Welcome to Overtalk

Messy stories, unqualified advice, personal creations & midnight thoughts from a girl who loves to gab. A safe space for chronic blabberers and over-analyzing smile-nodders alike. A community of anxious communicators longing for connection in a world where fitting in is as boring as white bread. (Tho I did just buy and try some white bread from a Japanese market called Japanese milk bread and it was very much not boring and very much incredible. So, not that kind. I digress).

For the ones who think they talk too much or don’t say enough - You’re safe here. Let’s get so lost in our stories that the world spins into technicolor stardust orbit like in Zathura which is such a fun movie and I’m really glad Josh Hutcherson is making a comeback because I missed him and Bridge to Terabithia was the first movie I bought on iTunes and I used to cry-recite those brutal ending monologues into the mirror and my boyfriend was actually an extra in Firehouse Dog with him and… what was I saying?

Who am I?

That’s my secret I’ll never tell. Sorry, how obnoxious to do a gossip girl reference this early in our relationship but I am from New York City and I did go to a private school on the Upper East Side and we did have a classmate who created her own version of Gossip Girl and the principal then held a grade-wide meeting and incentivized us to sleuth and expose whoever was doing it. And for a 12 year old this felt like a very big important deal, and thus, your neighborhood Harriet the Spy was born. And I digress again! Remember: chronic overtalker…

I’m a Hilary Duff wannabe. Murder Mystery Party enthusiast. Lonely only child. Phobia of yogurt. Scare-actor dropout. Candle-making hobbyist. IBS & anxiety ridden. Psychotically baby-talking about how cute my cat-sons are, at all times. Wanna see a picture?

I’m a self-diagnosed writer with a degree & 6 years of experience in film and tv. If anyone needs me to perfectly craft an email or schedule the shit out of their calendar, I’m avail. But don’t worry, I minored in writing and *have always written*, incase you were about to call into question my entire existence and send me into existential orbit.

Why Subscribe?

Sometimes I feel ~not yet a girl not yet a woman~ and sometimes I feel like an 85 year old grandma just wanting to crochet. If I have anything at all to offer you, it’s a space to not take yourself too seriously, to embrace your anxious communication vibes and be proud to tell that story however and whenever you want, goddamnit! Sing it with vibrato. Put it in a bottle and throw it out to sea. Get so deep into a train of thought that finding the original point is as impossible as 90 Day Fiancé getting cancelled. You only need one person to care, and that person is yourself. (See: me writing this Substack.) On a super brief, super cringy serious note: life is about experiences & connection. Let’s fucking live it.

I vow to be vulnerable, attempt to be funny, and hope to be a new best friend. I’m not qualified to give advice, but maybe you can figure out what not to do from the stuff that I have. Or just have a laugh at my expense. That’s fine. I get it.

And for the love of god, don’t do 23&me. I know you’re curious about what percentage Gaelic you are or whether you have the cilantro soap gene, but just don’t. Trust me. This is the one and only piece of advice I am qualified to give. I’ll tell you why if you give me a lifetime supply of Hawaiian rolls.

If you’re here, welcome. If you subscribe, thank you. Whoever you are, I loooove you. Let’s chit chat over a landline for 3 hours and write love letters till we get carpal tunnel.

Whatever the story may be: let’s overtalk it out.