“Real sacrifice. Real disappointment. Real failure. And it requires the ability to scrape your sorry ass up off the floor, stumble to your feet.”

I have always been a softie, and I fight it with every fiber of my being. Sadly, my being’s fibers need to hit the gym.

It is hard, it lasts all day, the lighting is generally fluorescent, and, apparently, drinking at your desk is frowned upon.

I love to be busy and be challenged. I’m my happiest when I’m under pressure and almost overwhelmed by how much I have to get done.

I don’t know if I was always an open person, but I think stand-up comics specifically have this way of running towards embarrassing things.

If you ever needed to ruin someone’s fun, I mean really poop a party, just move things to the workplace. Fun terminated.

I can tell you this: Stand-up is not glamorous.

A belief in feminism is a belief in personal freedom.

Real success and accomplishment, at whatever it is you are passionate about, requires real work.

I love being married. I love my husband. I think married people always have that thing where they think that the grass is greener on the single side, but all my single friends are like,

Wounds turn into scars and scars make you tough.

I’m such a geek, and have always been a real nerd.

I visualize myself winning the Olympic Pentathlon, inventing a phone that can be controlled by brain waves, or doing the laundry.

“You are going to fail, and anyone who is success has powered through many, many failures.”

Am I going to complain about being typecast as smart? I don’t think so.

“Trust me, you don’t want to have to actually interact with these people.”

I spent most of my seventh grade summer dehydrated, green-tongued, and smelling like a Malaysian whorehouse.