Black Girl Unicorn

Publicly Black Since '83

You Mother People are Gangsta

Dude. DUDE. I spent two days with my niece & nephew and I’m DONE. I’m on Aunty Strike. What am I striking for? TIME FOR MYSELF!!!!!

YOU mother people are nutzo. Not just mothers, involved parents, but mostly mothers cuz sexism. 

Listen. Are you listening? Kids are exhausting! These little people who don’t pay bills or contribute in ways that aren’t their absolute adorability have opinions and shit. And then they DO NOT STOP MOVING! 

   And then, THEN!,  when it’s mad late in the night these people have the nerve to have energy! 

But then they do something super adorable and it’s as if they didn’t just spend the last hour sucking the entirety of your life force out of you through your ears. 

So shout out to mothers (aka all super involved parents) who do this everyday and don’t abandon their children cuz y’all have a tolerance for irritability that I will never have. #Salute 

An Act of Aggression at Bethune-Cookman 

This past weekend the class of 2017 of Bethune-Cookman College was faced with an act of aggression. Bethune-Cookman, an HBCU in Florida was started by Mary McLeod-Bethune an educator who supposedly raised money for the college by selling pies. Let that sink in. This woman wanted to ensure that Black women had access to education so much that she had a mega bake sale and the school still exists TODAY! 

Imagine being part of Bethune’s legacy, getting your degree and being faced with the task of respectfully listening to Betsy Devils, the secretary of education, who DOES NOT believe in public education AND ruined the school system in Detroit, at your own graduation. 

Couldn’t be me. Wouldn’t be me. Shit, in college I was always ready to fight the power, and often did. As a sophomore the president of my PWI knew me by name (my government is hella hard to pronounce) because I spent my free time cursing his existence in public meetings. I also called him a disrespectful nickname to his face. We made our peace when I graduated tho. 


The folks running Bethune-Cookman will be left behind when we Blaxit. It was an act of aggression to have Devils speak at the commencement ceremony, and brava to the class of 2017 for turning their backs on that POS. 

Like the pic above says, there are so many microaggressions one experiences as a Black student at a PWI. There are also hella microaggressions one experiences as a Black student at HBCUs. Hampton’s president with his bullshit dress code for business students, is racist and a serious microaggression. And as Bethune-Cookman’s president showed us, big ole giant acts of racist aggression can happen at HBCUs too. 

Anyhoo, brava to the bold students of the class of 2017. You did your families and selves proud by standing against evil. #Salute 


I am an introverted misanthrope loner. Wanna get me outta my shell? Ask me anything about football.  I promise not to ever stop talking. 

And that means the NFL Draft is one of my most favorite days of the year! 

I wasn’t always like this. Before I moved to America I only cared about playoff NBA basketball and baseball when the Yankees were good. Then I moved out of NYC and into the rest of America where I was introduced to the nation’s true past time: football. 

Once I got hooked on the nerdiest of jock narcotics, fantasy football, there was no turning back for me.  And that means football is a year round affair. 

Like the start of Free Agency, Draft Day is ten tons of fun! It’s a great opportunity to assess the incoming talent but also the strength and weaknesses of all 32 teams, vital information for a Fantasy Football Goddess like myself. 

Last year’s draft was filled with drama as a video of Laremy Tunsil was leaked on the Twitta hours before the draft and Tunsil fell out of the Top 5. This year the drama has not disappointed as the Browns made a reasonable first pick, and Chicago traded up to throw away the second pick on Trubisky. 

And I’m here for it. I got my crochet needle, and some Girl Scout cookies to enjoy all of the football goodness. Taking notes on how defenses are shaping up, late round back up RBs & WRs for my fantasy team, and maybe some sleeper rookie starters. 

FOOTBALL season soon come. And yes I am ALWAYS ready for some football. 

Not to Gender Stereotype but…

Little girls are kind of amazing and super useful. Everyone who wants to parent should have one. 

Listen, I spend a lot of time with my god sons, nephews, and other children that belong to close friends: mostly boys. And excluding everyone under the age of 3: the girls are top notch and I figured out why. 

