Kids, as you well know, your godparents and I were SUPER Game of Thrones fans, and as the premiere of the final season EVER dawned, Leo, Tendai and I were up for just about ANYTHING to celebrate.
Hence, entering an OMG Game of Thrones pub quiz at the Jack Black’s Taproom in Diep River, Cape Town.
With the aid of four of our fellow GOT experts and Lords and Ladies, a binge rewatch of the entire previous seven seasons of the show, some light online quiz taking and plenty of Entertainment Weekly post reading, House Wyrd crushed the opposition in a nail-biting, Tyrion-style drinking sudden death round of the quiz:
Tougher than the Battle of The Bastards, as brutal as Oberyn’s headcrushing by The Mountain and as bloody as Ramsay being eaten alive by his dogs… the pub quiz was vicious but House Wyrd prevailed!
Adding to our excitement over our win, Leo and I received an invitation from media giant MNET to attend the eighth and final Game of Thrones screening at Nu Metro Canal Walk…and that, my dear Summer Children, is a winter tale for next time.
Of course, because this is my life, and the Universe likes to make sure I know exactly how wrong I can be, in the space of two months I got served up some of the craziest creepiness I’d ever experienced until that point in time.
Behold, the one with the creepy guys:
Avada Kedavra, Creep:
There I was,helping your Spirit Mom Leo putting the finishing touches to the birthday cake of the magical organisation we both love, when a seemingly harmless looking guy comes up to take a photo of us.
Thinking it’s one of the new students’ parents and that I always have to be happy, friendly and approachable, I smile broadly and pose for said photo.
“Great”, he says, lowering his phone, “now I have a photo of you so I can look out for you on Tinder!”
Are you fucking kidding me?! In the one place, other than the comfort of my home, where I can just relax, be myself and feel safe, I was being objectified and harrassed! No, just FUCKING NO!
The interaction immediately made me feel sleazy and like somehow I’d provoked him by being me – I know it wasn’t my fault but in that instant, it felt like it. I spent the rest of the night always in the company of one of my fellow witches and made sure to give He Who Must Not Be Named a very wide berth…
As it turned out, said creep was now also someone I was going to have to work with on a regular basis. I worked around that by opting to only deal with someone else who was doing the same thing. Since casting the killing curse was impossible, at least for now, I had to be extra careful going forward.
The IG DM lurker:
A Sunday morning, at just after 6 fucking am, a direct message request arrives in my Instagram app.
Eye roll from me, because no one who knows me would dare to contact me before the perfectly acceptable time of 9am but hey, there’s always a first.
I hit open and I’m assaulted with this missive:
As I’ve said countless times before, I am not against being complimented but when it’s a virtual fucking stranger sliding into my DMs, Momma’s gonna have a few choice things to say, my loves.
Curious as to who this wanna-be Lothario is, I did some investigating on his profile. Turns out he is a professional photographer of sorts and actually gets fucking paid to take people’s photos and interact with them so why in the name of the Gods was he creeping on me?!
There is no law against telling a woman she is beautiful, for sure, but sending me a private message on a social media app that is NOT for online dating is overstepping boundaries.
I dreamt of giving ol’Mc Creep the Khaleesi treatment …
… but alas I had to do it the mere mortal way of block, report and delete.
Kids, for as long as I can remember, random strangers would walk up to me or sit down next to me and confess their deepest, darkest secrets or their unexpected joy.
In 2019, in the space of a week, three people I didn’t know from a bar of soap , confided in me and it got me wondering: “Was I a priest or a counsellor in my previous life?”
While I listened patiently, I was always silently screaming:
Here are three times people confessed their secrets to me:
The Baby Mama Whispers:
There I was minding my own business in the queue for the Clicks pharmacy when the beautiful, curly-haired woman next to me let out a few audible sighs.
Being quite experienced at this and realising I could no longer turn a deaf ear to the ever-increasing volume of her sighs, I turned to the distressed lady and asked:
“Are you ok?”
Gods, remind me not to do that again…
“Actually, no. I’m just feeling dizzy and here’s why”.
She proceeded to show me her script for folic acid so of course, I got excited because:
Kids, as much as I love babies, this mommy-to-be was WAY too open about how she’d suspected she was pregnant for a while, had her own blood tests done because she didn’t trust her doctor to, was feeling dizzy, wasn’t showing yet at 11 weeks but according to her OBGYN, the fetus was too big for the gestational age and she couldn’t find her boyfriend.
I mean, come on:
The Keyless Runner:
A week after the Baby Mama drama, I was waiting on my Uber to arrive at the Lower Tafelberg Road parking lot when a runner uh, runs, up to me and for several seconds, keeps exclaiming:
“Holy shit, I am one lucky bastard!”
Seeing as he very obviously was not going to go away, despite my very best Meryl Streep impression:
I ventured a cautious: “What happened?”
“Oh My God! I thought I’d lost my car keys and couldn’t find them. Which is horrible because I just ran around the mountain. I was completely freaking out and then ran back to the roadside tap I’d drunk water at three hours ago and my keys were STILL there! Amazing, right?!”, the excited runner exclaimed.
Since I could see he needed the validation, I gave him an enthusiastic “Well done, you!”
The Chatty Uber driver:
I’d had my fair share of run-ins with Uber drivers before. Some of them were actually quite inspiring and others were downright fucking insulting so I was not exactly overthrilled when Sean Paul started our ride with :“I can see with my third eye that you are like a dormant volcano – still on the surface but burning with passion beneath that exterior”.
For the next ten minutes before we collected your Uncle Tendai from his hotel, Sean Paul regaled me with tales of his traumatic childhood, how angry he was as a teenager and adult until he found Rastafarianism; how his third eye had grown due to his beliefs and how he’d recently played the white knight in shining armour for a female passenger when she was in trouble.
As the ride dragged on, I realised that Sean Paul was trying to hit on me . Did priests or counsellors ever encounter this problem, I wondered?
Thanks the gods that the minute your godfather joined us, my chatty would-be suitor and confessor stopped spewing his guts and life could go on.
Fuck it, Capetonians… please get yourselves some paid therapy and leave me alone!
Kids, 2019 was my Year of Yes – I was saying yes to new adventures, new places, new people and new experiences. I’d been wanting to try the Ceres Railway train to the Elgin Market and when your Uncle Moenier said he was keen to do it too, we booked tickets for the experience of a lifetime.
On a breezy Saturday morning in February, Moenier and I hopped on-board the luxury train coach, complete with suede covered couches, a dining cart, fully stocked bar and a steam engine at the station, opposite the Royal Yacht Club in Cape Town.
As we embarked on this thrilling steam engine train trip, we caught up over a quick breakfast in the dining cart and enjoyed the slowly diappearing views of Table Mountain:
Of course, because I am renowned for being the Capetonian version of Bridget Jones, I tumbled down the stairs of the train to take a photo of your Uncle Moenier and promptly sprained my ankle.
Luckily not the same one I’d hurt on that Gods-awful first OkCupid date that ended abruptly back in 2017.
I grinned and bore the pain so we could get this Harry Potter-inspired shot:
Since we were halfway to Elgin by then, I bore the pain for the next six hours but it was all worth it for this epic sight:
When we got to the Elgin Railway Market, it was easy to forget the pain of my ankle for a while as I took in the gorgeous sights, tastes and offerings:
However painful a journey it may have been, my train trip to Elgin was a great reminder that adventure is to be had anywhere , anytime, if we are just brave enough to take the leap.
Kids, Valentine’s Day tends to bring out the downright nasty in Tinder daters. As the great Dothraki would say:
In 2019, things were no different.
David and I had swiped right on each other, prompting what I assumed would be a mutually respectful exchange.
I was wrong. SO wrong.
My granderfather passed notes to my grandmother via the factory secretary at the company they worked at in the 60s to let her know he was interested. My Dad wrote my mom “we’re going to have beautiful babies” messages in cute cards in the 80s.
What did my wanna-be suitor write to me as his first message? This:
Kids, I was feeling Jet hard… and although I tried to believe Jennifer Paige when she said it was just a little :
… it didn’t help that he was obviously feeling the same way.
I mean the guy was calling me his girlfriend to coworkers; eagerly greeting me morning, noon and night; playing the perfect gentleman and attentive date by pulling out my chair, getting me drinks and engaging me in conversation at work functions; telling people he was bringing me as his date to after hours events; taking every chance he could to hang out at my desk and just generally being all up in my business.
How was I reacting to all of this wanton lusting and office flirtation, you ask?
Oh, Sweet Child of Mine…
Your momma once again invoked the spirit of literary and cinematic singleton Bridget Jones, because really, why even try being cool about a real life flesh and blood man ( and a younger one, at that!) being into me?
One afternoon, Jet was bounding down the staircase, as he was wont to do, off to save some IT crisis or other, and I, as I was wont to do, was watching him … drinking in the sight of him, feasting my eyes and all but drooling.
