Jerry: It’s Lanette! I need an assistant or intern or something.

George: [Laughs] Relationship intern…hey, what if two of us teamed up?

Jerry: Not. George: No, no… Jerry: No, because that’s…

George: No, listen; we are always sitting here, I am always helping you with your girl problems and you are helping me with my girl problems. Where do we end up?

Jerry: Here.

George: Exactly! Because neither one of us can handle a woman all by ourselves.

Jerry: I’m trying.

George: I’ve tried. We don’t have it. But maybe the two of us, working together at full capacity, could do the job of one normal man.

Jerry: Then each of us would only have be like a half man. That sounds about right!

       One of the frequently touted characteristics that is seen to make a society “successful” (re: western) is individualism. Independence. Freedom. Democracy.  

        All bullshit. Hey there, Empire of One. How’s life? I bet it’s shitty.
        I was ruminating on the success that is Summer of You, (credit to Bryan) the obvious reworking of “Summer of George”, famous Seinfeld episode, and came to remember the plot line in which George and Jerry decide to work in tandem re: the courting of one Lanette. In the end, George slips on an party invitation, hurts himself badly, thereby ruining the Summer of George, but this standard Seinfeldian (Davidian?) plot twist needn’t be worried over. 

        There’s a limited amount of time that I, Julia, human, am allotted on this world.  I don’t even know what that amount is, making it hard to plan accordingly. I can only learn so many skills, dance so many dances and kiss so many boys. I can’t possibly kiss all the boys! That’s way too much kissing. When would I sleep? What a ridiculous scenario.

 I’m not saying I don’t want to kiss all the boys, but I’m a bitter realist and therefore have come to terms with the fact that I will never, no matter what, be able to kiss all the boys.  

        One of the more dysfunctional relationships that persists in my life is that of Julia, human, versus Millenium Falcon, car. I style myself an independent working girl, but…am I? Would a real self-starter let the tantrums of a 1999 Dodge Neon so dictate her life plans? I never know what she’s doing, let alone thinking. This frequently leads me to consult a third party, be it my unqualified friends or a potentially qualified field expert (re: mechanic). Sure, it’s awkward, and my mechanic often force-feeds me harsh realities. Rarely is there honey. Or smooches. But I go, in order to ride my baby hard another day.

- Julia Out? No! Read on, traveler…