Don't Ask, Don't Tell. PLEASE, for the love of god, DON'T TELL!

I've been accused on multiple occasions of not communicating with people when somethings wrong with me. If I'm upset, stressed or worried, I tend to get really distant and cold. I've learned that it's not healthy and generally makes people uncomfortable. But I've been working hard to change! When I'm upset, I let people know. I try not to internalize my problems so much and talk them out with people. I'm learning to share.

And good for me! However, there is such a thing as oversharing. Boss #1 is Queen of the Overshare. And it makes me highly, highly uncomfortable.

As I've mentioned, I like Boss #1. She exudes good energy and I've felt comfortable with her since day 1. I think this has something to do with the fact that she looks exactly like my friend Allison, plus 20 years. Every time Boss #1 walks into the office I just want to shriek, slap her on the ass and have a giggle fest. Then I have remind myself that she's my boss, not Allison, so I better keep my hands to myself.

Perhaps in a past life Boss #1 was Allison and I was...myself. Again. Because only that would explain how open Boss #1 is with me. Boss #1 tells me more than I need to know. About everything. And nothing I want to know about. I hate to be that guy who uses Jimmy Fallon's stand-up as an example, but the following track about his college RA pretty much perfectly sums up how I feel about my co-workers:

Chris Rock Was My RA - Jimmy Fallon

The point being: I don't need to know. Please don't tell me the intimate details about your life. Because I just don't need to know, nor do I care. I don't want to sound heartless, but I'm just here to do as little work as possible and still get a paycheck. I have to respect you as a boss; I can't know that you had butt-sex last night. If I wanted a 40-something-year-old best friend to giggle and gossip with, I'd go to mahjong with my mom. Let's just keep things professional.

6 Things I Never Wanted to Know About Boss #1:

- They used to call her "Love 'em and Leave 'em Liza." I don't know who they are. But I think I feel sorry for them.

- As I mentioned a few days ago, I'm in charge of making the (well designed and ADORABLE!) invitations for Boss #1's best friend's daughter's upcoming baby shower.

What I needed to know to make these invitations: boy or girl; when; where; what time; color scheme and RSVP information.

What I didn't need to know to make these invitations: Boss #1's best friend's daughter is 18-years-old and got pregnant, and I quote, "on her sexual maiden voyage."

- A few weeks ago Boss #1 opened up an old can of coffee she found in the back room and loudly exclaimed, "OH MUH LORD! This coffee smells like pencil shavings and cooter!" Pencil shavings. And cooter. If I ever open my own law firm, and I don't know why I would, I would want it to be called Pencil Shavings & Cooter & Partners.

- Boss #1 has a friend named Donna. I'd put Donna at about 45. She's single and attractive in the way that you can tell she was probably once pretty, but now looks kinda rode hard and put away wet. Donna makes me sad because she's all HEYheyHEY promiscuous single lady here! Different man every night of the week! Can't keep this tiger in a cage RAWRRR! But you know she goes home at night and cries over a bottle of Nice 'n Easy Gray Coverage. Basically she's what I fear I'll be in 20 years if I don't meet someone. So I like having her around. She reminds me to keep my eyes on the prize.

Anyway, Boss #1 walked into work one day looking at her Blackberry, walked over to me and without a "hello," "good morning," or "how are you?" shoved her Blackberry in my face and said, "MEGHAN! Check out the dick on Donna's new black guy!" I looked at the Blackberry in front of me and there in fact was an emailed photograph of a well-built, young, black man, completely nude, holding a towel with the subject "Post coital ;)"

Now, I am the least prudey person you will ever meet, but suddenly I was clutching my pearls all "WELL, I'VE NEVER!" I stammered and searched for something to say for 30 seconds before I finally got out "It's. Nice."

- Boss #1 came in Monday morning to pick something up and I noticed that she had a nice tan. "Wow, you look great. Someone got some color!" I said, completely unaware of the can of worms I was about to open. Boss #1's response: "Oh muh lord. We started partying EARLY this weekend, Meghan. I'll tell you what, we had people over Friday at 3 o'clock in the afternoon and we must have finished off six bottles of wine before 5 and then smoked some grass that belongs to my friend Bill's son and WOOOOOO! They make that stuff way stronger than they did in my day, I'll tell you what! Wait, what did I come in here to get? I put a list somewhere and I forgot what I did with it. Man. I think I killed too many brain cells this weekend. Do you smoke grass?"

Now again, I'm not a prude. Sex and drugs? Sure. Good fun. However I was so overcome with emotions of "OH GOD WE SHOULD NOT BE TALKING ABOUT THIS," that the only thing I could do was awkwardly ramble "Um...ah...haha...wha—...I..." until she found what she came in to get and ran out. Then I said the rosary, called my mother and took a shower.

- The Road Head Story. The crème de la crème of things I never wanted to know. OK. Breathe. So! One day my boss' husband, Buck (real name,) came into the office with Boss #1 to drop off some heavy boxes. "Your husband is so cute!" I said to Boss #1 after he left. Why I said that is a mystery to me. I mean, yes he was cute, but I knew better than that. I knew it would take things to a dark, dark place where I didn't want to go. "Mmm. Yes he is," Boss #1 said. "Poor guy, I've been so sick with this stupid cough I haven't been able to have sex with him in weeks! I felt so bad I decided give him road head on the way here. The ride was so bumpy I barely had to do any work!" And then she hung her head and pantomimed giving a blow job.

I wish I could have seen the look on my own face when this happened. Because I in no way tried to hide the horror and disgust I felt coursing through my veins. My eyes were as wide as dinner plates. My jaw dropped to the ground. Time stood still. Worlds collided.

So I'm super glad that I'm learning to be a more open and communicative person, but if pantomiming blow jobs and flashing dick pictures around the office is the measure of good health, I'm going back to being an aloof ice-queen. And I'm in no way sorry about it.