A year! I could have been pregnant 1.3333 times.

Last week was the year anniversary of Taboo Tales. Years really sneak up on you. One day you’re seven and teaching your Barbies how to have sex in the back of their Ferrari. And the next day you’re twenty-seven and wondering how come you’ve never had sex in the back of a Ferrari.

Last October 28th, my friend Corey and I got on a stage and hosted a show in front of 90 people. I don’t even know how we got 90 people to come to a show we didn’t even know would be good. I was, of course, filled to the brim with anxiety. If you trip on a sidewalk in front of some people, it’s not really that big of a deal. You weren’t asking them to look at you. This was to be different. This would be people coming to see us because we asked them to. And if we tripped, they might be pissed and annoyed they drove through LA traffic (which, as we know, can be downright depressing) for something that was a mess. The PRESSURE!

During that first show, we learned a lot. We learned that even D-list actresses don’t show up on time. We learned that projector remotes only work when they’re right next to the projector. We also learned from our audience that most people don’t mind the LA traffic because they’re masturbating all the while. Yeah. They are. Who knew?

And then a year passed (I’m still not having sex in the back of a Ferrari). There are as many storytelling shows in LA as there are struggling actors, so we weren’t sure how it would fare. But dare I say that our show is more than a storytelling show? We ask humans (any humans) to tell us a comedic version of their taboo story. All we ask is that it be a personal story that they would not normally feel comfortable telling in public. It must make the storyteller completely vulnerable. On stage. In front of 100 people (now 120. That’s right– more people. Huzzzah.).

The vulnerability is not just for the enjoyment of the audience though. No way. That’s a side product. Getting vulnerable on stage is rewarding for the storyteller. Letting out their stories to an accepting audience who laughs with them in the right places and cries with them in the right places is pretty freeing.

My friend was scared to tell his story about how he contracted HIV. That’s the kind of secret that sticks with you just below the surface all the time. You’re reminded of it when you take your pills every day. But it’s so ‘taboo’ that it doesn’t easily roll off the tongue. So when he read his story out loud on stage, that vulnerability was for him. And the best part were the hugs that followed. People heard his story, and they lined up to hug him. They weren’t scared of him.

That’s usually why we don’t tell our stories. We’re scared of being judged. We’re scared of the labels. But Taboo Tales is not ‘just a storytelling show.’ It’s a place where people can tell their secrets and then get hugs. Lots of hugs. And new friends. My favorite part of the experience is going on Facebook the day after. I can see the threads of all the new friendships made in our theater. It’s proof of acceptance. And proof that humans are capable of loving each other even though the news makes us feel sometimes like that doesn’t happen anymore.

There have been stories of hemorrhoids, breast cancer, blindness, fat fetishes, eating disorders, OCD, vaginal paranoia (that one was mine), butt licking, low self-confidence, and plenty of rapes. Lots of rapes. One of the biggest lessons I learned was how to spell hemorrhoids. Try it. That’s a painful one. to spell. sorry.

Now it’s been a year and a few days (still no sex in a Ferrari). I’m so grateful for all the new relationships I have, all the stage confidence I gained, all the lessons about humans and acceptance and love and judgments, and all the people who now see me as a safe sounding board for their secrets. Really, people tell me everything now. EVERYTHING! I love it. I’ll admit that once in a while I find myself judging someone for playing a nine-point word in Scrabble, but that’s the extent of my judging! It’s impossible to judge anyone now that I know that most of my friends shit their pants in Walgreens or think their sons are hot. For this, I’m so lucky. I accept this position.

Thanks for all the support and for coming to the shows and for encouraging us and for sharing your secrets. Next time I see you in traffic, I won’t be so mad when you’re stopped at a green light for too long.

Also, if you have a Ferrari: Call me!