Shut up already! Damn!

I am addicted to people. I find people, the things they do and their personal stories to be utterly fascinating. And I always feel that anybody else I encounter in life is far more interesting than I am...right up until the moment that they agree with me. Then I lose all interest whatsoever. Sorry, but I just can't get as enthusiastic about some people as they are about themselves, so I don't even try. I get bored instantly when I have to deal with someone who is much further up their own ass than I would ever want to be. That came out wrong (and isn't always necessarily true) but hopefully you get the idea.

Sure, everybody has a story to tell but some people live their lives like the rest of us stood in line to buy popcorn to munch on while they tell us about it. "Hey", you might be saying, "You have a blog which you use to talk about yourself and the minutiae that occurs in your life that you think is important enough to share with the world. What gives, hypocriti-pottamus?" Well, it's true. Many blogs, including this one, are extended exercises in self-indulgent twaddle. The difference is unless you're a participant in that controversial prison rehab program in Thailand that involves being forced to read blogs against your will that I just made up, you're here by choice. You can stay until I get on your nerves and then leave before you realize you acted hastily and come back apologizing and promising to tell several friends about how awesome this blog is. But I'm not showing up (uninvited) at your dinner table and manipulating the conversation so that it's so me-centric that you'd think you were being filled in on all the latest plot twists on 'Lost', which is what happened to me tonight and which completely ruined what had been a perfectly lovely evening. Until she showed up and proceeded to share some chapters from The Most Interesting Story In The Whole World; Hers.

"Gee, how did she know that I wanted to be interrupted so I could hear all about her upcoming vacation and her last three vacations leading up to this one?" That's a good question because I sure didn't ask her.

"Well, at least she isn't talking about her usual favorite subject again: her own breasts. Oh wait, yes she is." Now don't get me wrong; nine times out of ten when a woman wants to talk about her breasts, I'm probably going to be eligible for several Gold Star listening awards. However, in this particular case, the woman is under the belief that her breasts are geological phenomena that can, and should, be seen from space. She rhapsodizes about them as though they're the kind of breasts that cause men to go mad attempting to write operas about them. When the fact of the matter is....mmmm, they're just not that great, really. I mean, I suppose they're fine and who am I to critique but Jesus, whatever already! If you're going to talk about an attraction all the time like it's better than Disneyworld, it ought to at least have a Tilt-A-Whirl. That's all I'm saying.

"Oh good, she says she's leaving...but...but...she's still sitting here. And talking about leaving! But not actually leaving!!" Good grief, that's the social equivalent of a band with overinflated egos forcing an audience to beg for an encore when all they really want is for someone to turn the lights on so they can just go home.

"Please, no more. Just let me get on with what's left of my life!" But alas, there would be no mercy tonight, for mercy is a sign of weakness. Just like excessive egocentricity is actually a sign of self-awareness deficiency.