CringeFest Chronicles

That time, I shared my most embarrassing moments with an audience.

On Saturdays and Sundays, we get The New York Times delivered. I mainly get my news from that everpresent device in my hand, but there’s something about sitting down at a table with a cup of coffee and the day’s paper in front of you. It reminds me of my childhood. When I was a kid (or even a young adult living at home), we got the paper daily. Every morning, I read the comics, the horoscopes, Ann Landers, and then Hints from Heloise IN THAT ORDER!

Unfortunately, The New York Times doesn’t have comics so on Saturdays and Sundays, I flip through the paper to first read the advice columns. Advice columns in The NY Times? Yes, there’s “The Ethicist” on Saturdays and “Social Q’s” on Sundays. After I read the advice columns, I then search through the paper for the personal essays. I am a true story junkie. There’s the “Modern Love” column, of course, but there are some others, too.  

All of this is to say I stumbled across this essay, “The Rom-Com That’s Responsible for My Marriage,” in Saturday’s paper, and I thought it was perfect. It’s a compelling read with a sweet message—an essay that made me think: I wish I had written that. While reflecting on the 1992 romantic comedy “Singles,” the author Sam Anderson addresses his younger self. The way he talks to his younger self reminded me of something I had written—my CringeFest performance.

What’s CringeFest? It’s the annual fundraiser for my employer, the nonprofit Project Write Now. Adult writers get on stage and share their most mortifying moments for a good cause. All the proceeds go towards our community outreach, which includes creative writing programs in high schools. Oh, how I wished I had found an organization like Project Write Now when I was a teen and dipping my toe into creative writing.

I performed at the inaugural CringeFest in 2018, which was a loose performance of writers mostly sharing their middle-school or teen diaries. The fundraiser has evolved to a more curated theatrical show, and it’s now on the big stage, The Vogel in Red Bank. 

CringeFest VI is this Friday, April 26. Sponsorships are still available if you’d like to support our community outreach programs. Any amount is appreciated. If you’re in the Red Bank area, please come to the show! We’ve got a great lineup of victims performers. Grab your tickets here.   

In honor of CringeFest, I thought I’d share my 2018 performance which includes some cringy writings from my teen years.  

Oh, but there’s one thing. I have one regret about my performance. I had meant to include a joke at the start, but in my nervousness, I skipped it. Now’s my chance to right this wrong. 

My story references the band The Grateful Dead, and I wore a Dead t-shirt and ripped jeans as my “costume.” But here’s what I wish I had done right before my performance. 

With a huge aerosol can of Aquanet hairspray, I’d flip my hair over and spray while “crunching” my curls. Then, I’d look at the audience and say, “I might have been a Dead Head, but this was the 80s in Jersey, so of course I had big hair.”

Funny? Not funny? I’ll never know how it would have played in front of an audience. <sigh> 

Ok, without further ado, here’s what I read.

Please note: All names have been changed to protect the innocent.  

Liz’s CringeFest Performance from 2018

So I’m going to take us back in time to 1988 when I was about 16 years old. I was definitely a troubled kid, and I searched for something to fix me. Unfortunately, I searched in all the wrong places, turning to…I won’t say…sex, drugs, and rock n roll…it was more boys, partying, and rock n roll. I would have benefited from a creative outlet like PWN Teen. 

To give you an overview of who I was at that time, here’s an assignment I had to do for my Creative Writing class sophomore year in high school. I was to answer the question: “What am I?”

I am called Elizabeth by my Mom, Wizzer Whopper by my sister Roseann. Puddin Head by my grandfather, Liz by my friends, Lizard by other friends, Lizzy Tish by my cousin, Berta by my second cousin, and Dizzy Lizzy on a bicycle by Mr. Thackara.

At times, I am lazy, impatient, and corny, but I’m also caring, understanding, and fun-loving.

Lover of food, especially chocolate, good times, and music, especially the Grateful Dead.

Who needs love just like everyone else, weekends for fun along with friends and laughter.

Who believes life is an education (school can’t teach you everything) and plastic should be abolished especially disposable diapers which are killing the environment. 

(Please don’t tell teen Liz that adult mom Liz used disposable diapers.)

Who fears disapproval, losing people close to me, and falling flat on my face in front of a crowd of people which I do often. 

(Did I really do that often? I don’t think so)

Who would like to see Jack (he is coming to visit soon), wildflowers blooming everywhere, and Jerry Garcia become President.

Resident of Fair Haven, NJ but I’m becoming resident of Vermont because I love it.

So I mention Jack. I lie in my assignment about being excited to see him – I wasn’t. This was a guy I had met when I spent a summer working in Vermont. Technically, he was my boyfriend, although, unfortunately, I really didn’t like him. I forced myself to like him because he was the dude I lost my virginity to. We were parked by a lake with not another car in sight. “Paradise (yeah, right!) by the Dashboard Light.” It’s amazing how many of my teen experiences resemble a Meatloaf song.

