The jerk store called...

I'm such a jerk.

Really.  I just keep telling myself that out loud and in my head.  "You are such a jerk" I said to myself just two minutes ago before I decided to sit down and write it out.  I'm hoping the more I hear it the less jerky I will be.

Fat chance.  I'm such a crotchety old man sometimes.  I swear, every time I see someone's new blog idea they are promoting, or their new photography business or pictures of their clothes or the worst of them all: their entry into some cutest baby contest I just have something snarky to say.  Well, maybe 3-5 snarky things to say.

I just don't get it.  Everyone just has this need to share, share, share.  Share everything!  When was the last time you changed your underwear?  Well please tell us all through cyberspace, we are dying to know!

Gross.

I don't like to share.  It's a documented fact.  There was the great "birthday cake debacle" where my sister tried to share the last piece of my birthday cake with her then boyfriend. Actually it wasn't so much that she tried to "share" it as she tried to sneak it out in a tupperware to him late at night and I caught her and the BIGGEST fight ensued and it is still a touchy subject to this day.  And then there was the time I sat my roommates down and told them that my only rule was that my closet and its belongings were mine and not theirs.  They did not have permission to shop in my closet unless they asked first and to expect to be denied on occasion.  And there is the general hand biting you need to evade in order to try some of my food.  Also, everyone in family already knows but I will gladly donate all of my organs except for my eyes.  I just won't share those.

And the things I do like to share like embarrassing stories I will gladly share - but in person or on the phone.  Not through the internet.  Ok, maybe sometimes.  But in general I like to see people when I share.  You are much more likely to get me to do "the muscle show" or have a bowl of my home cooked meal when we are face to face and you give me the sad eyes.  But even with the sad eyes you will never, I repeat NEVER get a bite of my apple because sharing apples is just about the grossest thing I can think of - all of the slurping and biting and saliva.....gag.

And even this blog that I write at once in a blue moon is for me.  I've never posted the address anywhere and frankly I don't care if anyone even reads it.

I really think it just comes down to self validation.  I don't need the publics approval to feel good about the shoes I'm wearing (or not wearing) and I think my baby is pretty cute without entering him into a contest.  And while I'm on the subject you will never see me posting anything about my awesome husband because he already knows I love him because I tell him a lot.  Face to face.  Or I yell it down the hallway when he leaves to embarrass him.  Which almost never happens.  Yes, it happens all of the time.

But I'm lying.  There is one time I need direct validation to keep my heart from shrinking.  I need to hear that you love whatever I made you for dinner because chances are it took a long time to prepare because if I made you dinner then I must like you and I only want the best for you.  So sit up straight, you were slouching.

I'm such a jerk.  But I'm trying.