So much so, that I … spilt my tea all over my desk and my pants.
It was a cold November night and I was wandering through Times Square, having just sobbed my eyes out at a spectacular performance of the hit Broadway show Dear Evan Hansen…
I stopped, twirled around in a circle and took in my surroundings. Still feeling emotional after my sobfest and raw in a way I hadn’t been for years , I had a profound realization.
I was home. Home once again and I was impossibly, utterly, deeply in love with New York City.
For the third time.
This trip, my first one to New York shared with someone I loved, your godmom Leonie, was hands down my best. I loved solo travel, and I would soon venture off on another trip by myself, but a shared experience brought with it a sense of happiness, comedic moments of getting lost, frustation at losing each other at busy events, transcendent moments at a magical theatre show unlike any other we’d seen, discovering new places and showing each other our favourite spots.
Sharing New York with someone who adored it as much as I do, possibly even more so, made me love it on a deeper level.
Even if I never returned to the Big Apple in my life (Gods, I hope not! I still wanted to live my best upcoming writer and Brooklyn-living mom life there!), I was content to have loved this beautiful city and be a part of it at least thrice in my life.
Kids, in January 2019, I was about 13 months away from having you and I realised that while 2018 had been a year of learning and growing dating-wise, I had no time to f*** around anymore and I had to get serious about finding your Dad.
I knew he wasn’t going to just drop out of the sky like a romantic male Mary Poppins so I was going to have put in some hard work.
Things were progressing quite nicely with Jet , but it wasn’t a sure thing and I had to make some dating resolutions for the New Year:
No more messing around with f*** boys: those late night “I missed you tonight” texts, unexpected phone calls to “catch-up”; the ol’ “my friend can’t make it, will you go with me to xxx” last minute invitations and the “send me photos of what you are up to” requests bullshit would no longer be tolerated in 2019. Either step up , ask me out and tell me how you feel about me or please f*** off from whence you came, Sir!
Out with the apps, in with the IRL dates: Tinder, OkCupid, Datingbuzz and Bumble had given me MORE than my fair share of shitty online dating experiences in 2018 and the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. In 2019, I was going to give my thumbs a break from swiping left or right and let my eyes and charming pick-up lines work their magic… mostly. You guys know how I have no game but a girl had to try.
Live a lot: with just over a year until I would have you, I realised there was a SHIT TON of things I wanted to do , that wouldn’t be as easy with a baby onboard. No offence, my loves. I drew up a list of 100 things I wanted to do before becoming a mom ( which I will share with you soon) and invited friends and family along to help me do them. From day train trips to another town to spending a weekend at a wildlife reserve and having another beach resort holiday to exploring more of Europe, I wanted to do it all. I couldn’t be a great mom and life partner if I wasn’t fulfilled and had lived a lot so it was time to do it.
2019 was the year things changed, Kids… and it really was spectacular!
Well, in December 2018, Mr Asshole was at it again…
“Fazielah”, he said as he tapped my shoulder and got way too far up in my personal space for my liking, “I said, your naughty Santa’s Elf costume is only a quarter complete with that hat. Where’s the short, sexy mini skirt and hot red high heels?”
Now, Kids, please take a minute to appreciate the fact that I, in no way at all, was being overtly sexual in my demeanour or dress style at this point – not that it should matter,because however a woman dresses or acts,she is not asking to be sexually harrassed,ever.
I quite literally was wearing workman’s jeans, a standard work issue t-shirt, hiker boots and the afore-mentioned hat and unlike a nurse or fireman’s costume, my mountain clothing wasn’t a f*** sexy.
His comment made me see red.
Me, too f***ing outraged and surprised that once again this motherf***ing ass of a married man who clearly did not realise we were living in the age of the #MeToo movement, would be this f***ing oblivious and chauvinistic: “Uhm, well, that kind of attire wouldn’t be appropriate for the mountain.”
Prize Jerk Nr 1 laughed and walked away, leaving me feeling like I had just let myself and the entire female population of the world and generations to come down.
Why the f*** were men still getting away with this kind of bullshit?
I understand that decades of the naughty Santa’s elf imagery has saturated mainstream media and given rise to countless fantasies and role play scenarios but for the love of the gods, most f***ing people keep that shit to themselves, their partners and their bedrooms.
Married men, sure as shit, shouldn’t be saying kak like that to single women, or any woman for that matter, at all and utterly unprovoked!
It would take me a while to work up the courage to confront this world-class f***er about his inappropriate banter but I sure as f*** would.
Here’s what I did want to say to him and all men like him, though:
“Listen, you arrogant d*** … just because I was trying to be a good sport and get into the spirit of Christmas with a hat doesn’t give you the right to ignore all professional and personal boundaries and spew lecherous shit at me whenever you see fit!
I reserve the right to wear what I want, when I want to and to not have you comment on it. I f***ing love Christmas, I love Santa and by the gods, I wish I could be an elf but I do not dress up for you or your f***ing base pleasure. Take your dirty mind and go play dress up with your wife. Leave me the f*** alone!”
Kids, in the summer of 2018, I was taking a bit of a break from Tinder while I saw where things would go with Jet. In the interest of online dating research, though, I turned to my friends for their hilarious #TinderFail stories.
Faye had been chatting to *Greg*, a 39-year-old lonely boy on and off since March, consoling him when he claimed he wasn’t meeting any quality woman on the app and suggesting ways in which he could improve his conversational skills to help me with the ladies.
Fastforward to December and Greg was once again bemoaning how lonely – and for the first time- how horny he was.
At this point, Faye, exasperated at this man child’s inability or willingness to help himself, suggested he hire an escort to help with his needs.
Silence from Greg until…
He texted her to tell her he was, uh, getting himself off to her messages while she was online with him.
Uhm… motherf***ker, WHAT?!
There had literally been NO sexy exchanges of any kind in the conversation leading up to this. Faye had been telling him gently to get off his f***ing ass and do something about his loneliness and he took it to mean he had to give himself a happy ending WHILE talking to her.
It had all started innocently enough… Jet would borrow a pen from me, leaning over my shoulder and getting all up into my personal space when there were plenty of pens lying on other desks closer to him.
Hello Captain Obvious:
A month later, after I arrived back from New York,Jet got a little bolder, especially after your Aunt Anthea made enquiries about his socializing preferences, knowing I had a predilection for cute, awkward men.
Suddenly, he was greeting me enthusiastically every day, giving me birthday hugs, telling co-workers that his “girlfriend Fazielah” had invited him to a social night out (I had done no such thing – I could barely get out Good Morning when speaking to him- how the f*** was I issuing invitations, let alone being called his girlfriend?!).
Was I flattered by this unexpected attention? Of course I was.
I decided I couldn’t let the young Jet do all of the work – I was an independent woman of the 21st century, for f***’s sake!
One morning, as Jet zoomed by and up the staircase to his office, I shouted a very loud “HI!” at him.
Smooth, Williams, real smooth.
Jet, confused at first as to whether I was actually yelling at him or just talking to all of the mountain ghosts, stopped and then said “Goeie More!” in reply.
I hadn’t thought about what would happen after that so…
I hid under my desk.
And stayed there for a good 15 minutes until I was sure he was gone.
This, this is why I shouldn’t be allowed out into the dating world. I suck at flirting, goddammit!
Kids, in 2018, your Spirit Mom Leo and I took that much anticipated Girls’Trip to New York and it was magical…
Everything we did, without actually intending for it to be that way, ended up with a magical twist.
We started Magic Day (and Halloween) on 31 October with a visit to Fantasma to admire the Houdini artefacts , replace our stolen magic coin ( long story short, I’d left a coin I’d bought in Las Vegas with a hotdog seller in New York in 2014 for Leo to collect but then he ran off with it – the audacity!) with two new ones and get a visual magic effect for Leo to perform on Times Square:
On our way to the 2018 Village Halloween Parade, we found the amazing Fantastic Beasts #LivetheMagic mural:
Even the Fantastic Beasts marketing team got in on our magical adventures with this epic request:
We followed this enchanting experience up with a visit to the epic Brooklyn Bridge and a photo opp with our magic coins:
A magical stalking opportunity arises …
After a whirlwind week of exploring the city of our hearts together, Leo and I were shuffling through the tedious security queue at JFK at 6h30am when your godmom let out a huge “OH MY GOD!”
Me: “What? What’s happening? Who do I need to beat up?” ( sidebar: your Aunt Sam says I have anger issues and I am always ready to beat people out… not true… I am just not much of a morning person!)
Leo: “It’s David Copperfield! That’s him!”
Kids, I’d like to tell you that your godmom and I kept our ladies of magic cool in this moment but… come on, this is us! We were magic fangirling so hard that EVERY time David passed by behind us in the queue, we’d be giggling and hyperventilating.
