Here I am, in a car lot, and I spot it... the '09 Camaro.  Canary yellow.  Just like Bumblebee.  Eagerly, I peer in the window of the car and note yellow stitching on the leather-covered stick, a canary yellow and black motif stitched into deep bucket seats, and a gleaming chrome-plated stereo.  I take a moment to stand in awe.
Preparing myself for a let-down, I peek at the price tag.  My eyes widened as I saw a price compatible with my checkbook.  I felt my pulse quicken as I envisioned myself speeding down the highway in newfound bliss, cornering onto a side street, and double-clutching as I drag-race with Bridge Street traffic on the commute to work. 
But the salesman isn't here yet.  I glance around the lot.  Other great cars are nearby, but none of them thrill me like this one.  And the salesman is nowhere to be seen.  I open the door to the Camaro and gingerly sit in the driver's seat.  It seems somehow too sacred for me to touch the steering wheel, so I rest a hand on the stick instead.  I close my eyes.
Immediately, noise fills my imagination.  Engine roaring and radio blaring, I carve my way through the empty city street and towards the onramp.  A stoplight gives me opportunity to pause and anticipate the rush towards the highway.  Upshifting as I accelerate, I almost instantly find myself on the highway.  The anticipation wasn't wasted.
My eyes snap open and I realize I had been holding my breath.  Slow exhale.  There's still no car salesman, so I can't take a test drive.  I can only imagine, and hope.  I step back onto the asphault and look down the row of cars - every model and color was represented.  Some appeared pitifully shabby, though they may have been trustworthy cars, but others beckoned a second, closer look.  I glanced back at the yellow Camaro.  When I find that car salesman, I'll see if I can go for a test drive, but until then, maybe I should just enjoy the view.

One thing I really like about xanga - and the only reason I haven't closed up shop here - is that I have an interesting, intelligent, and largely Christian readership.  That means I can ask you guys questions and you'll provide answers based on roughly the same worldview I'm coming from.  Here goes:

I love the people I work with - they're funny, engaging, and occasionally snarky.  The only problem is that they're almost always vulgar, obscene, and entirely happy to use filthy language.  If I kept a straight face every time someone used words I won't use, I wouldn't ever smile or laugh at work - seriously.  But I also don't want to sear my conscience, or show my approval by going right along with their humor. 

I realize this is really poorly written and could be a great deal more eloquent and perhaps even entertaining... but I'm really just interested in your opinions.  I'll entertain you later, perhaps.