Initially I thought it was inate, you know that ancient saying ‘Girls Rule, Boys Drool’? Without further investigation I may have been ok with that. The problem is I have a cousin who has the most amazing sons in all of the galaxy. So how could it be that her two sons are so awesome and they aren’t girls? 

I did some field work. 

I took my friend’s 7 year old daughter to Target. She scanned and bagged everything I bought. At the grocery store she made suggestions of things I could buy.  She explained what aShopkin is! AMAZINGNESS! 

I’ve seen this amazingness in other girls as well. I’ve seen girls help their parents on the train, the craft store, on walks to school! I even watched a girl who could not have been older than seven help her mom shop in the wild wild world of Trader Joe’s on a Saturday! The lil homie was reading ingredients, checking things off the grocery list,  organizing the food in the cart! And guess what her father was doing? 


That’s when it hit me: This is not innate, it’s modeling. It’s not all girls that are awesome, it’s girls with super awesome moms who are amazing. They see their moms being dope, and they emulate said dopeness. 

This also fits my theory that bad kids aren’t trash, their parents are. 

But you know what do I know? I ain’t got no kids.  I just borrow other people’s kids,  fill them with sugar, and send them back to their keepers with a sugar high. 

Ashy Twitter, Be Humble

This morning the rapper TI was saying some very unkind things about his soon to be exwife Tiny on the radio, and the Twitta turned into the peanut gallery. 

TI took on a Future (King of Ashy Twitter*) type quality and became the hero of Ashy Twitter. Ashy Twitter is composed of broke dudes who firmly believe that because they are men women should bend over backwards to cater to their life devoid of lotion or money. They say things like “You should be glad that a man wants to take you to McDonalds” as if getting a man to take me to an establishment that I won’t go to alone is a treat. 

Anyhoo, as Ashy Twitter continued to applaud TI and pretend that Tiny was lucky to have him, many literate and smooth skinned women reminded the ashy hords that Tiny was already famous and an established artist in Xscape when Tip rolled into her life with his basketball team of children and felony charges. 

This reminded me of this weekend when my ten year old nephew learned that Jay-Z is married to Beyoncé. He could not believe it and he looked at me like I was trying to trick him when he asked me “How did he get her to marry him?” 

And that’s how it should be. How do men get any of us women to speak to, hook up with, fuck, marry, care about, or love them? Everyday three women are killed by their husbands/boyfriends, on average. Like it’s actually life threatening to date men and Ashy Twitter has the nerve to make demands. 🙄

Anyhoo. Women we are amazing. I wish you joy and laughter today. Be like the dude in the picture for this post. Keep shining! 

*Future is a rapper who had a child with Ciara, currently married to Seahawks quarterback Russell Wilson. Future lies publicly in the media about Ciara and his fans send hateful messages to Ciara, even though it’s been proven by court documents that Future is an absentee parent and Ciara is a great mom. Ashy Twitter has cost Ciara business opportunities. 

Awo: Feeling the Vybez

I find the rise of soca and afrobeats to be very curious. Very curious. 

Now don’t get me wrong I love soca. I truly do. It makes me wannaaaaaaaaa


And I work up a sweat to the Afrobeats. In fact my entire cardio playlist is made up exclusively of soca and afrobeats. 

And yet the rise in popularity of soca and afrobeats is rather curious. Because it happened after a one Mr. Vybez Cartel was jailed in Jamaica. 

Now I’m not saying that this is fact, just a potential theory: Trinidadian soca artists, led by Machel Montano & Destra, conspired with West African afrobeats artists to bring down Vybez and the quality/popularity of dancehall music. 

 I can just see them meeting in some hole in the wall club in South London hating on the shine of dancehall. Then someone hatched a plan to attack Vybez with a demon duppy to make all the melanin in his skin disappear. Then once he was looking like a creature from Hades, he got mixed up with all sorts of nonsense and his downfall was imminent. Once the giant fell, the international popularity of the music followed suit. 

Yes there are good bashment tunes every once in a while. Konshens has a permanent place in my heart, but he ain’t Vybez, Awo. And nationalism being what it is even among the diaspora of all of the potential conspirators, this is at least a little bit possible. 
But for real I miss Vybez and I miss the big dancehall tunes.  I’m ready for a bashment renaissance. 