We agreed that we’d let the poor man pass through security and then grab him for a magical selfie.
Of course, David vanished in a blink of an eye (ha ha!) and despite us going so far as to walk all over the domestic terminal searching for him, we had to give up the magical stalking eventually and make our way back home.
Leo tweeted our regrets to the magic man and he LIKED it:
My loves, allow me to get emotional here for a second: the biggest lesson I learnt on this incredible trip to New York is that there is no greater gift than sharing the magic of travel with someone you love. I cannot thank your godmom enough for one of the best trips of my life!
“You will find the missing piece of your puzzle … just walk with God and believe in it”
Kids, it was a Saturday night in November 2018 and my Uber driver Jean-Pierre was doling out love advice as we zipped from the Cape Flats to the City Bowl.
He’d just picked me up from your Aunt Anthea’s birthday bash and commented on how he’d sensed I had a good aura from the moment I’d walked towards his car, just like the one he’d sensed from his wife when he met her 20 years ago.
Me, rolling my eyes because come on, Mister, it’s 11pm at night and I am too tired and old for this mystical shit: ” Come on, JP! I bet you say that to all of your female passengers.”
JP: “No, I am serious! When I met my wife, she had this beautiful aura, the same one you have, and I knew I’d met the missing piece of my puzzle. I told her then and there: “I am going to make you my wife” and two years later, I did and put her in my house.”
Me: “Ok, JP, since my Mom and Dad have a similar story,I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt here. But tell me some more about your puzzle piece.. are you still with your wife? Do you have children? Is this relationship everything you could have hoped for and more?”
JP: “We have been married for 20 years and there have been good, bad and incredible times. We have four daughters – three teenagers and a toddler. It’s been more than I could have dreamt about. And it’s all been possible with the help of God.”
Look, you guys know my relationship with religion is sketchy at the best of times and I was really having trouble believing that finding your father, the love of my life, my forever travel buddy and my life partner was as easy as asking a Higher Power for him.
Over the course of our forty minute drive, JP was slowly convincing me to at least think about being open to the possiblity of it.
JP: “Look, I can tell that you are a wonderful, kind and incredible woman. You’ll pick up many wrong pieces of the puzzle, trying to make them fit and they won’t. Those men are not for you… trust your intution when it tells you no. You will find your missing piece… just walk with God and believe in it.”
In all of my time using Uber, this was by far the most enjoyable ride and driver I’d ever had. I was actually quite sad when I had to say goodbye.
JP: “Ok, Lady with the lovely aura, this is your stop. Go now and pray. Believe that you will find your puzzle piece.”
And you know, Kids, for the first time in a really long time, I was ready to believe.
To say a legendary girls’trip with Leo in the city of our hearts was needed was a f***ing understatement!
I wanted you so badly, I’d allowed myself to get caught up in an impossible situationship that ,from the outside, and possibly my imagination, seemed like my own rom-com come true … but the asshat who’d been the unlikely Prince Charming quickly turned into the villain and I was once again back to square one.
I was tired, Kids. I was emotionally f***ing spent. Being around my very romantically successful family physically f***ung hurt and I couldn’t bear family gatherings. I loved them and I was happy for them but I couldn’t be around them.
I was falling apart in the inbetween – in the times when I was alone and no one could see my bleeding emotional wounds.
I was reminded of that popular saying:
It was time to reset myself and let New York heal me.
Technically, I should not have been spending any f***ing time with him alone, I know, but look, my heart and flesh were weak, ok? Quit judging me!
On your aunt Lee-Anne‘s suggestion that I have a shot of Dutch courage to calm the f*** down, I set off to down the last of the left over vodka in my fridge … but I didn’t have a shot glass.
What’s a desperate girl who refuses to drink directly from the bottle to do in these dire circumstances?
Why, pour a shot in a Benylin medicine cap, of course.
And of course, OF COURSE, because I was utterly f***ing nervous and shaking like a druggie needing her next f***ing fix, I half-missed my mouth and poured most of the goddamn drink down one side of my neck and onto my dress.
Me, on a call with your aunt Lee, shortly after this monumental disaster:
“Lee! LEE! For f***’s sake, help me! Does vodka smell?”
Lee, after laughing at me for a full five minutes (because she is SUCH a great friend): “No, dumb ass. Relax. Wash it off, spray some perfume and chill the f*** out!”
Not that the half shot helped plenty because the non-date confused the f*** out of me even further but hey, at least Lee had a good chuckle, right?
The holey-moley work day:
I’d been going from meeting to meeting all morning, wowing my co-workers with my epic ideas and generally thinking I was the shit when…
I got to the restroom to pay homage to Mother Nature and pulled down my tights, only to realise there was a hole the size of my bloody fist in it!
Since I very rarely sit like a lady, I’d most certainly been flashing all and f***ing sundry all day long.
Sweet Mother of Dragons, could my inner Bridget Jones please f*** off?!!
Kids, in 2018, as I further embraced my cosplaying, travel-loving, Comic Con-going, geek chick self, the ugly side of pursuing these passions revealed itself – in the form of several social media stalkers.
I’d heard about men taking things a step too far when randomly texting a woman with similar comic book and movie interests and experienced it only once years before but in the Spring of 2018, my personal experience with it intensified.
The Big Apple stranger danger:
Your Spirit Mom Leonie and I were super excited about our upcoming first joint New York trip together and I was periodically sharing photos on Instagram about it:
Enter iger @pacman52280 aka George Waldman whose account was set to private and only had 128 followers. George, whom I had never, ever spoken to and certainly had no interest in doing so either, took to leaving the following comments on my posts:
On their own, sure, the comments seems innocent enough but the fact that this man had taken the time to immerse himself in my feed, go through what in particular interested me, scrutinized my passions and kept commenting when I was clearly not responding to him, freaked me out.
The fact that he had a private account, was a stranger and was insisting on meeting me, a solo female traveller in a foreign city, also set too many alarm bells ringing.
I’d dealt with thirsty men before but this was just on another level and I did not appreciate it.
I blocked George swiftly but I hated the fact that I now had to censor myself when posting about the things I loved doing, simply because a man could not get a f**ing hint and stop harassing me… and this in the era of #MeToo.
It was the first time in all of my solo travelling adventures that I felt unsafe and it was utterly unnecessary.
Know where the f***ing line is, men, and toe it. It’s not that goddamn difficult!
The Twitter dirty bird:
Same year, different social media doos… a random Tuesday on Twitter elicited the following inappropriate DM:
Again, I had never spoken to this person before,and had not engaged in any behaviour or communication that would invite this kind of message.
A look at his Twitter profile revealed the following:
So, no, it wasn’t just me… this person was a certfied f***ing creep!
I reported him to Twitter immediately.
Social media is great for broadening your horizons but you also need to stay vigilant and be safe, Kids. While I would still be sharing posts about the cool and wonderful things and events I attended, these episodes definitely made me be more careful about it.
Kids, there comes a time in every superheroine’s life when she needs to step things up, to soar into an unknown stratosphere. For me, it was attending the very first Comic Con Africa in Johannesburg on Friday 14 September 2018.
I could wax lyrical for ages and ages about my experience but let me rather share the message I sent to your Spirt Mom Leonie and godfather Tendai about it instead:
“Arriving there this morning was like a treasure hunt on steroids ( because the Uber drop-off zone was k** far from the entrance and I had to work through an actual tunnel to get to the building).
After getting my media tag and the WiFi password, it was off to the main stage for the opening.
And the minute I walked through the single door to the main floor… damn, that high is hard to describe.
It’s Christmas morning, mixed with seeing the Statue of Liberty for the first time, mixed with the first time you hear the Game of Thrones theme song in the first episode of a new season.
This… this is what I have been waiting for my entire geek like. It was Heaven!”
I’ll let the videos and images below speak for themselves but trust me when I say I fell in love and I fell hard for Comic Con Africa that first day. It’s totally the reason why you guys, your Dad, your Nan and godfather Leon attend it with me to this day:
I came.I saw.I Comic Conned 😎In what can only be described as the culmination of all of my comicbook heiress and geek…
Kids, sometimes when my ego was bruised by a date, like when the Boston man child walked out on me, I would seek validation by running into the arms of another unsuitable candidate… such was the case with the Needy Italian.
Mike had literally just walked out of the door when your aunties Cynthia, Gloria and I got down and dirty on the dance floor and three new guys started started dancing with us – a nerdy but seriously cute type and two Italian brothers.
Things were going the way of Dirty Dancing minus the epic lift for me with one of the brothers, Emmanuele, and even though I actually had my eye on an uber cute and buff blonde on the other side of the dancefloor, I was having a good time.
