What type of stand-up were you?

There's an improv [comedy club] down in Irvine, two minutes from my house. I would go and I would sit in the back of the room on their open-mike nights and gauge — "I think I'm as funny as that person" — but I didn't have the guts enough to get up there. But I found a stand-up comedy workshop in an Irvine Valley College extension course catalog. I thought, Oh my God, this is perfect. It'll force me to have to get up and perform.

The six weeks ended in a performance at the old Golden Bear down in Huntington Beach, which I think is torn down. That was the kindest audience ever, people in the class and family and friends. I thought, Oh my gosh, this is fantastic. I'm a natural.

So my first time in front of a real audience was a place called The Barn, in Tustin. It wasn't promising at all. The TV blaring in the corner, guys playing pool while you're standing up there with a microphone. I got so nervous that all of the moisture left my mouth, so I couldn't keep my upper lip from sticking to my teeth. And I kept going, gaack. I sped through my material, then "Thanks for coming, I'm Will Ferrell" — just flop sweat, the worst. I drove home, and I went, "Mom, how do you think it went?" She went, "I think you did really good. You have a nice presence. But you have a bad tic." And I said, "Mom, that's because all the moisture left my mouth."

You didn't have material about her?

No. I did material about Star Trek and listening to people order Mexican food and mispronouncing.

I'm reminded of Ron Burgundy's Spanish malapropisms. What was the next step?

I was driving all around with my odd jobs and then the stand-up faded away and I found the Groundlings — I loved actually being part of a team as opposed to being the only person up there. It was right place at the right time, and in the spring of '95, SNL came to a show and saw a bunch of us, and we all got off to a fast audition.