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?
I came across a Facebook page recently and watched a video on opinions not changing the world. As the narrator was speaking I thought of the dynamic between women and how the opinions by men have changed our world.
I am not a feminazi or pushing a pro female anti male agenda, I would just like to know your opinion.
Because women have been so moulded by the power of men and brainwashed in to believeing that there is only one aesthetic which is pleasing and only one way of thinking which is enticing to men and that if we don’t fit this mould, we are lesser than what we think we are because we don’t meet a standard put on to us by an outside opinion.
Now in our present age women are inundated with feel good promos and slogans about loving yourself despite what the media think. Eat that piece of cake despite the calories because you need to love you and to hell with the opinions of the people i.e men around etc etc. We get told to change our way of thinking but the issue of the male perception as set out by media is almost never addressed.
I have not seen a interview panel where men are told to change their opinions or shown what it has done to the psyche of women. It always falls on the female to accept what was done and move on. So essentially we treat the symptoms but not the disease.
If a man treats a larger woman with respect and love he is given a pat on the back and praised for looking beyond the outside…
What if he likes the outside? is he then to be ridiculed for his liking her not inspite of but because of her curves?
Why is it solely our responsibility to teach a man how to treat us? Surely the men raising young men need to shape their minds to the actual world around them and not what media tells them?
So how do you measure a man when the opinions of his sex have shaped our world and still do?
I have no idea why this popped in my head, but I felt I needed to write it down and share it with you all.
Hit me up in the comments below and let me hear your opinions.
I nearly went nuts at the sight of this cute onesie at the local mall!
I’d have bought it there and then but you guys were still at least two years away from being born so sanity prevailed!
Fairytale palaces really exist
In the heart of Javim Botanical Gardens lies this picture perfect palace of a greenhouse and I fell deeply in love…
The Garden itself is beautiful and reminiscent of Central Park. I loved how locals and tourists alike roamed about and enjoyed the scenery, even during a work day!
Street art is love
My must-haves for cities I travel to are simple: food, magic, theatre shows and street art.
In Curitiba, street art is everywhere you go and this one was by far my favourite.
A relaxed vibe permeates everything in Curitiba – from the unhurried way people speak to their late meal times and more. I was learning to love this laidback way of life and I was sure I’d be back for more.
Next on How I Met Your Father: A fiery love affair with Sao Paulo!
Kids, today’s abject lesson in why people should mind their own gods-be-damned business comes in the form of a public service announcement I wrote in September 2017.
Have a gander at this:
Dear Smug Marrieds and Otherwise Attached People (including my f***tard of an Uber driver the other night),
This evening I had to listen to one of your ring-wearing,boring AF breathen tell me that, and I quote, “You’re 31 and still not married? Being married is then so nice! What’s wrong with you?”
The answer, in short, is NOTHING!
Why the f*** do you assume that because I do not have a ring on my finger and I am not attached to a man/woman, that there is something wrong with me?
Newflash, you idiots, singledom is not a f***ing disease!
Just because you cannot live without someone to check in with and share your every goddamn move all day everyday, someone to cook,clean and care for and vice versa, someone to share a bank account with, someone to moan to your friends and mother about when they inevitably do not live up to your expectations, does not mean that I have to do the same.
Please, for the love of the gods, leave me be. I am a successful, independent, beautiful and happy young woman with a searing passion for love, life, travel, magic, family, friends, Alexander Skarsgard and Game of Thrones.
The next time you feel the impulse to bless me with your unsolicited comments about my singleton status in person or online ( I swear to the gods if I get one more “I’m so glad that I no longer have to deal with online dating woes” from a newly coupled blogger, I will burn their sites down, Wight Viserion-style!), don’t!
And don’t, I am begging you with tears in my big, beautiful, brown eyes, say shit to me like “When you are in a relationship, you’ll understand” when I wonder out loud why the f*** you gave up all of your individuality for a partner who doesn’t appreciate you.
If that is what passes for love and committment these days, you sir/madam, can keep that shit to yourself.
I am only going to say this once, so listen carefully:
I am not:
Too full of myself ( I am f***ing beautiful, intelligent and amazing. I deserve the best!)
Inferior to you ( treat me with the same respect I do you)
Too old to wait (some people only find their equals later in life)
Too difficult (I know what I want and who I am. If a man can’t deal with that, that is his f***ing problem!)
A man hater ( trust me, if you had to see my browser history or my past loves, you’d know I love men)
Child-adverse ( children are drawn to me like magnets and my ova are screaming out to be fertilised)
Too independent ( utter this shit to me and I will bitch slap you!)
Yes, I am a Destiny’s Child poster girl and I am f***ing proud of it!
I’m not sorry my singledom makes you squirm because you’re secretly jealous of my freedom.