An hour later, I was ready to leave and also feeling quite bold, bolstered by a mixture of f*** Mike attitude and several ciders, so – after punching my number into Emmanuele’s phone, I grabbed him by his big beared face and laid a long but chaste kiss on him:
Fast forward to the next day when I was nursing the mother of all f***ing hangovers and I’d woken up to a barrage of texts:
“Is me, Emmanuele… you see me at Dubliner’s tonight, yes?”
“You wake? I much like to dance with you again”
My outrage at my own idiotic self made me want to respond to my very enthusiastic Romeo with:
Why? Why were millennial men so f***ing needy?!
I didn’t want to hurt his feelings,though, and I was feeling kind of guilty about using him to assuage my feelings of rejection by Mike the night before so I told him that I couldn’t make that night or the night after but perhaps we could try for the weekend.
The following Wednesday:
After ducking and dodging Emmanuele’s pretty intense advances ( with everything from following both your auntie Lee-Anne, who most certainly did NOT appreciate it, and I are on Instagram to liking every single photo I posted and constantly sliding into my WhatsApp with “I want to spend my nights with you” texts), I received the following message from him:
“I get on a plane back home now. I hope to come back next year. We please stay in contact. I will remember you.”
I wished him a good flight and then let him down gently,saying that I am sorry I kissed him when I had no intention of taking things any further and I hope he found a great girl who was more suited to his 29 year-old-self.
If I could have played that old The Manhattans classic for him, I would have:
I also vowed to myself to never use someone to get over someone else again – karma is a bitch and she may well come back to get me at some point.
This, Kids, is what the stupid AF married and religious person from my past who was also a co-worker yelled at me as he walked up the staircase to the next level of my office building.
I was initially too flabbergasted at the utter audacity and nerve of this man, who had not spoken to me in MONTHS, to respond.
Of all of the things he could have asked and chosen to start a conversation with me – how I am, how my family was doing, had I done anything interesting lately or met any celebrities at the Cableway, he f***ing chose to reduce his interest in me to my marital – or lack thereof – status.
I was so many amazing things – a cosplayer;a writer; a world traveller planning her third trip to New York City; an adult working student studying a digital marketing course; an avid movie geek and theatre nerd; a comedy lover;a sister, daughter, grand-daughter, niece, cousin, aunt, godmother and friend who loved her people fiercely and a weirdo with a quirky sense of humour– and yet, this asshole made me feel like none of those things mattered because I wasn’t attached and he was yelling at me about it.
I’d been in a pretty great mood before this f***tard verbally slapped me with his insult.
Considering that less than a year before, he’d been flirting with me – unsuccessfully, I might add, because I am not about that side chick life – I was very tempted to retort with:
” Why?Are you trying to figure out if it’s still ok to make a move on me?”
Alas, I wasn’t that brave yet so all I could be was outraged and the following exchange happened:
Me: “Seriously? Why the hell would you ask me that?!”
Him, clearly not expecting me to burst out in anger like that: “Uhm … because I keep hoping the answer will be different”
Then he made some wise crack about my lobola (dowry) clearly being too expensive for modern men.
This horrible interlude led me to issuing the following PSA to men who have no idea about how to talk to women:
“Dear members of the male species, please listen up! Insulting a woman to get a rise out of her in the hopes of it leading to other things is an archaic f***ing notion that should have died with the dinosaurs. Women, in all of our gorgeous, magical, multifaceted glory should be treated with the utmost respect at all f***ing times. Instead of catcalling, insulting or just being the poorest reflection of your sex in the history of the world, the next time you encounter an intelligent, well-spoken,beautiful woman, try engaging with her on a topic, any f***ing one, that both holds her attention and stimulates a quality exchange of ideas.We’re worth so much more than being your baseline entertainment for a minute, an hour or a day. Sincerely, a woman”
Kids, in the lead up to Women’s Day 2018, I matched with a visiting American tour guide, Mike*, on Tinder.
After a brief hello, how are yous , how’s your day going and a “Your gorgeous” (I’d over looked his atrocious spelling when I really shouldn’t have!) compliment, Mike asked me out for drinks and dancing the following evening.
Since I was already going to be at the Station on Bree for a night out with your Aunties Cynthia and Gloria, I told Mike he was welcome to join me there.
The next night…
Wednesday evening, whilst sipping on an Elizabeth Daiquiri , I waited for Mike to arrive.
A tall, hot guy walked in and started searching around the bar. I gulped a few times, slid down in my seat and tried to hide.
There was NO way I could have a blind date as it was with this Adonis! I swung from desperately wanting him to be Mike to not wanting it to be him because I, for sure, would be awkward AF if he was.
Gods, help me:
The McHottie turned out be the DJ… and Mike turned out to be the back-to-front baseball cap-wearing, earring stud-wielding, crazy pattened shirt-donning guy behind him.
I masked my disappointment to say hello with a handshake, while Mike leaned in for a hug.
Right… so let me very clear here: I do not hug people I’ve just met. My personal space is my personal space and I don’t care if you are the Queen of England, Barack Obama or a guy I met online, I am not hugging you.
Awkward non- hug out of the way, Mike and I got to talking about him. He was in Cape Town on the tail end of a 20 day trip to South Africa which he’d won through his travel agency.In addition to being a tour guide for senior people, this Boston native was also a hockey referee.
This was his last night in the Mother City and he was keen to see more of its nightlife. Considering I was in tourism, I was happy to oblige.
When your Auntie C arrived 15 minutes later, she picked up that it was rather awkward and Gods bless her, came to my rescue with her usual awesome badgering of questions.
Fast forward through Gloria arriving, us barhopping all over town, including a stop at our local Mitchell’s.
We had a great time, at least I thought so, talking about travels, books, Women’s Day, Boston, New York etc when…
Mike would randomly scratch my shoulder.
Your Auntie Lee says he was flirting and announcing his interest in me but if so, what a weird f***ing way to do it!
Look, I was not unfamiliar with a straight, hot blooded man displaying his intentions – from Americans who ran their hands down my back on nights out to Monroe and the work colleague who gave me extra long, hard, body consuming hugs, I knew when I was being hit on (occassionally!).
This chicken scratching shit was not it.
I flashed an awkward smile and carried on talking. There was a brief awkward pause when he tried to short change the others on the bill after but we merrily moved on from that and to our next stop, The Dubliner in Long Street.
Here is where things went downhill.
While we danced awkwardly, had another drink and hung out, Mike scratched my shoulder again.
This time I was not ok with it… as I have mentioned before, I do not like people, especially men touching me if I haven’t asked for it. Maybe this was an American thing like the other doos from Philadelphia who couldn’t keep his hands to himself but just because I was on a date with him, didn’t mean he had the right to grope me.
I gently moved away from him and tried talking over the music to him instead.
Two songs later, Mike turns emo on me with:
“I don’t think I am what you were expecting”
Me,totally confused at why this man was turning girly on me: “What? Why? We’re just hanging out, aren’t we?”
He excused himself to go to the loo and the next thing I know, he’s walking out of the door of the bar, never to return again.
No goodbye, no “I’m sorry, this isn’t working out”, just a straight walk out!
Your Uncle T says it was a classic case of Mike thinking he was going to get laid on his last night in Cape Town and it clearly wasn’t going to happen so he bailed.
Cool – I can understand the wanting to leave part but for f***’s sake, have the goddamn decency to at least say goodbye instead of hightailing it like a petulant child!
Could I have handled this better? Probably. I know I am awkward AF and a little shy andI probably should have spent more time talking to this guy online before meeting him. That still doesn’t excuse him having a bitch fit and running away, though.
It was a blessing in disguise because after Mike the coward left, Glo, Cynthia and I tore shit up at the pub and danced the night away with so many other people which lead to many more cool stories.
I was young,single and free, out with my amazing friends and having the time of my life:
As I was lazily scrolling through potentials one cold winter night, I swiped right on a visiting Italian. With the matchmaking gods ever in my favour (not!), he swiped right too and we were a match.
Almost immediately he slid into my DMs and the following exchange occurred:
Him: “Hi, I’m Andrea from Italy and I am looking for a lady to share sensual times”
Me (taken aback by his utter forwardness): ” Hi, I’m Fazielah from Cape Town and I am looking for someone to date and get to know with the possibility of it leading to sensual times”
Him: “I’m only here for few more days. If you are feeling spontaneous, maybe we can meet at the V&A?”
Me (rolling my eyes, because seriously, who the f*** just agrees to a hook-up like this?!): “Sorry, I am out with friends this evening and fully booked until the weekend. So it looks like I’ll miss you.”
Him: “Change your plans. Meet me for sex. You will enjoy it””
Uhm…wait, what the actual mother f***ing f***?!!
This asshole , whom I have never met, wanted me to drop everything I was doing and meet him in a public space to go somewhere else and just give him some, just like that?!
When I did not respond, he quickly unmatched me and that was the end of it.
