The Last Black Unicorn

by Tiffany Haddish

  Jada: “Yes! You need peace and quiet for your art. Your assistant should be screening calls so you don’t have to be talking to everybody, because you need your peace. It’s very important to have your peace.”

  Tiffany: “I like peace and quiet.”

  Jada: “If you have an assistant, then they can take a lot of the worry and the stress off you. Because the more successful you get, the heavier the workload gets, and the more normal things that you would do, you can’t do anymore, because you got other things to deal with. So give that responsibility to someone else.”

  So I hired a dude to be my assistant.

  My lawyer wrote up the NDA, got it signed. And this guy worked for me for like a week. He was cool, very happy, and nice.

  I fired him right away.

  I just didn’t feel comfortable with it. I don’t know why. I feel like it’s me giving up my power, and I can’t give up my power.

  I worked so hard to be independent and to have things for myself, and take care of myself. It’s hard for me to let somebody else take care of me. Plus, I’ve been taking care of myself for so long.

  He didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just me. I got trust issues.

  One of my friends asked me why I felt this way. I think about it all the time. Part of it is my childhood and what I’ve been through. I could never really rely on anybody, I always had to do things myself. It’s just hard changing those thought patterns, you know?

  And also, I have trust issues with people being in my personal stuff. For example, I shop a lot online, I don’t want nobody telling me, “Jeez, you’re buying a lot of stuff from Amazon and Tophatter, why you got so many Groupons? Like, you’re doing a lot of Groupon stuff, why are you doing all this stuff?”

  For example, I bought two cases of wine off of Groupon, because they had unicorns on the bottle. I buy sex toys on Amazon. I buy all kinds of things that people think are stupid, and I AM TIRED OF EXPLAINING MYSELF!

  I guess I should explain that, too. This was not my first attempt at hiring an assistant. I got baggage here, as well.

  Two years ago, my best friend was my assistant. She did part-time work for me, assistant-type stuff. She was always in my business, criticizing me.

  Friend: “Oh my God, Tiffany, why did you buy this?”

  Tiffany: “Shut up. I’m gonna buy this stuff, I’ll buy whatever I want to buy.”

  Friend: “But you’re like, wasting money on gadgets that barely work.”

  Can you imagine having that conversation with someone? I don’t want nobody telling me anything about how I spend my money.

  I had to let her go. She was getting to be like my mama.

  It all started when I shot this Tyler Perry series in Georgia. I needed help with getting a place to stay, learning my lines, and just getting settled in Georgia. One day, I had been talking to her on the phone, and I was like:

  Tiffany: “Yeah, I gotta get somebody to help me find a spot out there.”

  Friend: “I’ll help you. Shoot, I’m not working right now. You should let me work for you.”

  Tiffany: “Cool. But I can only afford like $400 a month.”

  Friend: “That’s what’s up. I’m just gonna be excited to be out there.”

  She helped me find this three-bedroom house that was only like $400 a month, so that was dope. And then she did everything for me, got the furniture for me, and she would do the grocery shopping. I had brought my dogs with me, so she would walk the dogs. And when I would get home from work, she would run the lines with me.

  And she helped me with my emails. At the time I had like 8,000 emails that I hadn’t even checked yet, so she checked all of them.

  Yeah, I know. 8,000 unread emails. And a lot of them were important.

  Friend: “Tiffany, you’ve got to check your emails more often. You know you probably missed twenty or thirty thousand dollars in comedy shows alone?”

  Tiffany: “Wait—what?”

  Friend: “So many people emailing you about doing comedy shows. Oh my God, Tiffany, you missed so much money not checking these emails.”

  A lot of them were recent, and I ended up making an additional four or five thousand dollars off a few of the emails.

  When we were in Georgia, it was fun. When we got back to LA, I told her:

  Tiffany: “I’m not working like that no more, and I don’t really need an assistant.”

  Friend: “I’ll just work anyways, I’ll do it anyways. You don’t need to pay me.”

  That did not work out. Basically, the next few months was just her questioning what I did and then telling me what to do.

