Who are you and what did you do with my pickles?

It would seem no one signed my guestbook because it didn't actually work to let you sign it. So I'm trying a different host. PLEASE sign it. I want to know who's reading this. Is that really so much to ask?

In teacher/counselor world, I have a very hard time sharing the leadership role. It's not (surprisingly enough) that I can't step down and let one of the other teacher/counselor people take charge--I'm actually very good at that--but rather I'm in charge or somebody else is. I don't know what to do when I am one of the people leading. The world suddenly contains shades of grey and my little head explodes.

I also think I come off as very narcissistic when I'm meeting people. The way I like to get to know new people is by sharing stories, so instead of asking questions of the other person, I'll tell some story about myself, hoping that they will then share a story about themself*, which I will relate to something else, which they will relate to something else, and so on. But when the new person I'm meeting is more of a question asker, it ends up being all about me. I tell my story, they ask questions, and I answer them, and without a story to go on, I have a hard time asking questions of them that don't seem completely related to me.
Example of the question-asker and my meeting:
Shmoe: That's a lot of pickles.
Me: Yes it is. You know I once knew a guy who actually turned into a pickle.
Shmoe: Really? What happened?
Me: Well, he ate so many pickles all the time that he started to sweat pickle juice.
Shmoe: [silent, stares at me expecting more]
Me: So it was the middle of the summer and he went for a jog in the humidity, and he sweat so much that he basically brined himself. They found him three days later on the counter of a kosher deli.
Shmoe: Wow.
Me: Yeah... [pause] ...so do you ever go jogging?
Shmoe: No, not really. You?
Me: No... [pause] ...I don't actually keep kosher, but I like the pickles a whole lot. Not enough to turn into one, though.
Shmoe: So what's your favorite kind of pickle?
Me: The really crispy kosher dill kind. You?
Shmoe: Bread and butter. Do you like them on sandwiches?
Me: Not really. Do you?
Shmoe: Yes...

Anyway, you get the idea. It always turns into them asking questions about my story and me not knowing what to say or ask beyond the same thing right back at them. But with another story teller, I'm much happier (and less narcissistic).

Example:
Melvin: That's a lot of pickles.
Me: Yes it is. You know I once knew a guy who actually turned into a pickle.
Melvin: Really? I thought about turning my bathtub into a vat for brining, but I couldn't get the lime stains off and was afraid they'd make everything taste funny.
Me: It's probably best not to pickle yourself anyway.
Melvin: That's true, though I still should get the lime stains out of my tub.
Me: Yeah, have you tried a lot of products?
Melvin: Not really, just the regular bathroom cleaners. Do you know of any good ones?
Me: Not that I can think of, though it'd be fascinating to try cleaning a bathtub with pickle brine.
Melvin: Except then your bathroom would smell like pickles.
Me: Better than if it smelled like shit.
Melvin: That's true, but I'd worry the pickle smell would linger longer.

And so forth. I think I just feel like I know people better if I know their stories than if I know the basic sorts of facts about them. Like I know the standard questions to ask a new person, all the where are you from and what do you do crap, but I'm much happier if I walk away with none of their most basic life facts but know about the time their grandmother won a hotdog eating contest. I'll take a Melvin over a Shmoe any day.

Two weird-ass blog entries in a row. Sorry, people. I hope you're at least vaguely entertained or good at skimming for the interesting shit.

*Themself. So not a word, but "his or herself" is cumbersome and "themselves" implies multiple people. Damn you, English language!