Gods, Kids, 2018 was the year where romance and chivalry went to die.
Kids, in the winter of 2018, I decided to give online dating one more shot (yes, I know, how many f***ing times have you heard that one before?) with the Bumble app.
This one, unlike the others, gave women the option of making the first move without any shame – as in, in order for a guy to have a conversation with you, you had to swipe right and if you matched, send the first text.
I liked the power that gave me – I didn’t have to be chosen by anyone, I did the choosing.
I should have learnt by then that anytime something looks like it’s too good to be true, it usually is.
“Connecting is the hardest part of this app. Thanks for swiping on my face.The pace on this app is atrocious.”
Giggles and enquiries about what he was enjoying most about my fair Cape Town followed before he struck out with this:
“I’m running out of time. I’d like to go to the Cape of Good Hope tomorrow or Sunday. Are you interested? Do you drive?”
Dude, we literally just “met” and you already want to go to an attraction that is 90 minutes out of my way with no reception and looking for a ride for our first date? in an age where women get killed in derserted places all of the damn time?
I could practically hear my mother shout at me to not let a potential date get away so I reined my inner feminist in and regretfully told him that I couldn’t make it to Cape Point but how about ice cream along the Sea Point promenade instead?
He shut me down with a “Well, I’ll be at Cape Point then, won’t I?”
I was just about to hit reply as I read his message whilst at a magic show, when, and I f***ing kid you not, I looked up from my phone and who was standing less than 5 metres away from me?
Dan the f***ing man!
Of course … of course this bloody shit happens to me because the dating gods, the Universe and the world hated me!
I gasped out loud and filled my friend Tania in what was currently happening on my phone and right infront of us, showing her Dan’s profile photo and subtly looking his way.
Dan did a double take when he saw me and then spent the rest of the evening pretending not to look my way but regaling his mates with tales of online dating, which Tania overheard.
I know, I know, I could have gone over and said Hi but the man had rejected me online and looked like he may do it in person too …my bruised ego could only handle so much.
Also, he totally could have come over too – there were ample opportunities to do so, especially when Tania and I got drawn into a circle of spectators with Dan to watch the magician perform some close-up tricks.
Ain’t nobody got time for international user losers… F*** it! NEXT!
Kids, in the winter of 2018, I was facing the very real and harsh reality that meeting a man, one who got my weirdness, wanted me, loved me for me and wanted to make you with me, wasn’t going to happen.
At the time, being part of a family where literally every single one of my female relatives met and married men at the drop of a f***ing hat, when my timelines were filled to the f***ing brim with ultrasound photos and every other couple on the street were seriously overdoing the limit on PDAs, researching sperm donation and IVF and worrying how in the holy f*** I was going to scrape 70K together to make you was how I spent my evenings.
It didn’t help that I couldn’t talk about these thoughts with anyone in my life because I was far too busy being the soundboard and emotional haven for those people (including the person I caught feelings for – he’d popped back into my life a few weeks before and was going through something major. Yes, I am aware of how f***ed up that is but I was young and stupid and had a major heroine complex so sue me!).
When you grow up in a family that accuses you of being a drama queen your entire life, you learn as an adult to keep your mouth f***ing shut about the heartbreaking issues and worries that keep you up at night. It made me so emotionally shut off that I automatically assumed my friends wouldn’t want to hear my fears about being so weird and unlovable that no man in their right minds would ever want to be with me or father my children.
On a morning following a long, long night of crying into my pillow about not being able to change who I was so I could be like my female relatives and friends, I logged onto Twitter where your godfather Leon had liked an epic thread.
The author of the thread had exchanged seats with another woman so she could be with her boyfriend and ended up inadvertedly setting this woman up with her co-passenger:
Last night on a flight home, my boyfriend and I asked a woman to switch seats with me so we could sit together. We made a joke that maybe her new seat partner would be the love of her life and well, now I present you with this thread.
Did this make me believe I was going to meet your father on my next flight or bus ride? No… but it make me feel slightly better and really, that’s all a single girl could ask for. Thanks Leon and Rosey!
Kids, you remember how I told you about married people who said shit so offensive to me as a single person, I had to write a PSA about it?
Well, in 2018, it was the same k**, different year…
A well-meaning person flung the following out at me when I informed them of my plans to catch the new Jurassic World movie on a Friday afternoon:
“Are you going to watch a movie alone? Really?”
Newsflash, people, watching a movie alone is one of my greatest f***ing pleasures in life … I love the freedom of watching what I want, when I want and not having to f***ing answer to anyone else about it.
In fact, coupled people, there is tons of shit singletons can and will do and get to f***ing enjoy without consulting anyone else, like taking an international trip, going to a show, having a meal, posing for a photo shoot etc.
I will re-f***ing iterate it, and so that you can hear it all the way in the back…
Being single is not a f***ing disease!
Now, please excuse me while I order an extra large popcorn and coke combo for my damn self!
Kids, I am no stranger to grief. Since my Dad died the week after my 11th birthday, I have been well accquainted with this gods-awful, sucks balls emotion. At age 32 and a half in 2018, though, I was f***ing done with it… DONE!
See, just when I was regaining some semblance of a normal life after losing my grandpa two years earlier, the loss of a huge part of my life was looming because of political reasons and that f***ing horrible feeling of hollowness and devastation had returned.
No, this loss wasn’t a person but it was something that I had loved, nutured, cared for, fought for and I finally felt as if I had found my place in and losing it or at least, the current state of it, broke my heart just as badly.
Death, in life or the ending of something was truly a f***tard!
I veered between not eating and overeating, not being able to talk about it without crying,not sleeping or oversleeping, being mad and sad and confused all at the same time, denying it was happening… basically, all of the stages of grief, except acceptance.
I wasn’t ready to accept the loss yet because it meant that things would never,ever be the same again.
Logically, I knew that this situation couldn’t go back to being what it was ever again but the idea of what awaited in the future just wasn’t something I could handle either.
Kids, you’d think that in 2018, people would be woke enough to understand that a woman can have both a successful career and a family.
As I relayed the exciting news about a potential career advancement to a family member, said person countered it with:
“That’s amazing! Go for it! Forget a man, forget the children. Just keep climbing that corporate ladder”.
Why is it that people assumed that because I was ambitious ,I didn’t want kids? If anyone spent any real amount of time with me, they’d know my eggs were on CONSTANT freaking alert to be fertilized all day every day.
It was like a scene out of Look Who’s Talking up in there:
Not only could I be career girl but I could be and WOULD f***ing be a kickass mom.
These things were NOT mutually exclusive, for f***’s sake!
Glo met *Kevin* on Tinder in March 2018 and they hit it off right away because they both had a passion for soccer,staying fit and wine.
A few flirty texts later and wanting to see if their rapport would carry over in real life, Glo invited Kevin along to join her on her usual Wednesday 5km run along the Sea Point Promenade.
Even though he was more of a Crossfit fanatic, he readily agreed to the date.
As Glo tells it, the run itself was great -Kevin was fun, friendly and interacted with her and her running group in a charming manner.
After the run was over, they bid their farewells and went their separate ways.
Later that night, he sent her a text, demanding to know why she hadn’t invited him back to her place for sex.
How did a first date, one that involved running with other people no less, imply that there would be sex at the end of it and why, in the holy f*** did this guy assume it would?
More importantly, did he just feign interest in her likes and over-eagerly agree to a running date because he expected to get laid after?
Same month, different jackass. A year after T had broken up with 40-year-old serial cheater. *Gerald* , and he’d subsequently hooked up with a 27-year-old, she got a call from a concerned “friend”, wanting to meet with her to discuss something disturbing about her cheating ex.
What he told her STILL makes my skin crawl…
Turns out that Gerald and his fellow 40-something year old friends were running a WhatsApp “”who can bang the youngest chick” betting pool, exchanging photos and sordid tales of their younger conquests.
What’s more, they then proudly displayed their catches for all to see on their fridges, like f***ing hunters!
Are you f***ing kidding me?!!!
In this day and age and in Cape Town? How can something that sounds like the plot of a horrible 90s comedy actually be real?!
Kids,falling in love is a miraculous thing… that butterflies-in-the-tummy feeling,the bounce in your step when you see the object of your affection,the smirk you give when they say or do something silly and sweet,the hours (and I mean hours) of crazy back and forth texting and the way your heart soars when they utter your name…
All of this could lead to you catching feelings like a lovesick puppy or kitten…
Which is exactly what I did at age 32 when I should have f***ing known better!
Nine months- nine goddamn months spent wasted on early morning and late night texting across time zones and continents sometimes. Nine months of continuing face-to-face conversations online across every conceivable social media platform and picking up where we’d left off. Nine months of suddenly charged physical contact,electronic compliments and emotional support in a time of crisis. Nine months of me abruptly interrupting dinners and outings with family and friends so I could excitedly answer this person’s frequent and feverish messages and phone calls.
