I dunno, Jeb. I just dunno.

    I have posted a few times in a row now, haven't I?  Either I'm feeling more inspired than usual of late, or I simply have less to do.  Give you one guess which one of those is right.  I'll give you a hint: I haven't felt inspired (by anything but Gino and Danny Concannon) since the summer after my junior year of high school.  (yes, that was last summer.  what of it?  I feel older now...that's all that counts.)

    Anyway.  

    I'm an issues voter, I believe, not that I've yet had much experience, but that's what I believe anyway.  And if there were going to be an issue that would sway my vote the most, I don't think it would be health care or capital punishment or social security or the economy or school vouchers or...yeah, anything that's out there right now.  No, they'd have to invent a whole new issue to get me to really turn my head one direction or the other.  Don't get me wrong, this particular issue is one that has existed as long as the sands on the shores of the seas, my friends.  However, it's never been given any serious attention.

    But now I have the ears of...well...not many, maybe, but...yeah, a few.  The Internet as my sword and my as-anonymous-as-possible identity as my shield, I will cast a mighty blow to this thing, this tempest, this plague upon both of our proverbial houses:

SEXUAL TENSION .

    You know it.  I know it.  The socially stunted junior high kids know it.  This monster is everywhere: it hides in our daily conversations with people who could be our best friends, it burrows itself into the dashboard when two people reach for the stereo switch at the same awkward moment, it laughs conspicuously and loudly in our blushing faces when we realize that our good-natured attempts at being good people have just been taken the wrong way.  The wrong way.  That's what this monster is called.  Because sex doesn't even have to have anything to do with it.  Just people thinking other people are thinking something that those other people aren't thinking, and rethinking all of this too late.

    I grew up in a family filled with testosterone: three older brothers, a father, and a decidedly male dog.  It was just me, my mom, and the two aloof cats (and for a time, the guinea pig) without that pesky Y chromosome that causes so much trouble.  So I relate nicely to guys.  Often more nicely than I do to girls, or at least it feels that way to me, so I have several good friends who are all of the man type.  Now, as I venture off into the wild blue that is college and the life here and after, I'm leaving several of those friendships with the man types by the regretful wayside, bidding them an indefinite farewell, hoping that it's not the end, but realizing that it probably will be anyway.  And all I want to do, as the inescapably emotional girl that I am, is tell these swell fellas that I'm probably going to miss them scads more than they realize, and that, at least for a little while, my life was a bit more frolic-and-gambol than oh-gosh-did-I-really-wake-up-this-morning-and-is-it-too-late-to-fix-that? and I have them to thank for that.

    But every time I strategize ways of doing that, the wrong way stares back at me, its red, slitty eyes smiling in a very Voldermort-esque manner, and I put my pen/phone/keyboard/car keys down and I return to my seclusion, figuring I'll just let our relationship fade and they'll just have to trust that I did care, even though, in the end, their gender was just too much for me to handle.

    In a better world, this wouldn't be this challenging.  But what can we do?  I swear, Rubik invented the symbol for every interaction people will ever have with each other.  

    And what's worse is we're getting rid of my car tomorrow.  I was wrong about the four days.  And thus it was a carless age of my life began and The Fellowship of the Camry, though enternally bound by friendship and love and a bonding experience of a fender bender, will be ended.

    So long, good buddy, it's been a nice run.  Thank you for the music.

<3 spadeALLcross