  Friend: “You need to go to bed.”

  Tiffany: “You ain’t my mama!”

  Friend: “Go to bed, Tiffany, you need to go to bed. You gotta go to work tomorrow.”

  Or when I was seeing this basketball player at the time, and she’d be like:

  Friend: “You need to make him commit, he needs to make a commitment to you.”

  Tiffany: “He ain’t your boyfriend, is he? I’m just enjoying him, leave me alone. I’m going to his game tonight.”

  Friend: “You don’t have time for games, you’re busy. You need to call your agent, you need to call your manager, you got a telephone interview at six, you got a set tomorrow . . .”

  Just like, ALWAYS telling me what I needed to do.

  Which was what I was paying her to do. I mean, she was really good at it.

  I just had issues with that.

  So yeah, I had to fire her. We are still friends, but we don’t talk about money or my career anymore. It’s not awkward though. At least not for me.

  I know that I do need somebody reminding me what to do. I procrastinate on everything. Like right now. I should’ve went to the grocery store yesterday to get groceries, because I’m gonna cook for my brothers and sisters tomorrow, but I’m like, “Eh, the grocery store is twenty-four hours, I’ll go later, I’ll do it later.”

  Then when I get the groceries, it’ll be two o’clock in the morning, and I’ll get home, and I know I need to marinate this and do that and I’m just like, “Ah, I’ll do it in the morning.” Then I’ll wake up in the morning and be like, “Ah, I’m still sleepy, I’ll do it in a couple hours.”

  Then everybody’ll be here, and then I’ll be doing it. Everybody’ll be waiting for the food and looking at me like, “Dang Tiff, you knew we was coming, didn’t you?”

  Okay, so yeah, I got problems.

  But I don’t want to be pestered about them!

  How to Handle Backstabbing Bitches

  My life is pretty good now, but sometimes I run into some motherfuckers and shit goes off. I’ll tell you about this one time, very recently, I was at a wedding.

  My boyfriend (at the time) and I were the only black couple there. We looked good. It was all white people and us. Very fancy wedding, lots of rich people, etc.

  I went in the bathroom and was sitting in the stall peeing. Then, two ladies came in. They must have thought they were alone, because they started talking loud:

  Old Lady 1: “You see that big, black butt that she got? Oh yeah, she could not fuck him right.”

  Old Lady 2: “We’ll get her ass out of here, some way. We’re going to fuck him. We’re going to . . .”

  And for ten minutes I heard them say terrible racist shit about me, and talk about getting my boyfriend to leave with them.

  I just sat there, quiet. I was listening, getting madder and madder. I was two glasses of wine in already, so I was ready to fight these ladies. I sent a text message to Hollywood Friends 1 and 2 like:

  “These old bitches at this wedding being racist as hell. I’m about to kick they asses. I’m sorry if I don’t see you all for a while because I’m about to be in jail.”

  Hollywood Friend 1 called me immediately. Now mind you, I’m still sitting in the stall:

  Hollywood Friend 1: “Tiffany, just leave. Just get an Uber right now and just walk out the door.”

  Tiffany: �
��I can’t do it, I got to fight these bitches.”

  Hollywood Friend 1: “I’m not getting off the phone with you until you walk out the door. Just leave. Leave. Leave.”

  I opened the stall door, still on the phone with Hollywood Friend 1, and these two bitches gave me a look of shock and horror. They had no idea I was there.

  Tiffany: “Okay, I will leave these fat-ass, Paula Deen–looking bitches to themselves, and get the hell out of this wedding.”

  I thought those women were going to straight die, right there in the bathroom.

  I walked out, got my man, and we left. I was still steaming when we got back to the hotel. We had some good sex that night, I tell you what. He thought it was funny that they wanted to fuck him.

  Boyfriend: “You should have let them try. I would have put them on blast so bad.”

