“You murdered it.” Those might not be words you’d expect to hear at a funeral — especially not from a pastor. But when then-23-year-old Dani Bee, an activities director at an assisted living facility, gave a eulogy for one of her residents, she did, in fact, kill it.
Killing it. Murdered. These phrases are music to comedians’ ears. But Bee wasn’t yet a comedian, and she wasn’t yet performing at comedy clubs. Her stage was funeral homes. While continuing to work at the assisted living facility, Bee worked on her improv skills and found her love of standup.
Soon, nursing home residents, coworkers and even the deceased’s family were raving about her funeral speeches and eulogies — inspired by the way she could bring something so positive to a time of grieving. “To speak on behalf of the deceased and have a congregation of 200 people laugh,” Bee says, “it was very rewarding.”
Becoming a sought-after funeral speaker could be seen as unconventional, but Bee fully embraced it. Pre-booking requests for funerals followed.
“I had a calendar in my office, and people in hospice were saying, ‘I’m gonna try and die Sunday so you can speak that following Saturday at my funeral,’” Bee says to me while sipping a latte at Local Good Coffee Co. in Plano.
Yes, she’s delivered laughter at countless funerals, but her humor has also lit up iconic venues such as the House of Blues in Dallas and, locally, Mic Drop Plano. On a global scale, she’s earned recognition at the prestigious Edinburgh Fringe Festival, where Phoebe Waller-Bridge serves as honorary president. Bee’s distinctive blend of comedy, sharp, dark humor and moments of profound grief has become her signature style.
And for many of Bee’s residents, that joy was found in a bit of an unlikely place — Hooters.
A soft-spoken woman with bright red lipstick — which, she says, took so long to apply that it was the reason she was late for coffee — Bee is not what you might imagine a comedian to be. Yes, she makes jokes to the barista — asking for the name of the cow that produced the milk in her latte — but Bee, once named the funniest comic in Texas, is not your average comedian.
Before stepping into the spotlight as a full-time comedian, Bee was working with dementia and Alzheimer’s patients and, of course, was the unexpected go-to for heartfelt but hilarious funeral speeches. Bee brought humor and creativity to a job many would shy away from. Her speeches quickly became legendary among the senior residents.
“I’ve always been fascinated with death and being around the end of someone’s journey,” Bee says. “I loved that I got to be the last joy, whether that be the last week, the last month, the last year. I got to be a part of those memories and those core collections of joy before they passed away. And I’m honored to carry that with me.”
And for many of Bee’s residents, that joy was found in a bit of an unlikely place — Hooters.
It started when 25 residents at the care facility went on hospice at the same time, sparking Bee’s idea for her own “make a wish” program. The first participant was Al, a former MGM Studios employee who often encouraged Bee to embrace her creative talents. When asked about his final wish, Al paused, coughed and said, “I want to go to Hooters.”
Though Bee was surprised, plans were made, and senior men and women alike wheeled and walker-ed their way in. According to Bee, the scene, chicken wings and all, felt like The Last Supper. With heart monitors beeping as waitresses walked by, you could argue the outing was a religious experience itself.
The residents were thrilled, Bee was named employee of the month and Al died the next day. The field trips to Hooters continued with other residents, and Bee and her elderly cadre became regulars. “There were times where people would ask what community I’m from because they wanted their mom or dad to experience the same amount of joy and fun outings that we were doing,” Bee says.
Bee didn’t grow up dreaming of being a comedian. She is a Plano native, and her childhood was a blend of Southern manners and her parents’ rich cultural influences. Her dad, an Ecuadorian immigrant, instilled in her a love of storytelling, and her mom taught her resilience and a healthy dose of sass.
“My mom has started taking notes during my show,” Bee says. “She’ll say ‘You were talking too fast, that last scene that you did last month was a little bit slower, your timing was off.’ I didn’t know I was getting critiques, especially not from my mom.”
Growing up, Bee had a natural gift for humor, effortlessly stepping into the spotlight as the class clown and playing pranks on her brothers. Her brothers, though, are still not 100 percent sold on the whole comedy thing. “It’s hard for them to see me perform.” Bee laughs. “I’m the baby of the family.”