“You seem like a sweet and amazing person and I just had to speak to you…”, he said, his light blue eyes twinkling in the afternoon sunlight.
I blushed prettily and thanked this kind and soft-spoken cute guy on the bus for his compliment:
“You’re too kind, sir.Thank you for being brave enough to talk to me. I won’t forget this unexpected encounter”
He disembarked soon after, leaving me to marvel at the wonder of life and surprising moments…
Sounds like the makings of an incredible meet-cute, right?
Well, my sweet and cute guy was an 80-year-old Greek man who felt moved by the Seven to talk to me on a winter’s day in 2017.
Usually, my resting bitch face was enough to stop anyone, except my loved ones, from even attempting to talk to me on a MyCiTi bus ride to or from home.
As you may have noticed from years of living with me, I am NOT a morning person… I am not much of an afternoon person either, depending on the type of day I’ve had.
And on this particular Friday, after dealing with an egotistical radio personality at the summit of Table Mountain, I definitely was not in the mood for any kind of chatting up by anyone.
Santos,proving that they just don’t make gentlemen like they used to, didn’t let my scowling demeanor deter him, though.
“Can I offer you some advice from an old man? No matter where you go in the world – Russia, Greece, Spain, America, there is no place better than Cape Town. You will do well to come back here again – where are you from? You’re not from here, right? You don’t look South African. Come back here and settle in this beautiful city.”
I smiled, temporarily shaken out of my bad mood, and pleasantly surprised by Santos’s confidence:
“I am from here, born and raised in Cape Town. You are right, though, there is no place like the Mother City”
In the space of 5 minutes from the Gardens Centre stop to his Highlands Avenue one, Santos reaffirmed my belief in men, people, love, family ( he had his first child at 32 – “There is time,my dear, there is time. You will be a mother when it is meant to happen”) and that making your destiny happen is up to you.
“My darling girl, God/Allah/Buddha moved me to speak to you today so before I go, remember this: Where there is a battle between will and imagination, imagination always wins. You can do, be and have anything. Keep smiling that beautiful smile. Until we meet again…”
It was enough to make a grumpy girl swoon:
You were way out of my age category, Santos, but yes, until we meet again …
“So, I take it you’ve seen I like to be dominated by women, right?”
This, Kids, was the hot, abs-to-bloody-die-for Jeremy’s opening line to me, after we’d swiped right on each other on Tinder in August 2017.
Had I just stumbled upon Cape Town’s Christian Grey? Oh my…
Actually, I hadn’t see this particular kink of his. I, unashamedly so, had swiped right based on his hot AF profile photo without actually reading his profile.
Yes, yes, I was a wanton hussy, falling for physical appearances.
As I may have mentioned before, I have control issues and I have always thought of myself as a female Christian with singular tastes but this interaction with Jeremy was making my inner Ana tremble in… fear? Anticipation? I don’t know!
Biting my bottom lip, I replied to his message:
“Well, I do now…”
Jeremy clearly found my dominatrix skills lacking and vanished from my inbox, never to heard from again.
Him: “I like you but…. I don’t want a relationship for the next 5 years”
Me: “Then why did you ask me out when I told you I am a relationship girl, you dumb shit!”
Let me tell you a little story about someone I met after Dr Douchebag. This one just so happens to be a doctor as well. Sadly, no McSteamy or McDreamy…. well he’s Mcsteamy but I ain’t telling him that! Nah ah booboo.
No, I am not a doctor nor do I work in the medical field – it was just a really weird time where for some reason the men I met through friends all turned out to be medical professionals.
We met, sparks flew in every which way possible. I know he was super into it because he literally ran to get back to me when he had to leave for about 5 minutes to” get smokes” as he calls it. He could not be away from me for longer than a few minutes, we liked the same things and had similar interests in travel and life. He’s into online gaming, I’m in to online gaming so… nerdgasm right?
And he totally fit my tall dark and handsome requirements. The friends we were with melted in to the background of wherever we were and all that was left was the two of us. This is the beginning of a great love story right, RIGHT?!
So f***ing wrong!
We hit it off and we kept in touch. We have “The Talk:
I tell him I’m a relationship girl and that I don’t do the casual thing. Which he responded to by trying out some moves which I deflected with my ninja like abilities because they don’t call me Chun Li for nothing!
They call me Chun Li because of my eyes and hair but I digress…
Everything was going well and we went out a few times and a few months go by and he decides we need the talk…. again.
The same spiel comes out that I had already played out in my head, except for a few minor tweaks.
It started off quite normally:
Him: “I like you, this is amazing never felt like this before and I want to get closer much closer…”
Same old same old right? Hold on to your hats, Bitches, shit’s about to get real…where did we leave off…ah yes:
Him:” I want to get closer … but is it ok if we bang and I don’t speak to you for like two weeks because that’s just who I am? Also, I don’t want a relationship with anyone for five years but I feel this is something that we can build on. This, you and me thing …do you agree?”
