I was backstage, hanging out with some new friends I had just met. We only had one thing in common: we were scared out of our minds.

There was Ben, the rapper who wrote his own songs and even performed some freestyle for us so we could jump around and shake off our nerves.

Emma was a contortionist who was busy doing various flips and seeing if she could do a split against a wall.

Lauren and Katie, different acts, but Lauren was playing ukulele to warm herself up and give Katie some music to sing too as well.

And me?

Whenever someone asked me what I was doing for my church beach retreat talent show, they asked if I was singing or dancing. But nope. I told them with a slightly nervous look that I was doing something that I was pretty sure had never been done before.

Stand up comedy.

This was followed by "Wow!" and "No way!" and they would ask if I had ever done it before. The answer was no.

These new friends all went before me, and I dutifully cheered them on. They all assured me I would be great. Easy for them to say. Their acts didn't depend on audience participation. If they stumbled or tripped or hit a wrong chord, the audience would still cheer out of sympathy. But I didn't have that luxury. If no one laughed at me, I was a flop. Or fake sympathy laughter? I could think of no punishment worse. I'd prefer they boo me off the stage as opposed to that.

But soon enough, it was my turn to perform. I summoned the courage of Jim Gaffigan, Kevin James, Ellen and of course, John Mulaney before I plastered a smile on my face and went onstage. My friends cheered for me. And everyone else clapped politely.

"Hey guys!" I started, heart pounding. "I'm Emma Buoni. Let's start with introductions. i'm scared of public speaking, the ocean and performing." I paused, begging for a giggle. Nothing but background chatter, and if someone did laugh, it was drowned out by disinterest.

I mentally screamed some very un-Christian words and continued on. For the first minute, I wished I would disappear or that I had some other talent that would actually keep them interested. I was about to steal John Mulaney's Jukebox skit (and good thing I didn't, it was too popular to steal and claim as my own) I had an idea.

I was moving around, trying not to look nervous, going through the motions. The audience picked up on that. They weren't here for me to read a script. They were here for a show.

So when I explained my last name was so bad the only reason I would marry is for a better last name or riches, I threw in something unexpected. I waved out to the crowd, and said, "Fellas, hit me up I'm single," despite being basically a confirmed lesbian to anyone with eyes.

The crowd screamed out in laughter, and I got a shot of confidence. I glanced at the front row of the audience and spotted a senior boy surrounded by girls. "This guy is interested, let's go man!" I went up to him, high-fiving him and ignoring the glares of his harem and reveling in the laughter of the crowd.

And from there it got better. I would use my script, but if for only a second it looked like the audience was losing interest, I said something wild that drew them back in. I compared children to cocker spaniels, insulted Panera and showed of my non-existent muscles from playing with my dog. By the time I finished, I didn't want it to end. I could have done a full Netflix special.

But it didn't end there.

For the night and even the next day, people I had never met before came up to me and congratulated me, asked me to tell a funny story, offered to buy me ice cream or even asked me to sing with them, as one group with a guitar player did.

Guys came up to me, and though none of them interested my gay a*s, it gave me a confidence boost that I felt was long overdue.

I spent the night writing a new routine and looking up places to perform.

So, in conclusion, did I have a good time?

Yes.

But I think what's more important is that I hadn't even expected to make the talent show. There were at least 2,000 people at the retreat and more than 100 had tried out, only 11 making it. And to hear the audience laughing at my stories and assuring me I really was good at this?

Even better.

Maybe one day I'll get my own Netflix special.