I hate sharing. I must’ve been out sick the day they covered sharing in Kindergarten. I love show and tell (I even like kiss and tell). But I don’t like people touching my stuff. My sister’s permanently bruised shoulder can attest to that fact.

The only thing worse than sour Gummi Bears is when people touch my PC. My girlfriend is convinced I like my PC more than her. It’s debatable. After 3 years she’s fairly well trained and rarely asks to “Check [her] mail” on my PC.

Unfortunately, her laptop is being repaired and she has been borrowing my work laptop at night. I’m not really OK with that, but since I don’t own the laptop…I’m letting it slide. But I won’t tell her my password (I type it in for her). I guard all my passwords carefully. A couple of times my girlfriend has tried to look at my ATM pin in the supermarket and I’ve had to ask for store security.

Last Thursday I had my laptop at work when I noticed she left her Gmail account logged in. Naturally, I abused this power:

• I ran a search for “Jason”, but didn’t find anything out of the ordinary.
• I searched “meet”. In case she was arranging any meetings with secret lovers – she wasn’t.
• I searched “CIA” to see if she was a spy – she’s not.
• I tried “sedative-laced milkshake” to see if she’s planning to kill me – she doesn’t appear to be (maybe after this).

Once I realized she wasn’t up to anything fishy, I said to myself “Self, how could I make money from this?” It would nice, I thought, to squeeze some cash out of her. But how? I pondered for a while before hatching a truly diabolical plan. There was no way I could ask her, but what if she told herself to do it? If I wrote an email (from her account) and sent it to her it would appear as if she wrote herself an email. So, that’s exactly what I did. Her future self sent her the following email:

I also thought it would be a dick move if her future self also screwed her out of that nights lottery numbers. I mean, look, instead of typing “…oh no, I’m fading away” she could’ve just typed the other 3 lottery numbers. It would’ve been easier.

I got home Thursday and asked her for $500, and bam! Look at me now…

Yo Facebook, I’m really happy for you and I’mma let you finish, but Google had one of the best alogrithms of all time.

I hated Facebook’s People You May Know tool, which is now just called Suggestions. Here is a suggestion: stop recommeding I become friends with my high school classmates like Paul DeGraff. He tried to steal my Joe Montana Topps rookie card in sixth grade.  Also, please stop trying to force me to become friends with my girlfriend on your social networking site. Yes, we have 64 mutual friends. Yes, we live together, but I don’t want her in my virtual world.

I don’t need her updates anyway. I already know she’s playing Mario Kart in the other room. (She’s practicing for her nightly beating on the Mushroom Cup. Baby Peach on a motorcycle just can’t compete with me and Luigi.) I admit it would be kind of nice not to have to get up to see what’s she’s doing and risk a conversation about how her day was. I see the appeal there. If I could just open my browser, click my favorites, log in, search her name and click to find out she’s in the other room playing the Wii it could definitely make my life a bit easier. However, I know from past experience it’s not that easy.

We used to friends on MySpace. I didn’t work out well – for me.  Random girls from the night before would leave “lol <3″ comments on my page and blow my “I was at the library” cover story. For weeks my girlfriend thought I was a hardcore-serious student. I suppose the 50% on my Databases exam would’ve given it away if MySpace hadn’t. She’d check my MySpace after a night “studying” and ask me who JenBunny19lolxoxo was? “I have no idea” worked the first time and never after with Ashley21foru or my other MySpace admirers.

What? We’re not married.

If I’m occasionally flirty on Facebook isn’t it possible (if I can’t see) that my girlfriend is too? No. Why? She saves her password in her browser and I log in to check while she’s playing the Wii.

Also, the real reason, her ex-boyfriend doesn’t know we’re dating and he’ll probably want to fight. Hush-hush, k?

In a few weeks everyone is going to be talking about Michael Phelps and Tyson Gay, but the greatest American athlete won’t be participating in the Olympics this summer – not in China anyway.

Yah, Tyson Gay runs the 100 meters in less than 10 seconds, but could he catch me in hide-n-seek? Not likely. I know all the best hiding spots. He would never even think to look for me by the patio underneath the grill cover. It’s really a shame the International Olympic Committee (IOC) doesn’t officially recognize backyard games. If they did, I’m all you would hear about in China.

This weekend I went 9-0 in a variety of backyard party games. Michael Phelps just swims in straight lines. Yah, real hard! Trying playing Marco Polo with my family. My cousin Ronnie has freakishly long arms and an uncanny knack to call “Fish out of water”. Despite that – I still come out on top. Cassie is always yelling “His [my] eyes are open”, but it’s simply not true. I just inherently know where people are going to be. Mike, for example, is always on the other side of the banana float with the cup holders. Michael Phelps does multiple events, you say? So do I. I dominate water basketball, noodle joust and my against the filter whirlpools defy physics.

If the game involves a ball, a net or tossing anything into or near a target you might as well just give me the Gold. I wasn’t born like many of you. I was never a very good student. I’m terrible at math. I can’t spell. If it wasn’t for the game Risk I wouldn’t know the names of any other countries – and I can’t even be sure Uzbekistan is a real place. But by God am I coordinated.

I can consistently throw bean bags into 4 inch holes from 20 yards out. If you played lawn darts with me you would be convinced I was using some sort of missile guidance system to land them in the circle. I’ve never been knocked out of the 4^th square, have over 1,100 wiffle ball home runs and have had my family use the hose on me because I literally thought I was on fire playing bocce ball.

By the time the Olympics finish up I’ll have more backyard Gold than Fort Knox. But, all you’re gonna hear about is Michael Phelps. I can’t even get some air time on ESPN8 “The Ocho”.