All of it. Just from doing open mics.
I started to become more happy and more joyous. I
started thinking more positive. I started reading positive
books.
ͳen Titus tried to get me back. He started coming to
my open mics, and he would write jokes and put them in my
mailbox or whatever. ͳey were terrible jokes! Fucking
knock-knock shit! I was done with him, though. I’d already
fucked Roscoe by this point, and I had re-found comedy, I
didn’t have no time in my life for a fake pimp who thought I
was worth $38.
I kept doing open mics and kept feeling better, and then I
got my mrst paid gig. It almost derailed me, and sent me oĉ
comedy forever.
One of my aunties called me and said her friend was
having some women’s group meeting or something, and
they wanted me to perform at their event.
Aunt: “And it pays $50.”Tiffany: “Yeah, right. How much time they want me to
do? Two hours?”Aunt: “They want you to do fifteen minutes. That’s it.”Tiffany: “Oh hell yes!”I got there, and I knew it was a women’s event ahead of
time, but damn, there were NO men there. I had come with