Read: 2025-12-21
Recommend: 8/10
The book is raw, honest, and especially funny in its account of her brief relationship with her handicapped boyfriend, Roscoe.
Here are some text that I highlighted in the book:
They’d be trying to like take care of me, getting me paper towels and stuff. It made them care about me. Hurting myself made them stop hurting me and care about me.
My whole thing was just to make everybody laugh. If I could do that, then they’d let me copy their homework and they’d help me on tests. One of the ways I made everyone laugh was to make up these imaginary friends. I had a female imaginary friend that I called Carmelita and a little bird that I called Cracker.
Richard: “You’re getting on my goddam nerves, that’s what’chu doing! Look, people don’t come to comedy shows because they want to hear about your problems, or about politics, or what’s going on in the world, or celebrities. They don’t care. They come to comedy shows to have fun. So when you’re onstage, you need to be having fun. If you’re having fun, they’re having fun. If you not having fun, they looking at you like ‘what the hell did I spend my money on?’ So you need to have fun.”
“He’s ashamed of himself, because he left you when you were three, did nothing for you, and you ended up being very successful without him, and then you buy him stuff. You are not only a better person than he is, but you are kind and responsible where he is not, and you’re providing where he did not. Not just as his child, but as a woman, providing for him. Your goodness holds up a mirror to his ugliness, and that is too painful for him, so he has to project this onto you, by saying you make him feel less about himself. It’s nothing you did. It’s guilt.”
I still have all these what if’s go through my mind. I seriously think to myself, What if he was an angel from heaven? What if God was testing me to see if I can have compassion and overlook people’s physical handicaps and look at the beauty of their souls? Roscoe was such a beautiful person, he had a truly beautiful soul.
But it wasn’t just about making money. When I’m onstage, I feel like it’s—it’s where I am supposed to be. It’s who I am. When I am onstage, it’s like this adrenaline rush. You gotta show up and be on and bust your ass, or people will not laugh. And nothing else makes my mind work so fast and so hard. I like that feeling.
Then she whipped me. That whipping hurt, but it also felt so good, because my body was so itchy. Every time the belt hit me, it was like a good scratch.
I end up picking jealous and possessive guys, because in some sick, twisted way, I think that means they care. I’m like, “Look at all the energy he’s putting into finding out what I’m doing.” The reality is, in my life, no man’s ever really cared. As a kid, I didn’t have any man that cared about me. My dad didn’t care. Stepdad didn’t care. Uncles didn’t care. Nobody cared. I think that I interpret possessiveness from men as love.
I almost did not put this in the book. I mean, there isn’t much here that’s funny, to be honest. But I ended up putting it in, because of three reasons: 1. It’s the hard truth about my life. I will always tell the truth, even when it’s not fun. 2. I hope some young girls can learn from my mistakes and avoid what I went through. 3. I believe everything happens for a reason, and as bad as this was, I believe it’s made me better and helped me get where I am.
I kept telling myself that he did this because he cared about me. But really, he was controlling me. That’s what it was about. Not love, not caring, it was about control. But I either didn’t know any better, or I wasn’t willing to see it. I looked past his issues, so I could have a man in my life who did things for me.
You can tell it’s bothering him, but I am always cool to him, because he apologized and made his shit right. And I will always forgive. I may not forget, but I will forgive anyone, if the apology is sincere, and I feel his was sincere.
And it’s true. It is so funny, ’cause nobody told me that. I saw all these girls fucking all these dudes and getting stage time, and I just felt like I’m probably ruining my career, ’cause I wasn’t going to do that. But those girls aren’t doing comedy no more. None of them. Those girls that I started with that slept around, they all got kids or they quit. Or it’s “I became a social worker” or “I’m a nurse now.” ’Cause they was getting run through, and how long can that go on? They thought that was the way, and it’s not. You can’t get your comedy stripes on your back, you got to earn ’em on your own two feet. ’Cause you can’t fake funny.
“Because now you know those two are the enemy. Now you are aware. It’s the ones that are sweet to your face and plotting behind your back that you have to worry about.”
With your words, with your actions, with your thoughts, with your success. You kill them with your success, Tiffany. You kill them with your success. Then they’ll have to kiss your motherfucking feet.
Jada: “Tiffany, you want to wear designer clothes, because people are going to be seeing you, you’re gonna be in the eye of the public and they’re gonna be like, what are you wearing? If you say Chico or Ann Taylor, that’s not going to work. You need to be wearing designers. It sets you apart from everybody else and puts you in a certain class level. If you want to be considered top-notch, you need to wear top-notch type things.” Tiffany: “But Jada, this stuff costs money. I appreciate your gifts, I really do, but I can’t buy this myself. I have to be smart with my money, and save it. I gotta stack my chips, not spend ’em.” Jada: “You absolutely should be smart with your money! If it makes you feel safe to stack your chips, stack ’em. Most people in Hollywood don’t do that, that’s smart.”
If I want to be the girl that belongs in Hollywood, I not only have to have talent, but I also have to signal to Hollywood that I belong. By wearing cheap, low-class, knockoff stuff, I’m telling people that they can treat me low-class. That maybe I don’t belong on that higher level. I have to value myself properly. That’s something I have had a hard time with in the past, but I’m getting better. Jada: “Tiffany, I’m also going to need you to be wearing makeup when you’re out or onstage. And can you at least glue on some lashes and put on some lips daily?” Tiffany: “I don’t feel like it. If it’s an audition? Yeah. If it’s an interview for something? Yeah. Otherwise, I feel like I should be able to walk around here naked-faced.” Jada gave me that look you give a child when they are mad that gravity exists.
I don’t normally like getting all deep into painful shit. I like to skip across the ocean of emotion. I feel like that’s better. But once I started working on this book, I got into all this shit. If something comes up, I’m going to talk about it. I’m going to tell you about it, and if it hurts, that’s too bad. I’m going to be like, “Yo, that shit hurt, but let me tell you though.” That’s who I am. I feel like, honestly, that’s the only reason I’m still alive. Because I’m willing to talk about my stuff. Whether it’s onstage, or with friends, or in this book.
Friend: “Tiffany, everyone has some version of this in their life. Everyone has their own personal pain and their own demons, and no one will talk about it, and that’s why they never get better. They’re all afraid to talk about it.” I guess I’m not afraid to talk about it. It just hurts a lot when I do.