This was all the more of a wonder because this situationship was with someone I’d known for years and was literally the last freaking person on this planet, in this lifetime,in this goddamn galaxy I’d ever expected to have a connection with.
The person who,for whatever goddamn reason,freaked out when I was finally responding and blossoming due to their attention. The person who ran away so fast and stopped communicating so swiftly,the ensuing silence was deafening.
They’d left me feeling abandoned,raw,weirded out and like it was totally my fault for catching feelings when I shouldn’t have.
I hadn’t felt an inkling of something like this since Monroe… my heart had been emotionally dead since four years before so what this person did to me was beyond cruel. It was cowardice of the lowest, despicable level.
Kids, the Autumn of 2018 was SO not a great online dating period for me… not only did I get unsolicited nudes but I also got catfished AGAIN!
To add insult to injury, in the space of a few days, it happened not just once, but f***ing twice!
It felt like the love gods hated me:
I’m getting ahead of myself… let me tell you about the two jerkfaces who lied to me…
Mr Big Fat Liar New Yorker…
Richard (37), from Manhattan, New York (my favourite city) and I had “met” on OkCupid a year ago and his Italian looking good looks, along with a quirky sense of humour, had me eager to continue the conversation offline – or at least on Hangouts, since he didn’t have WhatsApp.
We exchanged photos, naturally, and when I initially questioned the almost too-polished look of his, he said he’d done a professional photo shoot recently and wanted to share them with me.
I let sleeping dogs lie and we continued to chat.
After a year of texting, sexting (something I had NEVER done with anyone until that point) and a promise that if we are ever in each other’s cities, we’d get together, we were about to have another “adult” chat when I stopped it short and asked for an updated image of him.
Richard: “Why now? Don’t you trust me? LOL”
Me: “No, actually, I don’t… your last few bottom pics don’t seem to match your profile photo.”
Richard: “Haha… you caught me! Let’s just say they don’t match because I didn’t think my real looks were worthy of you””
I’d opened up electronically and intimately to someone who looked nothing like what he said he did and he was being flippant about it?!
I voiced my hurt, my concerns and my outrage that he would knowingly catfish me like that and his response was:
“Well, if you cannot accept me for what I really look like, then you’re shallow””
F***er no! You lied and deceived me and you wanna call me shallow?!
Time to block your lying, cheating ass, motherF***er!
Mr I Love You Too Soon Changes Names…
After two months of silence from Clifford, he of the I Love You Soon declarations, and after I’d deleted Tinder, OkCupid and every online guy’s numbers from my contact list. I got this text:
“Hello my Princess. How are you today?”
I was confused AF as to who this could be because the number was unsaved so the following exchange occurred:
Me: “I’m sorry… who is this?”
Him: “Oh wow! You don’t remember me? It’s Charles.”
Now I was even more confused because I definitely had never chatted to a Charles and wasn’t in the mood for games.
Me: “Charles who?”
Him: “Oh, sorry… I forgot I didn’t use that name when chatting to you before. It’s Clifford”
F*** a f***ing zombie! Why the f*** do men lie like this?!
Aside from his super irritating pre-mature declarations of love and calling me Baby, he had also lied to me for four months about his name?! Are you f***ing kidding me?!
I took him to task about lying and he turned around and said I was a hateful person.
No, that was the last goddamn f***ing straw… I’d had it up to here with men online!
Kids, in the Autumn of 2018, I was having a particularly shit time with online dating… the liars who catfished me and then blamed me for believing them I could deal with (more about that later).
It’s the goddamn asshole who sent me unasked for nude photos and then shamed me for being a “prude” that I couldn’t deal with.
No, motherf***ker, just NO!
Let me backtrack a little…
On a sunny Sunday in Cape Town, whilst waiting to watch The Greatest Showman at my favourite arts cinema The Labia, I started chatting to one Andrew Wild on OkCupid.
Conversation was flowing quite well, even if I had to steer it from becoming too sexual at times ( i.e. when I said I am free for brunch, he wanted to know what about dinner and breakfast at his place instead… uh, no, Dude, not for a first date!).
When I called him out on it, he said he didn’t mean anything untoward by his comment.
“I’m here to get to know you and possibly build something real”, he assured me.
Great. so no f***boy behaviour anymore, right?
Over the next four days, texts about movies, comics, work etc flowed back and forth until…
Andrew complimented me on my tasteful black and white swimsuit Whatsapp profile photo.
I thanked him but ignored him when he said he hoped to see more… again, Brother Man, what I post for my own self image is not an invitation for you to be leery.
Trying to remain positive, I asked Andrew to send me a photo to help me recognise him on our upcoming brunch date.
He promised to send a few when he got home ( this right here should have been my warning of things to come!).
A few hours later he sent… nudes.
What the actual f***, Bro?!
It would be one thing if I had asked for naked photos and he actually had a body to be proud of, but I did not ask for them and what they showed left a lot to be desired…
“Can we take a moment about how this entitled f***boi is sending you topless pics but has the body of a Pillsbury doughboy?”
I wished I’d sent him this:
Instead, when I dared to tell Andrew that not only were his naked photos unnecessary but also inappropriate to send to a stranger, he responded:
“I wanted you to see all of me. They were not nudes. If you think a man who sends a photos of himself without his shit on is disrespectful, then you have issues..Jesus, if I had known what a prude you are,I would never have started chatting to you!Your loss, chick””
Excuse me? In the era of the #MeToo movement, I ,as a woman, have the full f***ing right to speak up and out when I am being accosted by unwanted photos.
To voice this right is not being prudish… F*** you!
I blocked Andrew’s non-appealing ass so fast and reported him to every dating site. Take that, Pillsbury Doughboy!
Mr Tall, Blonde and Handsome ( SO my type!) has been checking out my superhero bag before falling in line behind me and while I kept checking on my bag over my shoulder, he smiled at me before saying Hi.
I was perfectly ok chatting with him until he laid the “Do you come here often?” line on me and that’s when my inner Bridget Jones kicked in.
I mumbled over responses to the “what do you do?” question and him teasingly asking why I assumed he was in the creative industry.
I swear I am an expert at cockblocking myself.
At that point, his colleague joined us and my new crush said:
“This is Richard. Richard, this is… I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name?”
Me: “Fazielah and you are?”
Him: “That’s a beautful name. How do you spell that? Oh, and I am Dave”
And just as I was about to say something vaguely flirtateous, my coffee order came up and the moment was lost.
i threw a hasty and blushing goodbye at the guys over my shoulder, as I went back to my seat.
Between giggling everytime I looked up to see Dave looking at me and writing my mobile number down on my business card to give to him, I was in proper girly mode!
Alas, by the time I worked up the nerve to actually go back and give him my card, Dave the Wonderful has vanished into thin air.
Kids,I’ve found over the long, LONG course of my singlehood that people (i.e. wives and girlfriends) assume that single women are so desperate, they are hitting on guys,especially attached ones, constantly.
Oh hell no!
More often than not, we’re batting these desperate men away with holy water and a cross:
Case in point: my shady AF neighbour, Sean.
I was struggling to get my cranky car Mr Winchester to start just outside of my apartment building in Vredehoek when Sean leaned out of his window to yell his “helpful” advice (something about turning the key again… what do I know about cars?!) at me.
I ignored him and eventually got the car started.
There I was minding my own goddamn business on the MyCiTi bus when Sean plonked himself down next to me, interrupting my very serious Crossfire erotica reading to “introduce” himself.
Him, in that way that coloured men think is hot but SO isn’t: “Do you remember me? I helped you with your car last year. I’m Sean”
Me, rolling my eyes because clearly my resting bitch face was not on point and my book didn’t seem to give this idiot a clue that I wanted to be left the f*** alone: “Vaguely… I’m Fazielah”
Awkward silence followed until he disembarked.
The following two years saw more of these awkward exchanges at the bus stop until he befriended me on Facebook.
Sean would see me around the building or out on a random Game shopping trip in the City Centre or spot a photo of me with friends on my timeline and like the crap out of said photo.
I’d talk to him when he talked to me but he was so far from my usual type, with his tracksuit pants, earrings in his ears, his Citi Golf. I mean, you guys know that I am a full on tall, blonde, blue-eyed man fan,right?!
One night, following a classic display of a coloured man showing interest in a woman by revving his car’s engine at me ( Lord Jesus, WHY do they do this?!), Sean slid into my DMs with:
“You really looked beautiful tonight”
I entertained this shit for a while because a) I am beautiful and b) awww until…
He started posting photos of his girlfriend. Are you f***ing kidding me?!
Dude, hitting on another woman when you are dating someone else is SHADY AF!
I ain’t nobody’s sidepiece or late night bootycall.
NO… absolutely NOT!
