If you are easily offended (and have managed to stay with my blog) stop reading now. If you are a relative, please stop reading now. If you aren’t 18, please stop reading now.
You’ve been warned.
The First Annual Cringe Party was a complete success. I say first annual because I want this to be a a Valentine’s Day tradition. It was too good to only do once.
It would be kind of uncool to blog everyone’s cringeworthy stories, so I’ll let pictures do the talking.
The Norwegian Nanny showed up with a giant bag full of Jell-O shots.
NN: Will 60 be enough?
Me: Um. Yes?
This is the second time this week I’ve done Jell-O shots which is two more times than I’ve done them in my entire life.
What has gotten into everyone?
I must say, they are dangerous. I mean, there’s always room for Jell-O.
Tabby said she didn’t have a cringeworthy story (which is a lie) but doing Jell-O shots with a spoon gave us ample opportunity to laugh at her.
We started off easy with some very earnest diary readings.
Let’s just say that Harmy has really found her calling as a visual artist.
The true word crafters had yet to show off their talents, but more about that later.
Dr. D was up next and we were a little worried that we might have peaked too early by letting him go on.
You have no idea how dirty this story was. It’s been edited for a mere R rating. Don’t watch this at work or with your kids looking over your shoulder.
Despite this evening being my baby, I was too mortified to read my own work. Tabby stepped in read a beautiful and heartfelt poem I wrote about my period. Awesome.
When I was in my nascent sexual discovery phase, I had the great misfortune of reading way too much Valley of the Horses and Anais Nin. I considered myself a diarist of sorts.
I have thick folder of steamy stories of sexual discovery and soft core fiction. This one, read by Tabby, is fiction. Thank God.
And speaking of heartfelt, MoneyPenny brought her A-game with her journal. I mean, book of emotions.
She had to explain why it was embarrassing.
I guess going to school in your underwear when you are in the 3rd grade is embarrassing, but it didn’t hold a candle to Justin’s story.
Everyone just felt sorry for Justin. We were sorry that it happened (twice), sorry that it was so hard to get the damn story out with Tabby’s husband heckling the shit out of him, and sorry that he had to relive the moment.
That’s what I’m talking about.
So when CoorsLight got up there with his humble brag, he got heckled out of there.
He was all, “I write poems for my wife all the time. I even wrote a poem today. Isn’t that sooo embarrassing?” (We all cringed at this.)
And he didn’t even read one! LAME!
All the guys were like, “Fuck you man! Now our wives are pissed that we don’t write poems for them!”
And he was like, “Here we are, laughing at each other’s adolescent writing, but the truth is we just didn’t have the words to express ourselves. But we need to express ourselves. Do you understand how important it is to write your feelings?!?”
Me: Uh huh. You know what I do every day, right?
CoorsLight: But you are all laughing at this honest expression when we really should be embracing it.
Me: I had no idea you were such a pussy.
CoorsLight: It’s important to put it out there!
Me: I get it. I write about everything that is on my mind. Every day. It’s awesome. Can we hear about the Norwegian Nanny almost freezing to death in a snowbank now?
NN (very seriously): Norwegians don’t freeze to death.
Me: I stand corrected.
CoorsLight (being all weird and intense): I need you to feel me on this!
Me: Dude, you are totally weirding me out.
CoorsLight: I’m talking about inner child here!
Me: This night isn’t about embracing the inner child, this is about mocking the inner child, abusing the inner child! Seriously, we need to get to the next story.
God, that was weird.
Even weirder was Jefé who was like, “I can’t think of anything that embarrasses me.” I’m so sure.
His wife, the picture of grace and decorum read from her diary for crying out loud! If she could dig something up, surely he could, too.
I was drunk (naturally) and got all in his face, like, “Oh yah, well what about …” Then he had to go. I wonder why?
Speaking of diaries, every woman at the party showed up with a diary, stack of letters, or in my case, a manilla folder labeled Private Memoirs.
Aside from Ben who brought the adorable tape of him singing, most men showed up ready to freestyle.
The winner of the evening was none other than Pamcakes. My pole friends and regular readers were all, “We can’t wait to meet her, we’ve heard so much,” and I was like, “I’m not sure what she’s going to do.”
I met her at Testiclese’s Montessori preschool. At first glance she looks like a mild-mannered mother of three and an accountant who has been married to her childhood sweetheart for 25 years.
She brought a stack of letters she wrote to her husband when he was off at college. She wrote this letter while on break while working at Perkins.
It was part innocent ramblings of an 18 year-old to her only love (replete with I LOVE TOAD and lots of hearts writ large) mixed with bodice-ripping Danelle Steele prose a la Penthouse Letters.
She was too mortified to read it herself so she had Tabby do it.
Tabby, having never laid eyes on it before, read the, um, love letter, with her best snooty patrician English diction while trying not to laugh.
I almost blacked out from laughing so hard and Tabby’s husband had to steady me a few times as I threatened to fall off my stool and have a seizure.
Seriously, it was incredible. People were screaming and holding their sides, gasping for breath.
Best. Valentine’s. Day. Ever.
The next day was a little rough. I had one or two drinks after the Jell-O shots and then stuck to water. Even then I was not myself.
I am going to do a cringe party every year. You should, to0.