Toolshed

Toolshed is a slightly older, married man. Overshare loves Toolshed. Thinks he's the greatest thing since sliced bread. She spends tons of time in his cubicle, talking about everything under the sun and she often tells us what a personal-relationships guru he is. He is, obviously, a complete tool.

One day, I was standing by Witty Comeback's desk and witnessed this exchange between Overshare and Toolshed.

Toolshed: What's the matter?
Overshare, fidgeting with her shirt: Nothing.
Toolshed: No, really. What's the matter?
Overshare: You sure you want to know?
Toolshed: Hit me.
Overshare: It's just that this bra hits my nipples in the wrong way. They're really sensitive, which, you know, is great during sex, but some bras just aggravate them.
Toolshed: Hmm. Can you do something about it?
Overshare: One sec.

Keep in mind that they're in a cubicle with other people in plain sight, not an office (not that an office would make this part any better.) Overshare then reached inside her low-cut shirt, inside her bra, and completely readjusted herself in front of (married, older, slighty-higher-in-the-ranks) Toolshed, who didn't seem to mind in the slightest.

Now, I have a couple of questions:
1. Why does Toolshed get asked if "he really wants to know" and the rest of us are simply subjected to comments we'd really rather NOT know?
2. Who says "Hit me"?
3. Was the "great during sex" comment absolutely necessary? I mean really. My mind's eye is pissed off at me for overhearing that one.

Foodgasms

I admit it: I eat at my desk a lot. All through the day. I'm a snacker. Whatever, the blog's not about me.

Have you ever had someone have a foodgasm (food orgasm) over the food YOU were eating? I have. That's right: Overshare.

The first time I noticed the foodgasm was when my parents sent me a box of chocolates for a random holiday. I had just opened the box and selected my first chocolate when she walked by... she stopped immediately outside my door, then came in.

Anonymous Coworker, chocolate in hand: Hi, Overshare.
Overshare: Mmmmm. Mmmmm. MMMMMMM.
Anonymous: Uh.....
Overshare: MMMMMMMM!
Anonmyous, wondering if she should take the box and run away: Uh....
Overshare: Those...look so....so....goooooooood. (Long meaningful stare.)

Now, I was GOING to share the chocolates. Really. It was a huge box and I would have made myself ill eating all of them. I was going to share. But now? NOW? When she had virtual sex with them in my office? If just seeing ME eat one made her do that, I sure as hell wasn't going to offer one to her in my office for her to do God-knows-what over. What do you do?

In a rare moment of quick-thinking, I said something like: "Well, it's not fair to give you first dibs when no one else knows they're here, so let's go gather everyone." I booked it the hell out of my office, box in tow to the common area.

Once everyone had one... Overshare starts in:
Overshare: Oh. My. God. MMMMMM. OH! Mmmmmm.
Witty Comeback: Don't get out much, do ya?

Enter CTB

Chris the Felon didn't start out that way. He started out Chris the Bouncer. CTB is the bouncer at one of this city's all-time sketchiest bars. If you're 16 and need a beer (you know, to blow off all of that Math Quiz Stress) you go to CTB's bar. He'll let you in, no id required.

One Monday morning, I was regaled with the story of how Overshare met the stud that is CTB.

He was working the door at Skank Bar on Saturday night and she couldn't believe her luck because in her last drunken haze (also known as Thursday) she had misplaced her id. Imagine her surprise when this bouncer was willing to let her in, sans identification, for the small price of, you know, fondling her chest.

That's right my friends, CTB is the very definition of class and benevolence.

Overshare agrees, because, you know Skank Bar is so worth being molested. Never mind the fact that the people in front of her were probably Jimmy Football and Suzy Cheerleader from Public High School who flashed their ASB cards. Whatever.

So instead of going inside after the incident, Overshare stays outside with CTB, chatting it up. He keeps sending his partner into the bar to get her drinks. Turns out that CTB is 25, single, and a former school teacher who is taking a break while he decides if he wants to go to law school.

It's Not All About Dating

You know that hand motion people use to indicate "money"? Like when Jerry Maguire is telling Rod Tidwell's coach that he would have to pay Tidwell more money after the game-winning touchdown? You kind of rub your thumb, forefinger and middle finger together.... got it? Ok, keep that gesture in mind.

I'm sitting in my office, minding my own business, reading Craig's List on the internet, blissfully ignorant of what is about to occur when Overshare walks in and shuts the door.

Oh Damn, I think. Here we go.

Overshare: Anonymous, I have a question.
Anonymous, attempting to look too busy for questions: Mmmmkay.
Overshare: In between periods, do you ever get a discharge?

Insert money gesture here.

I'll just let that sink in for a moment. She's asking me about discharge, people. Discharge. Punctuated with gestures.