I had deleted his jerkass from my Facebook friend list and was going about my life as usual when…
The morning run-in happened on my way to a weekend away with your Nan, Aunt Sam and friends.
We said hi and I declined his offer to help me carry my bags to my Uber.
I kid you f***ing not, barely 30 minutes later I received this:
“You looked beautiful by the way”
Look, I am not opposed to receiving compliments from a man but when that man belongs to someone else and still insists on hitting on me, there’s a problem.
It was time to find the block button because ain’t nobody got time for lying, cheating jackasses.
“Can I kiss you?”, he asked, and I nodded yes before he laid one on me…
Kids, it wasn’t the best kiss of my life (that had been Myles a lifetime ago at my TV job) but it was my first since my Harlem hottie in New York three years prior and well, sometimes a girl just has to get her smooch on, you know?
It was my birthday weekend and while I was finally coming into my own as a woman and writer after Argentina, I needed a reminder that I was young, hot, single and free to do what and whomever I damn well pleased.
Your aunts Cynthia and Lee-Anne were the perfect partners-in-crime for my night out on the town, making friends with random strangers, laughing all night and dancing like no one was watching.
It’s ok to let go and be young every now and again. It’s a lesson I’d need to remember often over the year to come…
Kids, after the Kevin Hart lookalike who caught feelings because of my amazing “Indian Malay” looks in 2017, I thought I’d put the Fetishism shit behind me.
2018 brought with it Mr I am a low-key racist and freak on Tinder.
Meet Steve,30, a brunette and newly returned to Cape Town from London. A Saturday morning of back and forth texting unfolded as below and nearly caused me to chuck up my well-earned post-fast walk breakfast:
Him: “So, I must be honest. I’ve been away for 10 years and I have no non-white friends left”
Me (confused because up to this point we’d merely been exchanging pleasantries and race hadn’t even been a topic): “Uhm, ok, but what has that got to do with anything?”
He sent a LOL which immediately annoyed me because WTF,Dude? A) race is no laughing matter and B) why bring it up in an otherwise normal conversation with a woman you may or may not want to date?
I ignored him and tried to steer the conversation into more acceptable topics with the help of my tried and tested 20 questions list.
The problem is that creeps always boomerang to their default settings:
Steve followed up his earlier racial blunder with this charming (NOT!) one liner:
“I have to say I am into the natural tanned look and you fit the bill ;)”
Uhm, no Motherf***er, NO!
My friends and family circle is all kinds of mixed – I love every single colour in the f***ing wonderful rainbow that the world has to offer and I will be Gods-damned before I let anyone objectify me simply because of the colour of my skin and my mixed heritage.
Men like this asshole assume that women of colour are sluttier and more likely to put out and think that saying so in a round-about way is going to get them laid sooner…
Newsflash, Doos, I am not and you won’t.
To quote the wonderful Clive Owen:
The sad thing is that this racial fetishism is apparently the norm.
I loved my brown skin the way the amazing India Arie taught me to and that was what I chose to focus on:
As with all of the speed dating events I’d been to before, there was a round-robin of five minute dates with the only eight guys who showed up.
I’d been shy or bored or freaked out at these events before but the 2018 edition wasn’t bad at all.
I met quite a few quality guys who were well-travelled, taught school children, ran motorcycle tourist businesses etc and thank the Gods, there was no repeat of Mr I look Hot but I am incredibly boring.
After the incredibly horrible time I’d been having with online dating the week before, just talking to men face to face was a treat. I wasn’t nervous or making a Bridget Jonesesque fool of myself and the evening was a relative success, by my account.
Unfortunately, as I predicted, I got friend-zoned by the guys I’d picked for romantic interests… story of my goddamn life, right?
Kids, in 2018, I was starting to feel once again like Danny Glover about dating:
See, I’d struck up a conversation with Mathys (31) on Tinder, which moved to Whatsapp and every single one of his texts were filled with abbreviations and sms speak… and you guys know my thoughts on this particular language:
One particularly confusing moment happened like this:
Him: “What r u up 2?”
Me (channelling my inner Carrie Bradshaw/any f***ing writer or hell, a normal adult who uses full godamn words): “I’m off to a movie with friends. It’s an open air cinema and I am excited. What are you up to?”
Kids, I kid you f***ing not – it took me THREE hours to decipher this text.
I felt like Sherlock doing a complicated mind palace:
After much pondering, soul searching and chatting to my ancestors, I realised LOMB meant…
Lying on my bed.
Of course it did:
Gods, Kids, if I couldn’t even successfully have a decipherable conversation with a guy via text, how the f*** was I going to share my life with one?!
Kids, in January 2018, I was back on the online dating grind… even though the 2020 deadline of having you had nothing to do with finding your father, I still had to get back out there sometime or other, right?
For this new foray into the murky online waters, I turned to Tinder, thinking that I hadn’t given it enough of a go back in 2016/2017.
My first week yielded two vastly different suitors.
Bachelor Number 1: Mr Send Me Shady Photos:
Razvan was a 33-year-old Romanian financial manager who, apart from apparently being an admirer of my considerable curves, was also a nude photo enthusiast.
He pestered me for days to send him a photo because he wanted to “further enhance the image he had of me in his imagination”
Kids, in January 2018, random babies were literally throwing themselves at me…
At McDonald’s while I was chowing down a Happy Meal (quit judging me, HMs are like 20 bucks cheaper AND I was collecting toys for my younger cousin Israh… that’s my story and I am sticking to it!)
At Spar, when I was doing my evening shopping.
Those cute dimples, the curly hair, the womb-tugging giggles that rose from their little bellies as they delighted in my cooing at them.
These run-ins constantly had me fantasizing about dressing you guys up in Wonder Woman or Superman costumes for your first photo shoot…
My biological clock wasn’t ticking so much as it was imitating the Jumanji’s insane drumming schtick:
The only New Year’s resolution I’d made was that man or no man, come hell or high water, I was having you in 2020 and I knew I was working hard on my mind, body ( by restarting my ankle-interruptus running career) and soul ( more travel, less drama) to get to that goal.
Seeing adorable babies just made the need to have you a little too much to bear, my loves…
I was in the middle of explaining to my colleagues how I was sometimes tempted to reply to the infernal “what is the temperature like at the top of the mountain?” question that I needed to check my boobs.
As I ended this punchline with a demonstration of fondling my right breast. in walks the hired catering hottie. Silence reigned as my fellow ladies and I waited for his response.
With a bemused grin, Hottie McFly says:
“Oh, don’t stop on my account! How do you check the temperature on top?”
I blushed fifty shades of red and walking away giggling shyly.
Thirsten, though sweet, was Cape Town’s answer to Kevin Hart:
Again, one cannot judge a book by its cover so while Cynthia wandered off to explore the Festival again, I invited Thirsten to tell me about himself.
Why?!Why did I even ask?!
Out came the long,sad story about how he’d been set up with a girl by his law firm colleagues just to mess with his mind; how she’d been lying to him the entire five months they were together and how she broke his heart.
Him:” But, you know what?”
Me: “No, what?”
Him: “I’m thankful she opened my eyes and heart to loving Indian Malay looking girls like you…”
Sweet Baby Jesus…are you kidding me?!
As if that low-key racism and his constant touching me when I did not ask nor want him to weren’t bad enough, Mr Overeager 3 ended the evening on a spectacular douchebag note…
After I politely but very firmly told Thirsten that he could not join Cynthia and I at our next event ( a Pulse Boys male strip revue), he pulled Queen C off to the side for a hug and a talk.
A talk,as it turns out, in which he complained to Cynthia that he thought we were all going back to one of our places for a threesome.
Bro, why can’t a nice afternoon spent at a beer festival,getting to know two beautiful women, just be that?!
Mother of f***ing dragons! Do all men walk around in this world assuming that every woman wants to sleep with them?!
And then to make that assumption out loud? F*** NO!
We kicked Mr Thirsty to the curb and wandered off into the night to get our Magic Mike thrills elsewhere…
Kids, my 32nd birthday brought with it an unleashing of bravery. An opportunity to no longer hide behind hurt feelings when someone said something so offensive to me, I could not stand a minute more of staying silent about it. A chance to own my spotlight and say F*** you, World, this, this is ME.
More than just the constant compliments (“Fazielah, you are looking radiant!” and “Wow! How gorgeous are you?”) that came my way, I, in my core, was embracing it. F*** the diet and trying to compete with skinny models. F*** discussing calories like it mattered. F*** running after people who said they loved me but didn’t like me.F*** trying to fit into society’s narrow-minded mould for me.
I was and still am f***ing fabulous and that presented itself to the world, and myself, as happiness.
I was at a baby related event and a family friend made the stock standard joke:
Him:” You and your sister must really make a plan now to give your mother grandchildren, hey. Oh, wait, what am I saying? Your sister has that sorted, with a boyfriend and all, but you? With you, we are probably going to have to wait another 10 years.”
