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.

January 29, 1999

So there I was, flipping through channels in my flannel Saturday pants when Sydney comes out of her room, plops down next to me and asks, “So, what’s up with you and Taylor?”

Here we go again.

Since the odds of me ever being in a relationship that lasts longer than two dates are somewhere between the possibility of me trading in my Ford for a trained elephant and the chances the newly formed Bulls have of keeping the championship trophy in Chicago, people tend to take notice when I hang out with the same person for more than a couple weeks. Or more accurately, when that person is willing to hang out with me.

“We’re just good friends.”

“You mean, it’s like you were just good friends with Chelli?”

“No, because I was obsessed with Chelli, and she never called me back. That was simply denial.”

“So this is like when you were really good friends with Elise?”

“No, because Elise was psychotic and I just didn’t want to come home and find Jim, our pet iguana, in the crockpot. Jimmy doesn’t like hot tubs.”

“But is it the same as when you were really good friends with Nikki?”

“Ouch.”

“Sorry.”

She knows the rules about making reference to the devil. If someone says her name, all conversation must come to a grinding halt, and the perpetrator must leave the room for at least an hour. And when that person returns, he or she must come bearing gifts. Melissa brings me lilacs, Chet and Sydney bring out the Samples’ “Transmissions from the Sea of Tranquility” and Eddie makes me a Captain and Coke. I hate lilacs.

With her out of the room, I was able to sit back, watch “Say Anything” and evaluate my relationship with Taylor.

Ever since the night at Hunky’s when we two-or-three-stepped the night away, we’ve been hanging out quite a bit.

We’ve grabbed quick bites to eat between classes and during study breaks. We took in a women’s basketball game. We even saw “Thin Red Line,” which can test anyone’s friendship.

We even went to the library together for a few hours. Granted, she studied while I wrote in and organized my daily planner, which I’ll probably never open again, but it was quality time.

But best of all, we talked.

I told her about my crazy Uncle Joe and nutty Aunt Betty (who would probably have a heart attack if she found out that I was spending this much time with a female), and she shared memories of holidays at her grandma’s house with her 37 cousins.

We compared horror stories of past part-time jobs. She’s not exactly proud of her stint at Hooters in Des Moines, and I was embarrassed to tell her about being an elf over the holidays for the mall Santa. You would think I’d be over the self-consciousness, but it’s only been three weeks.

When we started talking exercise, the reasons behind our differing body shapes became obvious. She has spent a couple hours aerobicising every day for the last four years while my most strenuous physical activity was streaking around sorority circle my last semester in the house. You never really know how fast stray dogs can run until you test them.

So after all of these enlightening conversations, we’re closer than ever, and we know more secrets and have more blackmail on each other than Larry Flynt could ever come up with.

Now I’m not saying marriage is the next step. In fact, quite the contrary. It’s my newest New Year’s resolution to try to maintain a friendship with femalia without sexuality or stupidity getting in the way.

And when Sydney came back into the room with the Samples in her hand, I told her that that’s what’s up with me and Taylor.

For now.