  The next day, Hollywood Friend 2 saw my text and called me. She stayed on the phone with me for two hours telling me about how racism works in Hollywood:

  Hollywood Friend 2: “Honey child, let me explain. First off, what a blessing that you were able to hear them do it out loud, in your face. That’s a blessing. I have been through so many experiences where they did it behind my back, or they just shut me down. That’s what they do. They close you out. Be grateful that you got to hear it live and see it.”

  Tiffany: “How is that good?”

  Hollywood Friend 2: “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.”

  Tiffany: “Oh yeah. I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

  Hollywood Friend 2: “The thing that’s so bad about it is they do it to each other, too. Even worse. Them white women attack each other, and they go for each other’s heads. Just imagine how they did you, imagine that times ten on each other. Their racism, is not even like racism. It’s like sexism. You’re fucking a richer guy or a hotter guy, so now I’m going to destroy you.”

  Tiffany: “Yeah, I can see that.”

  Hollywood Friend 2: “Now imagine if you’re a black woman and you’re fucking a richer guy that they want to fuck. Now they’re going to try to destroy you, because you’re getting the dick they want and you’re getting the money funneled down to you. See, boil it all down, Tiffany, it comes down to money and status. It ain’t even about race.”

  Tiffany: “It’s crazy, but yeah, I can see that. Oh my God. This sounds like Illuminati shit. But you’re right. You trippin’ me out. I feel like I’m watching a YouTube video.”

  Hollywood Friend 2: “At the end of the day, Tiffany, you just have to be gracious. You have to smile and when they say something you don’t like, you figure out how to Dallas they ass.”

  Tiffany: “Dallas?”

  Hollywood Friend 2: “Knots Landing they motherfucking ass. You got to get like a soap opera. You got to get down and dirty . . . but do it classy. Get down and dirty, but do it classy. Let these bitches know you not afraid to fuck them up.”

  Tiffany: “What do you mean? Should I fight?”

  Hollywood Friend 2: “No, not with your hands! That’s ghetto. 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.”

  Tiffany: “Yeah, I like the sound of that.”

  Hollywood Friend 2: “You do it right, and you’re going to have these bitches walking behind you trying to clean your shit up, just like Oprah. You see what Oprah did? Them bitches will lick her ass. You know why? Because she killing them with her success. They’ve been racist towards her. They’ve been mean to her. They called her ‘fat, black Harpo,’ all that. Yeah, but who’s on top? She says I like watermelon martinis, and boom—everybody drinking watermelon martinis now, Tiffany. Because Oprah said she liked them.”

  Tiffany: “Watermelon martinis is pretty good though.”

  Hollywood Friend 2: “Just stay focused, stay successful, and you shut these bitches down cleverly. Be smart and watch these soap operas, and stay classy, and you’ll get there.”

  So now I watch soap operas for ideas on how to handle backstabbing bitches.

  Hollywood Accounting

  Me and my accountant get into it all the time.

  Accountant: “What are you buying from PayPal, you’re buying a lot of things from PayPal but it doesn’t say exactly what it is.”

  Tiffany: “It’s none of your business.”

  Accountant: “Tiffany, I cannot legally write it off your taxes unless you tell me what it is!”

  So I told him. I had bought this book . . . I’m so fucking embarrassed about this, but I have to share it. Maybe it’ll help me get past it. This book is basically how to get a man and how to get your ex back, or how to get a man to be into you, right? It’s by this guy who’s like a relationship advisor guy, and to be a member of his thing is like $39.99 a month, and you get a book and text messages and stuff.

  Accountant: “What is this $39.99 a month, what’s this for?”

  Tiffany: “For my education, it’s an educational program.”

  Accountant: “For what?”

  Tiffany: “For guys, to know men better. It helps me in my comedy.”

  Accountant: “I can’t write that off.”

  Tiffany: “Yeah-huh! It’s relationship stuff, and I talk about relationship stuff in my comedy.”

  I fuss with him about all kinds of things.

  Accountant: “You can’t use business credit cards to buy weed, Tiffany, that’s not cool. That’s health stuff.”

  Tiffany: “It’s my medicine. I have a prescription from a doctor. So I can ease my back pain and get onstage and perform. So you have to write that off, too.”