Please join me in a moment of silence for this almost relationship because it’s dead now!
I’m sorry… WHAT?
Why the F***?!
Why ask me out in the first place if you did not want to pursue something more?! Why keep up the pretence?!
Why the f*** not just say you want a special friend to help you when you have an itch?! I would have understood… and by that I mean I would have walked away a lot sooner – A LOT sooner!
Y’all men make it so hard not to hate all of you from the get go…
This experience left me asking “How can a doctor be so stupid”? I mean in your years of reading books about the anatomy and whatever else ,you could not pick up a book about how to not be an idiot …they have a whole series of For Dummies books. YOUR NAME IS IN THE TITLE!!
Boys pretending to be men are stupid and this more than solidified my belief that it doesn’t matter how many degrees or PhDs you have, it doesn’t make you a man. Anyone can memorise tons of reading material. Too bad he couldn’t memorise a relationship book -namely how not to be a dumbass in one!
If anyone knows where the real men are ,could you drop a sista a line, send a smoke signal or something cause I’m done with this.
I am not shaving my legs unless you’re worth me looking extra cute or it’s a really hot summer day and I want to wear a skirt!
Kids, in the winter of 2017, I was dipping my toe back into the online dating pool after the disastrous ankle-interruptus incident when I “e-met” haagen_dazsmania on OkCupid.
From his profile photo, he looked like a South African version of the red headed Montague cousin in Romeo& Juliet:
Red heads weren’t my usual type, unless you count Tom Hiddleston (and Hello Love, who wouldn’t want a piece of that?!), but I was trying to date outside of my comfort zone so I entertained haagen_dazmania and his many, many messages online.
A cheese producer, my new suitor was into books, fantasy series, chocolate, cats, shopping with his sister, big romantic gestures ( asking me at one point how I’d feel about a massive chocolate bouquet delivery at work) and leaving me rhyming couplets via voice notes daily ( his voice sounded sexy so I was really looking forward to seeing the face behind it).
After a week we moved onto text messaging and phone calls. I was initially annoyed because he seemed to need a lot of attention and you guys know how I felt about selective social interaction. Texting me incessantly throughout the working day and up until after 11pm at night was NOT the way to winning my heart.
Fast forward to our first date and after my initial reservations, I was excited about getting ready for the date, Whatsapping photos of my outfit to your Spirit Mom and Uncle Tendai.
I didn’t have too many butterflies floating around in my tummy whilst waiting for haagen_dazsmania to arrive at the Stacked Diner in Tamboerskloof but I was pleasantly nervous.
This could be the start of something new – I felt like a High School Musical cast member:
When will I ever learn that online dating is a pitfall of liars and crooks?!
The man who showed up for our date was at least 10 years older than his profile photo , overweight and way shorter than he’d indicated online!
I was not so shallow as to judge men on their looks (ok, who am I kidding? My dreams were filled with a naked Alexander Skarsgard!) but haagen_dazmania was balding, wearing a peak cap, his shirt buttons were about to pop and his teeth needed a whitening badly.
This was not someone I could envision sharing a bed with, never mind cursing you, my future babies, to share a genetic pool with.
His appearance, coupled with his need to text me while I was in the ladies for two minutes and his critique of my looks and personality made me want to dash and run at the speed of light like a female The Flash:
But, because I had promised myself I was going to give guys more than one date to impress me, I sat through two hours of him talking about himself; making shocking comments on the state of the security in South Africa;his friends’ wealth and emigration plans; how I seemed to be very busy and how could I possibly balance my extensive love of movies and books with my constant socializing.
The entire time, he was reviewing my looks ( “Nice dress, it really compliments your brown complexion” – are you f***ing kidding me?!); my expressions and eyes ( “You have a smirk on your face , is that how you usually look?” and “Your eyes are really brown. I’m sorry, I am totally mesmerized by them” and my personality ( “You’re hot and scary and so direct about what you want”).
The final straw for me was his views on how travel and children just took too much effort and were expensive undertakings. I’d been very upfront online and in person that seeing the world and having you were my top priorities. These were non-negotiables and I needed a partner who not only wanted these things, but was passionate about making them happen.
After politely ending the date on the pretext of collecting your Spirit brother and sister in Hout Bay ( I didn’t have to get them), I left in a hurry.
Which didn’t stop him from trying to call me and sending needy texts about how he was worried he’d scared me off. Dude, learn when to back the f*** off!
A few days and another goddamn 11pm text later, I released him back into the online wild. Go well, Sir, and cat-fish someone else with your old photos.