Before 32, I would have stayed silent and let the hurt this comment caused fester, make me feel unworthy of love, unworthy of having children and always, always being seen as a second class citizen in my family and society.
But Hell to the f*** NO! Not anymore, not this day, Asshole!
I looked up from where moments before I had been cooing over his gorgeous baby daughter resting in her mother’s arms and said:
“Actually, no, you will not have to wait that long. I am having a baby in two years’ time”
He looked down and away uncomfortably. His wife turned to me, surprised and said:
“Oh, is there a guy?”
I pulled myself up to my full height, looked into their shocked faces and said, proudly and clearly:
“No, but whether there is a guy or not, there will be a baby in two years’ time”.
Mic dropped, I walked away and went off to play with other beautiful babies.
Kids, I have wanted you, dreamt of you, longed for you with all that I am for so long but really, having you was not up to whether or not I met your father. And it was no one’s f***ing business how you came to be.
I thought I was the only one who was absolutely disgusted with the way single women were spoken to, how gross assumptions were made about our lives, our bodies, our needs until I came across this f***ing magnificent talk by actress Tracee Ellis Ross:
Kids, on the eve of my 32nd birthday, I was feeling particularly thankful for all of my many, many blessings and it made me feel a little bit nostalgic.
I started thinking about the very best birthday gifts I’d received over the last few years and here are my top 5:
The gift of a social media blackout: In 2016, I practiced the first of my no socials on my birthday cleanse and by Gods, it was fantastic to have the silence! What’s more, people actually took the time to call me and what’s better than talking to your loved ones on your special day? I was going to do the same in 2017!
The gift of being surrounded by friends and family: Each year, I had birthday parties surrounded by the people I love… whether it was an intimate dinner where the whole #howimetyourfather campaign kicked off or high tea with your Spirit Mom at the Mount Nelson Hotel.
3. The gift of a kickass studio tour and being on my own show in New York: In 2016, my f***ing amazing Wyrd Sister Leo gifted me with a NBC Studio Pass for my upcoming trip to New York. It was by far the highlight of my solo Big Apple vacation AND I got to record and star in this epic mock late night show interview:
4. The gift of a fantastic 30th island holiday: My angst at turning 30 in 2015 was majorly alleviated by the incredible week-long birthday celebration and vacation your Nan booked for us in Mauritius. Your aunt Sam, Nan and I really reconnected, doing aqua Zumba, snorkelling, catamaran cruises and water side dinners. It is also where I learnt to appreciate the art of going solo and lessons I have implemented in my life ever since.
5. The gift of love and life: Kids, in the spring of 1985, your Nan risked her life for mine with a two month hospital stay and a risky emergency C-Section. She’d regularly remind me of the crazy circumstances leading to my birth:
When I look back at photos of my birth I can’t believe how incredibly strong my then 24-year-old Mom had to be to care for a baby born two months early:
I’m so thankful, though, for her bravery and for always being there for me. I love you, Mom!
Kids, as you know Halloween is my absolute favourite holiday of the year… not least of all because it is when the undead rise in the Mother City for the annual Zombie Walk Cape Town event!
My zombie personality had been everything from a cheerleader to a nurse to a bride so what to go as in 2017? Well…
I was a precocious five-year-old who a) was convinced that big school would be like an episode out of the Wonder Years and b) was determined to be a police woman.
Never mind the fact that this was pre-1994 South Africa and women, let alone women of colour, were not allowed to be officers of the law.
Your Grandpa, though, liked to encourage my big dreams and, in addition to getting me a toy cop police set with handcuffs and a baton, let me tag along on his early evening neighbourhood watch patrols. Man, were those exciting times!
Fast forward to 27 years later, and with a little help from your godfather Leon, and I was ready to embrace my inner Zombie Cop:
My more-than-willing rocker zombie prisoner was your aunt Lee-Anne and damn, was she dead hot:
See, 2017 had been one f***ing hellish year of online dating for me and I was broken,tired and just plain done.
I wanted you more than my own soul but the sheer effort it was taking to meet a mostly decent, straight, emotionally and financially stable, quirky, interesting, well traveled and good man was killing me.
Just reviewing my top horrible online dating experiences of 2017 was nearly, but not quite enough, to put me off men forever:
The Oversharer 2 who not only initially tried and succeeded at putting me off with his neediness but then had the f***ing audacity to bodyshame me six months later. Asshole!
The Bad and the Ugly online daters who were either propositioning me for a three way or repeatedly asking for nudes when I had already said hell to the no!
It’s actually quite intoxicating. So much so, that when it is time to leave their beautiful city, one really does want to say “Don’t cry for me, Argentina!” :
Be in the pursuit of magic always:
I’ve seen jaw-dropping magic shows in Las Vegas and New York so I was quite keen to see one in South America. As my journey came to an end, time constraints were real and it didn’t seem like I was going to find my taste of magic in Buenos Aires.
During a night out at the Tango Porteno, in the middle of a tango extravaganza, female magician Inga Savitskaya appeared and dazzled us with her Invisible Partner act. Lesson learnt: always be in the pursuit of magic!
Embrace your sensuality:
From shamelessly indulging in dulce de leche, the sweet caramel treat Argentina is famous for , to giving into the erotic tension of a tango show, the Argentians are decadent, hungry and sensual beings.
After watching the intensity of dancers on a lunch time wander through La Bocca, a colourful downtown neighbourhood, I wandered down the cobbled streets of Galerías Pacífico .There, the most handsome, well-built men made a point of stopping what they were doing to openly stare and appreciate the sight of me.
Bearing in mind that I was in work travel mode and didn’t do anything fancy to my appearance, other than tie my hair up in a braid, I was equally flustered and flattered at the same time.
Far from being creepy, these men’s visible appreciation of me made me rediscover my sensuality. I made a promise to myself then that from that moment on I was going to embrace my inner sensual self by wearing sexy underwear and make-up and styling my hair everyday. Not for any guy but for myself – to celebrate the strong, independent, creative, free-spirited, beautiful, sensual, world traveller and woman I was.
To paraphrase your uncle Herman, I was in the prime of my life and I should be out in the world, swinging from the chandeliers ( or at least taking life by the horns!).
Kids, on a cold Spring Saturday evening in Cape Town in 2017, I found myself waiting in gale force winds for yet another no-show online date.
Joe (31) , a lawyer from Tinder, had aggressively pursued me online the week before and, after moving to Whatsapp, asked me out on a date.
Safe for work photo-exchanging occurred quickly:
Him: “Wow! You’re really attractive!”
Me: rolls my eyes but blushes because: “Awwww”
During the course of our conversations, he revealed that not only was his name Yusuf (already a red flag for me because as you guys know, my type was most definitely more the blue-eyed, agnostic, tall and handsome kind); he’d unknowingly had an affair with a married woman (another red flag for me since infidelity is a major trigger point) and he was looking for friendship fun (his definition of going on dates and kissing… right, brother man, that’s swell but I date with a capital D).
I know, I know… why the f*** did I agree to go on a date with someone who was obviously so wrong from the get-go?
Well, because after Brazil and Argentina, I’d rediscovered my sensuality and wanted to test it out on the male species. Also, I hadn’t been on a date since the catfishing episode. A girl has to get back on the dating horse sometime and Joe , though flawed, seemed like a good practice buddy.
After confirming the day before with messages in which he genuinely seemed excited for our date, I spent the afternoon taking in the Cape Town Buskers Festival at the V&A Waterfront before meandering down to the Green Point Lighthouse.
Our date was supposed to be a walk along the Promenade before getting ice-cream.
I arrived 10 minutes early and texted Joe to let him know I was waiting just beneath the lighthouse.
10 minutes after our agreed time, I called and left a voicemail…
And still the wind blew with a mighty force. I began making alternative plans, thinking we could move to Caffe Neo across the road and still admire the sunset while getting to know each other.
20 minutes and another text….
30 minutes later and I realised that this f***ing coward wasn’t going to show at all. I’d been stood up AGAIN!
Look, we all get nervous about meeting new people but what grated my tits was that he didn’t have the f***ing decency to call or text and say he wasn’t coming.
You know things were bad when my Uber driver had the grace to let me know he was running late to collect me but my goddamned date did not.
Women were screwed because 21st century men had no f***ing manners! It was unacceptable!
After sharing my shame at being stood-up with your Spirit Mom, Uncle T and aunts Yoli and Lutfia, I went home and cried.
I cried because dating was hard, Kids. Putting myself out there, time after time, only to be catfished, rejected, stood-up, felt-up inappropriately, time after f***ing time by cowards was demoralizing and for what?
So that I didn’t have to listen to family and smug marrieds ask me why I was still single? To have to nod politely at their god-awful comments on my life, attractiveness ,personality and being too damn fussy?