymes.”

OK.

Then she handed me two envelopes.

“All right, you have to open this one first.” She had a grin on her face like she knew the answer to “Wheel of Fortune” before anyone else and couldn’t stop bouncing her knee.

With nervous excitement, I opened the first envelope.

On the front of the card, it had this goofy looking half-cat, half-person thing saying, “If I had to choose between a duffel bag of toenail clippings and you, I’d choose you every time.” How sweet.

And on the inside? “Unless it was a really nice duffel bag.” Wow. That’s deep.

At this point, she just started giggling. “Do you get it? I just thought that it was funny. Now open the other one.”

Oh, I get it. First the funny haha, then the nice one that says that she feels the same way about me that I do about her and we kiss, and everything turns into a Meg Ryan movie.

As I opened the second envelope, all I could think was, “And the winner is …”

Not me.

Inside was a $25 gift certificate for Best Buy. A sweet gift, don’t get me wrong, but not the emotional symbol I had hoped for.

“I know how much you like your electronics,” she said. “Like your TV and your phone and stuff. I figured it was practical.” She was grinning from ear to ear.

Here’s the thing. I already have a TV, a VCR, a stereo, a phone and an answering machine. They’re not exactly things that you need several of. And if I did need something like that, not to sound unappreciative, but 25 bucks isn’t going to cover a fraction of it.

But I thanked her with a big ol’ hug, we each had another Busch Light, and I realized that somewhere between us there was definite breakdown in communication.

Not anymore.

Tonight’s the night I tell her just how I feel.

We’re going out to see The Nadas with some friends, and if all goes well, I think I’ll tell her during either “Dancing Lucinda” or “Disenchanted Heart.”

Of course, the way things are going, it’ll probably be “So Sad.”