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 22, 1999

So there I was, lying on the couch, watching “An Intimate Biography of Barbara Mandrell” on Lifetime, which is television for women, me and my roommates, when Melissa comes out of the bathroom after her shower, casually walks by in her robe and doesn’t say a word before closing the door to her bedroom.

And that’s what happens when roommates kiss on New Year’s Eve.

Back in the good old days, she would have sat down with me and watched how Barbara went from a child star on the steel guitar to a legendary country singer to a television hit with her sisters to a depressed and injured victim of a car crash to a model mother, all while keeping the faith.

But now, she just walks on by.

Sure, we still talk, but now it’s more like:

“Whatcha watching?”

“‘Webster.’ Wanna watch with me?”

“Is this the one where George and Ma’am get mad at him due to a misunderstanding and then forgive him all too quickly?”

“Well, yeah.”

“That’s OK, I’ve gotta do dishes.”

It’s weird because you can tell that we dig each other, but now it’s like the flirtation game is over, and now we either date or forget anything ever happened.

After last night, though, that choice is a little easier.

So there I was, talking to Eddie’s cousin Chet, Chet’s old roommate Pablo and Pablo’s brother Carl, who is legally blind and still watches “Crocodile Hunter” all the time, when Chet’s girlfriend Sydney walks in with her best friend Taylor, and Taylor starts giving us grief.

Out of nowhere, she starts going off on me and the boys about how we have no culture in our lives. When I tried to explain to her about the Barbara Mandrell documentary, she quickly silenced me.

“You guys need to try something different every now and then. Try something new.”

I tried to tell her that the last time we played darts, we played 301 instead of cricket or cutthroat, and that was a big change in our lives.

She didn’t buy that.

Then Pablo reminded her that a couple weekends ago, we played board games and sang karaoke at Tradewinds. And just last weekend, we took in a women’s hockey game and a women’s basketball game.

Now, that’s diversity damnit.

Once again, she insisted that it wasn’t good enough.

And that’s how we ended up at Hunky Dory’s last night.

It sounded like a good enough idea — cheap drinks, good friends, funny hats and cheap drinks — but I have to admit, I felt a little out of place when I walked in and wasn’t wearing cowboy boots or my name on my belt.

Always one to adapt to the environment, I sat at the table with Eddie and the girl he’s dating, Chet, Sydney, Melissa, Taylor, Pablo and Carl.

When the first couple George Strait songs came on, I felt like I was in for a long night. At least I assume they were George Strait songs because I don’t really know of any other country artists except the Dixie Chicks, and I just like the sound of their name.

Just when I was about to start feeling sorry for my urban-cowboy self, I recognized a Garth Brooks song and worked up the courage to ask Taylor to dance. She said yes — I think she was impressed with my culture and courtesy — and soon enough, we were out there two-stepping as if we knew what we were doing.

Another slowish song came on, and we were still two-stepping. Then, a John Michael Montgomery song came on — OK, so I know a couple country singers — and we’re still tearing up the floor.

Then, a really fast song came on, and I swear to God they hired professional dancers from CMT to crash the party. These people were swinging body parts here and boots and spurs there. It was an amazing sight to behold. They have a hell-of-a lot more skill than I could ever dream of.

During the last song of the night, I found myself again dancing with Taylor to our customized two-step, but when I looked across the dance floor, I saw Pablo and Melissa engaged in a customized no-step right there on the dance floor. Now maybe they were just singing the words to each other, but nobody has to get that close to talk.

So there I was, just having fun dancing with Taylor, when I shrugged my shoulders and giggled to myself and thought, “Thank God, I’m a country boy.”