Anonymous, unable to keep up the charade of busyness: What?
Overshare: You know, a discharge... (money gesture again) it's this weird consistency and I can't tell if it's something I should bring up with my doctor or not.
Anonymous, praying she'll take the hint: Hm. Well, a doctor would definitely be able to answer your question.
Overshare: Ok. Thanks.

The Story Begins

It all started out innocently enough-- Overshare was a new hire from out of state, so we (her coworkers) asked her some questions about her personal life... where she was living, etc. Normal stuff. And then, she started volunteering information and even striking up personal conversations in the middle of work discussions.

Witty Comeback and I quickly realized the situation was rapidly deteriorating. Conversations were soon started even in the busiest of busy times, and had started to be solely about Overshare's dating life, which she was very excited about since she had just ended a long relationship and was enjoying a lot of casual dating. And then, it happened. The very first Overshare.

One Thursday morning, I was standing by Witty Comeback's desk, discussing a work-related project when Overshare, who sits very near Witty and in plain sight, gave a very loud groan. She obviously wasn't feeling well. I made the mistake of asking what was wrong, and she proceeded to tell me the story:

Wednesday evening she and her new roommates went out to "Happy Hour" and got rip-roaringly drunk. She met a "cute fireman" and they flirted all night, and he just kept buying her drinks. And more drinks. At around 1am, Overshare decided it was time to call it a night, and went home with Cute Fireman. They got up to his apartment, stumbling and laughing all the way, and had a hot and heavy make out session before she needed to use the bathroom. Once there, she projectile vomited all over poor Cute Fireman's bathroom. "Everywhere but in the toilet," she said. Mortified, obviously, she frantically searched for something to clean up with. Not wanting to use one of Cute Fireman's towels (for reasons clear only to a drunk person), she decides the best course of action is to use her sock. Still embarrassed, she left the bathroom, made a lame excuse and high-tailed it out of there. Leaving Cute Fireman with a very nasty bathroom, I'm sure.

To add to her troubles, in her haste she had neglected to take her coat with her, and as it was winter time, she needed her coat back. She then badgered Witty Comeback for advice all day. "Do I call? What do I say? Do I apologize for the bathroom?"

Witty Comeback: "If you want your jacket back, you do."

Little did we know, this was just the beginning.

The Cast of Characters

To protect the innocent and guilty alike, names shall not be used on this blog. The cast of recurring characters is as follows:

Overshare: The woman herself. She's a twenty-something coworker of mine who by all accounts is a well-educated woman. Too bad she has no common sense about what you do and what you don't talk about at work. Not to mention that her personal life... well, it sucks.

CTF: Short for Chris the Felon. (Chris is not his real name.) He's the on-again, off-again boyfriend of Overshare. He's a doozy, let me tell you.

Toolshed: Coworker of mine who loves to talk to Overshare about her problems and give her bad advice.

Witty Comeback: My friend, another coworker, who is often subjected to conversations between Overshare and Toolshed due to the close proximity of their cubicles.

Anonymous Coworker: Me. Overshare for some reason seeks me out for the deepest, dirtiest parts of her life. She overshares with everyone-- but my office is like her own personal confessional booth.

New Additions:

Wyoming: Overshare's new roommate, a friend from graduate school. She's now a new coworker of mine as well. And she's Weird. But what else would you expect from someone who voluntarily lives with Overshare?

Oh-My-God-I-Loved-It: My nemesis at work, OMG loves to talk religion. Just ask her about the differences between Jehovah's Witnesses and Baptists sometime.

Swedish Nanny: Aptly named, this foreign childcare-worker frequents Skank Bar, CTF's place of employment. Shrouded in an air of mystery, she apparently is also attracted to CTF. Must be the beer-flavored nipples.

Tyrannical Sorority Sister: She's Overshare's direct supervisor. She's not exactly management material.

Why I Created This Blog

This blog was created to document the Adventures of Overshare. This blog is getting a late start-- she has been over-sharing for over a year now. Overshare is a twenty-something coworker of mine who routinely shares more information about her life than most people share with their closest friends. Hell, she shares more than most people do with their priests.

I didn't realize how deep the problem went for a good while, and then I started using the stories to entertain my friends at dinner parties, over drinks, in emails. I never really thought they'd be good blog material until I posted an open letter to Overshare on Craig's List and received an overwhelming number of requests for the actual stories that I had ranted about. And then, a good friend lamented that she only heard sporadic Overshare stories and wished there was a blog for them. Thus, this blog was born.

Every story is exactly as Overshare tells it. Names have been changed to protect the innocent. Not really. Names have been changed so that if Overshare should find this blog one day, she won’t be able to trace it back to me. That is, if she recognized herself.