  I buy too much weird stuff that pisses him off. I bought a $300 microscope, because I’m into science.

  Accountant: “You can’t write off a microscope! It does not affect your business. How does that help you with acting or comedy?”

  Tiffany: “Well, it helps me with comedy, because I talk about bacteria and stuff onstage, and I have to research the bacteria, so I’m not giving off false information.”

  He didn’t believe me, so he brought his buddy to the comedy show, to my special, and he’s like:

  Accountant: “Yep, this is who I was telling you about, with the microscope and the seducing men books.”

  I got all angry—don’t tell everybody that!

  Of course, I’m writing about it here, which is worse. But damn, that’s my decision to spread my business, not his!

  Queen Latifah’s House Party

  Queen Latifah had a party at her house and invited me. I asked her if I could bring a couple of my comedian friends, Hannibal Buress and Lil’ Rel.

  Queen Latifah: “Do they got something to lose?”

  Tiffany: “What?”

  Queen Latifah: “You never invite nobody to your house, unless they got something to lose.”

  Tiffany: “Well, they’re pretty popular entertainers, so I think they got something to lose.”

  Queen Latifah: “Yeah, okay, well they welcome to come. Long as they got something to lose.”

  So we all went to her house, and it was Fourth of July. She’s having a party, and we were drinking and having a good time. All kinds of famous people were there. I was in the pool, standing there, drinking and talking to Larenz Tate and his brothers.

  I heard a voice that I recognized. I turned and looked, then turned back to the guys and said:

  Tiffany: “You guys, is that Mary J. Blige, or am I tripping?”

  Larenz: “No, that’s Mary J. Blige.”

  I started backstroking towards her, all smooth right? And I was like:

  Tiffany: “Hey girl, how you doing?”

  And I just started talking to her, but I was so drunk.

  Tiffany: “Me and my friends, we love your music, we used to bump it all the time, we still be bumping it.”

>   And I started singing some of her songs to her, and she was laughing.

  Mary: “What do you do?”

  I got out the water, but I had been drinking so much that I was bloated, so my swimming suit was crawling up in my butt, it was just looking bad. So I’m trying to dig my swimming suit out my ass, and Mary J. Blige was looking at me crazy.

  Tiffany: “I know you looking at me crazy, but look, I just signed a modeling contract.”

  Mary: “You did?”

  Tiffany: “Yep, with Big Lots. I’m a swimsuit model for them. Regular body edition, girl.”

  And she just fell out laughing.

  Mary: “You crazy, girl!”

  So Mary offered me a drink, or maybe three, or six, and I don’t remember too much after that. Music had come on, I started dancing and stuff. I was just having a good time, but I know eventually that Queen Latifah came over and got me and was like:

  Queen Latifah: “Tiffany, it’s time to go in the house, you tripping.”

  Tiffany: “Am I being bad?”

  Queen Latifah: “Girl, yo ass is crazy. You need to go in the house.”

  So she took me in the house, and I just fell asleep immediately.

  That’s right, I FELL ASLEEP. I did not PASS OUT. I was just tired, and so I went to SLEEP.

  Lil’ Rel and Hannibal put sunglasses on me. When I was ASLEEP. They would take turns closing my mouth ’cause my ass was light snoring every time my mouth opened, and it was bothering everyone who was playing games like Taboo and Spades.

  The next day at the movie set, Queen Latifah was clowning me.

  Queen Latifah: “Tiffany, you was so funny. You was just dancing all crazy. I haven’t seen Mary J. Blige laugh like that in years.”

  Tiffany: “For real?”

  Queen Latifah: “You was the only person that was talking to her, besides me and her sister, and Mary said she really enjoyed you.”

  Tiffany: “Really?”

  Jada: “Yeah girl, it was fun.”

  Tiffany: “Jada, you was at the party, too?”

  They thought that shit was real funny, that I didn’t even know Jada was at the party. I guess I SLEPT a lot.

  A few weeks later, Mary J. Blige’s security texted me up: