When you get so drunk you tell a good friend about the time you were crazily in love with an adrogynous looking person who later turned out to be a female. Because of this revelation your drunken confession delves into epiphanies about your latent homosexuality then skips to your past crushes on (and platonic affairs with) older married people before finally detailing your favorite methods for having pillow sex. Instances of oversharing are often followed by headaches, embarrassment, feelings of vulnerability, extensive journaling and/or therapy and (sometimes) long walks alone to find yourself.
You: "...and that is ultimately what led me to realize that I might be gay. Not gay in the David Bowie sense but gay in the bi-curious way. I mean, aren't we all? I want to have a married best friend, but a friend of the same sex who you harbor sexual feelings for...there's just something exciting about that. I guess I've never really admitted this to myself. All the emails, and "dates" and trips with Katie Couric were obviously leading somewhere, but there's something I felt about my male friends that was just... It's like the time in college when I took LSD. I was turned on by the risk of it, like riding a rollercoaster without a safety harness. I mean, I sort of knew I would come out OK afterwards but I also..."
Your friend: (to him-or her-self) Sheesh! what an oversharer. I wish I had a tape recorder.
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