A Brave Choice to Return

Five years. Three states. 5 different addresses. And a year ago I finally came home. 

Since I decided to quit my job as an educator and go to law school my life took a sort of lonely gypsy turn. I left my home. Moved to new regions of the country, started training for a new career ALONE. 

I am the middle of five children. I was raised in a cult. Being ALONE was a new experience for me. And one I wanted all my life. 

Many people think I am an only child when they meet me. On my fifth grade state writing exam the prompt asked us to write about something we wanted to do when we grew up. I wrote about moving out of my mom’s house. 

But five years after I left home for law school,  I was back at my mom’s house sleeping on the couch. And I was so happy. 

It had been ten years since I lived with my mom. As soon as I could I fulfilled the dream of 11 year old me and moved out. Five years after I first moved out, I moved away. It took five years of living away, far away from my home, from my people to realize this: I am not a rock. I am not an island. 

All of my life I was part of some form of community.  As a child my neighborhood had everything I needed or wanted. My school, my dance classes, my Girl Scout troop, my swim classes, my Saturday art classes, my friend, everything.  Sitting on a patio overlooking the Pacific Ocean one glorious Southern California Sunday I realized this. I had recently quit a job I hated. I was taking antidepressants, and was lonely while surrounded by really cool people. And just like that I decided I didn’t have to be ALONE. 

3000 miles away were people who loved and cared for me. They knew me. They understood me. They wouldn’t judge me. And I was going back to them. 

It’s been a year since I came home. More often than not my heart is so full I am overwhelmed by how many people love me. This past year has been the hardest of my life, and the best. My personal breakdown was visible to my family and friends who supported me over the course of a very dark, difficult, confusing time. And through that support I have grown to recognize and acknowledge the abundance of love in my life. 

Oh yeah, and I became a cat parent. Things are looking up. 

*Featured Image from

How to Save on Your Morning Latte

My morning latte cost about $6 because I always replace cow’s milk with soy. But I usually pay $2. On days when I decide to have a pastry with my latte the price is still the same, because I’m cute. 

Don’t worry, I’m not going to launch into a diatribe bragging about my features, although my eyes are pretty enchanting 😜.  This is more about remembering that I’m cute. 

I lived in Los Angeles for too long as a fat Black girl. LA is the most false place I have ever lived. Nothing is real, Botox shops are as popular as NYC Bodegas. Fake arses, eyelashes, hair, voices, nails, boobs, cheekbones, and conversations are the norm there. Fat Black girls also pay full price for their lattes. 

But in the center of the universe where being unique is valued, the standards for what is attractive are varied. So a fat Black girl like me has had to get used to having men look at me with desirous looks. Like I have to continue to remind myself that when I am commuting that the guy on the train who keeps looking over at me isn’t necessarily trying to rob me, and that the male baristas at the cafe are flirting with me. And I let them! 

I feel shallow writing this, and as of now it is my truth: it is nice having my type of beauty appreciated. It feels good, and it’s nice on my wallet. 

Everything is Awesome

When you are 5 everything is awesome. That super catchy tune from The Lego Movie must’ve come straight from the mind of a preschooler. 

I recently took my baby nephew to visit a museum and his immense sense of wonder turned our outing into an epic adventure. 

To be clear he is 5, but the youngest of my nephews, and super adorable as he continued to show me during our adventure. So he’s the baby nephew. 

First we rode the subway. Standing in front of the doors, he was fascinated by our reflection. He initially called it a shadow, so we started to discuss the difference between the two. 

There was the shouting out all the things he saw as the train went over a bridge. Then someone started singing on the train. 

To be clear, my nephew doesn’t ride the subway often.  So this performance blew his mind. When the guy was done he asked for donations then left the car. My nephew turned to me and says “That was amazing!” I busted out laughing. 

And that was the ride on the subway. Everything was awesome or amazing and we still weren’t at the museum! 

I take the subway more than I want to, but that ride with the 5 year old will always remind me that even something as normal as a subway ride can be an amazing adventure. 

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