Yet, beneath the laughter lay a quieter, more introspective side — something that still defines her today. A need for time to take a step back, to dream about what she wants for herself and her future.
“I think being around seniors in my 20s and being around so much death kind of instilled in me this ‘seize the day’ because, when you’re around it, time slows down.”
After attending Texas State University for applied sociology and gerontology — where she did, in fact, take a class on death — Bee found her passion for making connections with people, especially the elderly. Working with seniors gave her a unique perspective on life. She eventually channeled those experiences into her one-woman show, Laugh After Death. The show — which kicked off on June 22, 2024, at the Dallas Comedy Club — explores grief, resilience and finding light in the darkest moments.
“It’s OK to talk about death, and that’s why I want to normalize it.”
By blending her personal experiences with comedy, Bee addresses the profound challenges of navigating life after the death of a loved one, showing how laughter can be a source of solace and catharsis in the face of grief. Through 22 different characters, Bee takes audiences on a rollercoaster of emotions, weaving together hilarious anecdotes and meaningful reflections.
“It’s OK to talk about death,” says Bee, “and that’s why I want to normalize it.”
In fact, she hopes the audience embraces the grief and heartbreak throughout the show and fully supports tears in her audience, too. “We should normalize crying,” Bee says. “At the show, everyone cries. I had a lady come up to me to say her dad had just died, and she hadn’t fully grieved until my show.”
Offstage, Bee’s day-to-day life is just as unpredictable as her comedy. Married to her real-life superhero, Jim Balda — a Marine-turned-firefighter — she juggles stand-up gigs, substitute teaching and raising two kids, Lincoln Balda and Diana Balda.
Diana, her almost-6-year-old daughter — as spirited as her Wonder Woman-themed name suggests — is a comedian in her own right, according to Bee. Her son, Lincoln, now 7, was diagnosed with autism at age 3, and this has shaped her as a mother and a storyteller.
In addition to sharing the deeply personal and meaningful stories about her most cherished patients in Laugh After Death, she discusses the life lessons she has gained while raising a child on the spectrum. For Bee, parenting a neurodivergent child has only added depth to her comedy. “Working with seniors with Alzheimer’s and dementia prepared me to take on helping and understanding my son better with his autism,” Bee says.
In turn, it’s also helped her become a better comedian, adding to her plethora of stories and life experiences.
This March, Bee will take her talents to the prestigious Solofest in L.A., performing Laugh After Death for one of her largest audiences yet. “I was just submitting to a festival I did not think I would get in, and then within a month, they reviewed everything that I had sent off, and I got in,” Bee explains.
“Working with seniors with Alzheimer’s and dementia prepared me to take on helping and understanding my son better with his autism.”
But getting into the second-largest solo comedy festival in America isn’t where Bee’s dreams end. In fact, she isn’t even worried about her dreams coming to an end.
“I’m not afraid of failing — I’m afraid of success,” Bee says. “Success scares me so much; to my core. I want Jimmy Kimmel, I want Jimmy Fallon, I want to do SNL, I want to write, I want to do all this stuff. But with that comes the scrutiny and the attention and the comments and the reviews.”
For Bee, these aspirations are worth it. Despite holding onto her big dreams and ambitious goals of hitting it big, Bee is embracing the present moment and living life day by day. She has cultivated a remarkable ability to find contentment in the simplest of things, drawing joy from every corner of her life. “I don’t make it, that’s fine, and I already feel like I’ve accomplished so much in my life,” she explains.
Her approach to life is rooted in an appreciation for the present, the beauty and value she finds in what is right in front of her and the knowledge that her dreams are wherever she can find them.
“I’ve had two beautiful children, I’ve seen my parents grow old together, I’m close with my family, I’ve had so many jobs and I met so many beautiful people,” Bee says. “If I die tomorrow, that’s OK.”
While Bee’s no longer taking funeral requests, she’s definitely still killing it onstage.
This story originally appeared in the March/April 2025 issue of Local Profile. To subscribe, click here.
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