I decided to give my blog that title because as I was writing this particular gem of a post, a coworker pal came in and explained, “I think Fortune Gourmet gave me Hepatitis A.”  I just thought that was really funny, and even though there’s no good way to segue from my buddy’s comment about the liver disease he got from our local Chinese food restaurant into the subject of this post, I felt it would be important to disclose.

All right, onward.

There’s no arguing.  I’m an attention whore and currently recovering from years of self-centeredness.  Is that a word?  “Self-Centeredness?”  Spellcheck says it is.

Really, though, I think I’m really, REALLY imporatnt.  That’s why I have a blog, Twitter and Facebook accounts and a serenity-destroying voice that is perpetually set to “unleashed.”  I need to make sure I’m heard.  Constantly.

I totally lie to people and tell them that I’ve made leaps and bounds during the past few years–that I am humbled and only kind of important.  I’m sure they believe me.  Or not.  They probably don’t believe me.  Whatever, irrelevant.

Last night I had a dream that I was hanging out with friends and family.  Their focus, of course, was on me.  I was telling them something really important about something I wrote and posted on my blog.  I am not kidding.  In my dream, I was demanding the attention of friends and family as I boasted about my most recent juvenile ramblings shat all over the Interwebz via my website.

[NOTE: I don't want to hear a single dream analysis.]

They were all paying attention to me until someone brought in their fucking baby.  Then they turned their attention to that baby, leaving me to explain my most recent literary masterpiece to myself.  I was pissed.  That baby didn’t post a goddamned blog.  He can’t even talk for fuck’s sake.  How is shitting your diaper and not speaking in complete sentences interesting?

Ugh.

And I know that little bundle of rudeness wasn’t mine because my kid’s gonna know not to interrupt Daddy when Daddy’s talking about his blog or whatever else Daddy wants to discuss.  My kid’s going to be born with manners and totally rule.

I got super-pissed when I realized I was talking into thin air.  I left the room we were in, stepped outside and deflated the car tires of everyone who stopped listening to me.

When I woke up, I realized that as much progress as I have lied about making, my dream persona is a stubborn fuck and hasn’t changed a bit.  Such a character. ELL-OH-ELL.

On a side note, someone just e-mailed this Cyanide and Happiness strip to me, and I realized this is totally a prediction of my parenting future:

-David C. Garcia, narcissist and soon to be badass father extraordinaire