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. It runs weekly, on Fridays. 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.

December 4, 1998

So there I was, washing down a bite of Grandma’s famous green bean and onion casserole with a swig of Old Style, when I heard the question being asked from across the room.

“So how’s the love life going? Is there anybody special yet?”

Even in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner, with three dozen relatives, the pastor and his wife, and Grandma’s annoying neighbors enjoying some good old fashioned home cooking, my nutty Aunt Betty has to embarrass me.

I mean, it’s not enough that because of some age-old rule that segregates the family’s generations, I still have to sit at the little kids table with nine cousins who can barely cut their own food.

Tradition dictates the seating arrangement in our household, and unless you’re a married member of society, your butt’s stuck at the kids table.

I’ve learned to cope with eating holiday meals while discussing Teletubbies and Power Rangers, and I’ve even gotten used to the fact that I’ll still be using the Disney glassware when I reach my mid-life crisis, but it wouldn’t be possible without my crazy Uncle Joe.

Ever since the accident with the JuiceMaster 2000 when he tried to sneak a taste of his pepperoni pizza malt in mid-puree, Uncle Joe hasn’t had the best luck with women.

As a result, he and I get to spend some quality time at every family get-together as we steal Snickers salad from our infant kin.

But back to the inquisition.

Aunt Betty thinks that she has to be keyed in to my personal life every minute of every day. But truth is she still thinks I’m getting over my relationship with Julie Van Somethingorother.

Though it’s been 14 years and 50 family feasts since Julie broke up with me during the Moonlight Skate at J-4 Rollaway, Aunt Betty still thinks that the passion is there.

Because of her obsession with my relationships, I usually take the presidential approach to her questioning and deny everything. And just as I was about to utter the traditional “No comment,” my mom piped in and served up a juicy morsel of gossip for Aunt Betty to gnaw on.

“What about that Nikki girl?”

Damn her and her honesty.

“Nikki, huh?” Aunt Betty inquired. “What about that Julie girl?”

“Forget it, we’re just friends,” I yelled toward the adult section of the dining room. “And Julie moved away a decade ago!”

“Tough break, kid,” Uncle Joe sympathized between sips of Old Style.

But the damage had been done. Twenty-five men and women, all of whom have jobs and families and lives of some sort, spent the next hour discussing my pathetic situation while grilling my parents for details about Nikki, most of which were made up by my senile old man.

After dinner, I hopped in my car and drove back to Ames with one question still ringing in my ears.

“So, are you going to bring this Nikki girl to Christmas?”

The sad thing is that I wouldn’t have minded inviting Nikki to a family gathering, at least to meet my crazy Uncle Joe. But alas, it appears that joint holiday celebrations won’t be in our future.

When I got back from Thanksgiving break, I stopped by Nikki and Chelli’s apartment to say hey, and Nikki wasn’t there.

Chelli was just sitting around watching “The Real World Marathon,” so I pulled up some floor space and told her I would just hang out until Nikki got home.

About eight episodes into the 10-hour saga, Chelli cleared her throat and said, “You know, there’s something you should probably know.”

Thinking that she was going to tell me about what happened to the Seattle gang on their trip to Nepal or which ones got the spots on the radio show, I told her to break the news to me.

“I talked to Nikki last night for a couple hours,” she said. “She’s kinda made a decision about something since she’s been home.”

Thinking I was reliving some bad dream, I just asked what the decision was.

“Well,” she shrugged, “it seems that she and her ex-boyfriend are going to try to work things out over Christmas break. They spent this whole week together, and even though he slept with a few people while they were dating, she thinks that there’s a chance.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry. If you want to, you can still hang out and watch the rest of the marathon. I hear Stephen and Irene get in this nasty brawl.”

Why not? When all else fails, sit back in your ex-fling’s apartment with her roommate that you tried to date and blow off homework while enjoying other people’s misery over some leftover pumpkin pie and Old Style.

And they say breaking up is hard to do.