It was a moderately chilly day. After an hour of chatting on the phone with my friend, I needed a snack. On my way to Dunkin’ Donut, I found a quarter. Yes, twenty-five unearned pennies. Thanks universe for free money! I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t need it. Still, I happily accepted it. “Miss, you got change?” Dude, it’s 9 am on a Sunday. Shouldn’t you be in church trying to get your life together instead of harassing me? Without looking back, I mumble off the standard rejection. He tried again. “I’m sorry. I meant. Can you change this money?”  Lord, why do I keep entertaining these conmen? In hindsight, incidents like hugging and almost kissing a hobo is pretty hilarious. It’s never funny at the moment – only in hindsight. Before could utter another brush off, I came face-to-face with the most striking blue eyes on a black man. I pieced together that he wanted a dollar bill in exchange for some coins. I assumed he needed bills for the bus ticketing machines. ...

I have a love-hate relationship with public transportation. I love it because it's an opportunity for me to go outside without actually being outside. People watching is great for story inspiration and dialog development. What I hate about public transportation? People putting their feet on the seats, those who leave their trash behind, and those with questionable hygiene. This one bus near my home in Chicago is consistently a rough ride; ish is always going down. This is not just some delicate Chicago transplant's opinion. My born-and-bred Chicago friend posted, "If you ever want to lose a little faith in humanity, take the [omitted] bus going in any direction. #YouPeopleNeedJesus #WTH." Between that post and the night in question, another Chicago friend shared how she disliked people who played music using their phone speakers instead of earbuds. I commented, "Yeah, that's so annoying. The next time someone does that, I'm going to challenge the...

“Yes, I hope she choke on it.” Serving a ten-year prison sentence in Mexico was not the way I envisioned celebrating my twenty-third birthday. God, please don’t let my life become the sequel to Brokedown Palace . It wasn’t my choice to live in a 20-bed hostel, but after witnessing the Euro’s spending power, I’d definitely do it again. Weekly manicures and triple-scoop ice cream desserts -- we were the queens of Monterrey. No longer afraid of contracting Bird Flu or being taken by the Mexican cartel, my only concern was passing Spanish 101 and making out with a hot cabana boy. Unfortunately instead Stella in How Stella Got Her Groove Back, I became the lead detective in my own Nancy Drew-type novel: Onicia Drew and the Case of the Mexican Yoghurt Thief. As hostel life goes, we were limited to one shelf in the shared refrigerator. Every week, I bought a specific amount of yogurts to meet my breakfast dairy needs. When I found myself short a few yogurts, I had to collect m...

I was looking for the right person to fill a vacancy. I wanted to be about diversity and equal opportunity. With that mindset, I decided to go on my first date with an Indian male. What? I didn't say I was an employer. I said I had a vacancy that needed to be filled; that vacancy was in my heart. #Puke. Honestly, his profile was forgettable, but because his first message was not sexual and we lived within a small distance from each other, accepted his offer to meet up. No, I was not attracted to him in the least, but I was also trying that thing where I didn't base everything on looks. I tried to convince myself that I might be a person who could look beyond physical appearances and grow to love someone based on their character alone. We skip the pen pall phase and cut straight to meeting at a cafe. This was going to be my first charity date. I was ninety-nine percent sure that we would not hit it off, however, as an international student, I empathized with being alone ...

Do you think you've got hot bits and struck comedy gold? The only way to know for sure is to test them in the blue-hot flames of a comedy open mic. Follow these 6 steps and be ready for your first open mic. Depending on your prior experience with public speaking, you might be ready to hit the stage in less than a week! Hey Onicia is a series where I tap into my type-A side and answer questions from my friends about this starving artist life. If you find this helpful, share with your twitter homies or thank me with ice cream . Want to chat or collaborate? Holla at me ! STEP 1 Write down all the funny things. Be sure to organize them, so it's easy to locate and curate.  STEP 2 Watch all the stand-up. This will help you to become familiar with the different styles and topic ranges. STEP 3 Actually attend an open mic. If you can, hang out after the show and network. Also, support the establishment and buy a drink. Tip the staff! STEP 4 Know the ...

The shenanigans of everyday public transportation never cease to amaze me. I thought the reckless driving of Mexican bus red drivers was the most exciting thing ever. I thought the train jumping of suicidal Dutchman was the most annoying thing. However, Chicago riders take the cake. We're on our way to the south side for some authentic Chicago barbecue when a mad driver in a minivan rear-ends the bus. Instead of stopping, they then squeeze between us and the parked cars. This is their rubbish attempt at getting away from whatever was chasing them. Recognizing that we were in fact on our way to Chicago's south side, instinctively duck below the windows. I open my eyes to see my travel companion sitting upright with their face pressed against the glass. “What are you doing?” I asked. “I want to know what happened.” Dread, this was not the time to be a mocco neighbor. Chicago is not a war zone but it was very likely that shower of bullets could follow. The minivan’s reckl...

Holy high heaven! The world was about to realize that I'm a neglectful mother. My grade school girlfriend got pregnant during her first year in high school and asked me to be her godmother. Naive and not fully understanding, I asked for time to discuss with my parents before giving an answer. Naturally, my parents advised against it. If my friend died, I would be responsible for her child and raise them in their parent’s faith – even if it was different to mine. They doubled down on fear mongering by sharing teenage mothers mortality rates. “But if you’re up for the challenge, go for it!” I was thirteen going on fourteen and not up for parenting. Ten years later, an older friend had the same request. I still wasn’t ready. I hadn’t started dating. I still wanted to see the world. More importantly, should they die, I would be responsible for their daughter. I’m no statistician, but I think middle-aged people have higher death rates than teenagers. (Knock on wood) I coul...

“Sorry, the dollhouse is full.” Those who know me know that my seemingly random quirks and habits are deeply rooted in past trauma. I’m a grudge holder with a long memory. I don't enjoy celebrating Christmas and most holidays. I especially don't like celebrating my birthday. The logic doesn’t add up: if my friends are grateful that I’m alive why am I the one spending money. My life if their gift; they should be giving me stuff. It was my second year in kindergarten. I was determined to spend time in the school’s dollhouse. This house with its kid-sized furniture was the greatest thing ever. On the first floor, there was a living room and a kitchen complete with plastic dishes and food. On the second level, there were several pillows and plush toys. Entry was first come, first served. The system was rigged. Our kindergarten teacher was running a botch social experiment about assertiveness and self-governance. The only kids who enjoyed the dollhouse were those w...

Every Caribbean person comes out the womb bilingual. My goal in life was to speak at the least seven languages and maybe one day work as an interpreter at the United Nations. On my quest to mastering seven languages, I came across a little known tongue called Spanish. As a big headed teenager, I believe French, Dutch and English were the most important languages in the world. Spanish was not going to be a thing. School administrators should stop trying to make Spanish happen, readjust the budget, and double down on teaching French. ‘Cause honesty, anyone who only spoke Spanish probably didn’t do anything great. Obviously, I also struggled with history and world geography – as if you couldn’t tell from those strongly held and embarrassingly ignorant beliefs. The universe would later have me insert my foot – nay my entire leg – into my mouth because my future children are Afro-Latino. A moment of side eye and several seats for past Spanish-hating me. But back to masteri...