Jack came to visit from Vermont the weekend of the Hunt. (Who from Monmouth County remembers the Hunt? I surely don’t.) I made Jack drive a bunch of my friends to the Hunt and then I ditched him the whole day. (Yikes, I was horrid. That’s a whole other story.) But regarding my feelings for Jack, here is the journal entry after that weekend:

It doesn’t make sense to me. I don’t understand how can he can feel that way about me. I’m not trying to be humble or anything like that, I just can’t believe he can love me so much. He doesn’t even know the real me. I’ve never shown him the real me. Whenever I’m with him I put on an outer shell. How can you love an outer shell? Is it because I was there to comfort him when Molly dumped him? It is because he feels like he needs to love someone in order not to feel empty inside? Or is it because no one else will put out for him? (Uh classy Teen Liz.) 

He told me last night that he loves me so much. He said he thinks of me all the time, and that the miles between us didn’t matter to him. How could I tell him that I don’t love him? How can I tell him that I love someone else and I always will. I couldn't do that! It’s just too cruel. Or is it more cruel to let this charade go on?  I’m so happy that this weekend is over and Jack went back to Vermont. The problem is he wants to come down another weekend. Well, I’m not going to invite him down again. I plan to tell him that I found another boyfriend. It will be a lie and it will be mean but I don’t know what else to do. 

 As I mentioned, I liked another guy. Let’s call him Bill. I officially broke up with Jack, and I had hoped Bill and I would be together. All that year, we flirted in English class and talked on the phone occasionally. Then, one Friday night, he called and came over to my house, and we “hung out” in my basement. And I was so happy because I naively thought we were going to be together after that. 

But then he didn’t call all weekend. 

I remember our kid's phone had this super long cord, and I dragged the phone around the house with me all weekend. I even brought it outside when I was tanning in the sun. (Remember when we used to tan!) I would pick up the phone and check the dial tone and then hurry and hang up in case he tried to call in that two seconds and got a busy signal! (Remember busy signals!) But he never called. And then the next week in school, after lunch in the cafeteria with my friends, my friend Jane gave me this note:  

By the way, for all you yunguns out there, this is how we used to text. 

Liz, I don’t mean to tattle on anyone, but I think that you should know when you went up to get YODELS….Lauren. was talking to me and Kim and Kim asked Lauren what the deal was with Bill. Lauren said she doesn’t know what to do. The main reason I’m telling you this is because she is going to Bill’s sister’s wedding. Please don’t be mad at me. I thought you should know. She was going to explain more but you came back. Love ya, Jane Keep smiling. PS – The day of his sister’s wedding is Stefanie’s sweet sixteen party

Dundundudah…

I respond: 

I’m not mad! I’m glad you told me. I know Bill is in love with her. She tells me she doesn’t like him that way, but I don’t know if she is telling the truth. (By the way, she wasn’t.) I wouldn’t be mad at her if she did like him. I’m over him (sort of). 

I was not over him. I was heartbroken. 

After the night we “hung out,” Bill called this Lauren and not only invited her to his sister’s wedding but also asked her out. They dated for a long time after that.

Outwardly, I tried to pretend everything was fine. I tried to be cavalier about it. I even had this toast I used to do at parties. (RAISE YOUR GLASSES WITH ME.)

“Here’s to the men that we love, here’s to the men that love us. But the men that we love, are not the men that love us, so fuck ‘em, Here’s to us!” 

I would sing loudly to “Love the One You’re With” by Crosby Stills & Nash. But privately, I would play “Waiting in Vain” by Bob Marley and “Tears of a Clown.” (Both the original and the English Beat versions.) 

And when I had another assignment from the same high school writing class, “To express your feelings and write them into beautiful poems or lyrics,” I wrote this: (I call this the Stalker Poem.)  

I wish I was a bird so I could follow you everywhere you went. I would fly high in the clouds so you wouldn’t know I was watching you. I would wait in a tree when you went to school or to someone’s house. When you’d go to sleep, I would be on your windowsill to sing you a soothing lullaby Then I would wait until the sun rose and sing a cheerful song to wake you up. If I was a bird, I’d always know where you are and therefore I’d be happy.

I wish I was your pen so you could wrap your fingers around me and hold me tight. If I was your pen, you would use me to write beautiful poems and lyrics with. You would need me all day in school and I would be there for you therefore I’d always be happy.

I wish I was your jacket so you could put me on and I would surround your body holding you close. Whenever it is cold and rainy and wet I would protect you giving warmth. If I was I was your jacket, I’d be so close to you giving you comfort. Therefore, I’d be happy.  

I wish you’d love me with the intensity that I love you. I wish you could find some quality in who I am and will be that you can respect and love. But you Can’t and therefore I can never be happy.

Well, I’m here to tell my 16-year-old self that’s not true. It’s a shame you can’t go back in time and tell yourself, “It’s all going to work out.” 

You are going to have an amazing life. You don’t live in Vermont, not yet, at least, but we may still retire there, right Chris? You have a great house, three terrific kids, and, most importantly, you’ve found the love of your life. The man that you love IS indeed the man that loves you. That’s what true love is. Just wait, “Dizzy Lizzy on a Bicycle,” you ARE happy. And Meatloaf was right, two outta three ain’t bad. But three out of three is awesome!  

JERRY GARCIA FOR PRESIDENT! 

The End

I hope you enjoyed this trip down memory lane with me. Please join us at CringeFest VI this Friday or donate to support Project Write Now’s community outreach programs.