My grandmother taught me that accomplishments meant less than what you left behind. I started to ask myself what impact my comedy would have on people's lives. And that changed my act. I got cleaner. I stopped talking about generic stuff like airplane peanuts and started speaking the truth about my gift.

Write yourself a permission slip to be surprised by someone's potential. Who knows? One day that person could be you.

If it wasn't for my trainer - who comes looking for me three times a week before 7 A.M. - I wouldn't get my butt out of bed and into the gym. There are many mornings when I think about faking a sprained ankle, but I just put it out of my head and make myself go.

I've always had a quirky way of looking at things. It's my coping mechanism.

My mom passed away at 41 from diabetes. And I'm 42, thank you. I didn't want to do that to my son. So any time I was at the gym, that thing that helped me do that last squat was my son calling some other woman mommy. And that would just give me that extra oomph to do that last squat. I want to be around for him.

When I go back to family reunions everybody goes, 'Hey cousin! Hey Auntie!' And I'm like, 'Okay I don't know you, I have no idea who you are.' I am auntie and cousin for so many and even the ones in prison call me collect. And I'll be like, 'Which of my family members are giving you this phone number?'

I have so much hair; I have a separate wig closet in my house.