Kids, a huge part of why I took so long to meet your father was because I had experienced most of my dalliances a long, long time before then. Today, I’ll tell you about my brush with preteen romance…
I was 12 and experiencing my second real crush … His name was Shafiek and he was a 15-year-old school dropout turned mechanic with dimples to die for and a heart so beautiful I couldn’t bear it.
It was like that 90s classic My Girl but set in Cape Town:
I know he doesn’t sound like much of a teenage Lothario but bear in mind that at this age, I was trying really hard to fit in with my older half-sisters and their blossoming relationships ( a habit I’d learn to break years later when I was on the brink of turning 30).
Shafiek was sweet, a simple guy with simple thoughts and he treated me like a princess.
I remember long nights of doing nothing but talking, lying in his arms and listening to him tell me about his amazing father and his dreams for the future, whilst he rubbed my back and I fell asleep. Again, I was 12 and staying up with the older kids was not my forte at the time.
In the mornings, he’d wake me up with a gentle kiss on the forehead, telling me he was going to miss me all day before he left for work.
And that’s how life in the autumn and winter of 1998 passed us by -evenings spent at the Strandfontein Pavillion, talking in his truck; playing card games at home or double dating with my half-sister and her boyfriend.
Let’s just kiss and say goodbye …
Life as a tween moves pretty quickly and after a few months of not seeing Shafiek, I had met and fallen in love with Zunaid (even though it would take us another year before we actually started dating).
By this time, Shafiek had moved on to his ex-girlfriend and while we never saw each other again, I always hoped he was happy and loved.
In many ways, this short-lived romance of my pre-teen years formed the basis of what I wanted my forever relationship to be about: love, respect, trust and friendship.
And it did… which ultimately led me to you, my beautiful babies xx
Kids, you remember The Oversharer 2, right? Mr I have no confidence, I am broke and I still live at home with my mommy and daddy? Well, in the winter of 2017, he also became a rude online dater which provoked my inner Daenerys Targaryen.
He made me so angry I wanted to burn down his house, Khaleesi style… but I am getting ahead of myself.
The fool must have been suffering from some kind of convenient amnesia because he slid into my DMs with a “Hey! How you doing?”
Remembering how unbelievably needy he’d been before and that he did not seem to be a good match, I replied with a curt “Not interested”.
To which he quickly replied:
“It was mistake, you fat bitch!”
Are you f***ing kidding me? This neurotic, Failure to Launch type asshole who was the last person to talk about looks considering what he looked like, was body shaming my curvaceous, beautiful self? Oh f***k no!
As the iconic Bette Midler once sang, “I’m Beautiful, dammit!”
How is it that guys think they shit ice cream and are above being rejected so they turn abusive? Not on my watch, they don’t!
No one disrespects me like that and lives to tell the tale:
I blocked and deleted him with a long email written to OkCupid to complain and ban him too.
Enter michealallthetime, a 31-year-old account manager for petrol giant Engen from Goodwood, on OkCupid.
Great start but Mister doesn’t even have a profile pic of himself, just a wide shot of the beach – red flag number 1.
Within two messages of not introducing himself as it were, he’s asking if he can be really honest and forward with me…
Since your momma wasn’t born yesterday, I could see that this was a prelude for being sexually inappropriate but to mess with this idiot, I was like “Sure, but how about you start by telling me your name?”
I swear it’s like giving a bull the go ahead with a red scarf, the way the Spaniards do in bullfights.
Off he goes with the name details and then hits me with:
“I’m in the mood to be super naughty. I’m looking for a girl for long term too but for now, I wanna get dirty.”
Sweet Mother of God… why, WHY did I seem to attract these horny fools?!
Fed up with the sheer audacity of some jackass who was too ashamed of being online to post a real profile pic but seemed to think it was perfectly OK to make me feel like a digital whore, I needed to school this fool and school him hard.
I channelled my inner Beyoncéand levelled his stupid ass with this:
“Look, Son, good on you that you want to be dirty and all but, as per my profile, I am a grown ass woman who dates. If that’s not your deal, and clearly since you’re hiding behind silly pics, it isn’t … get stepping right now.”
To the left, please, and stay there!
Brother man got the hint and there was radio silence forever after.
“First date and you’ve sprained your ankle, huh? Tough break, my dear.At least he’s sticking around for now… maybe this will lead to better things”
This, Kids, is what Sharon the mystic healer was saying to me as she tried to infuse healing energy into my bruised ankle, whilst simultaneously trying to reassure me that my first date with Hellrider83 was not as disastrous as I thought it was.
She lied… it was!
In a spectacular imitation of my literary and cinematic heroine, Bridget Jones, I had managed to sustain a horrible ankle injury by slipping on the wet ground outside of Cavendish Square, on a busy Saturday morning with hundreds of witnesses.
Under any circumstances, this would have been embarrassing but , because this is my life and the Universe loves f***ing with me, this also just happened literally moments before I was to meet my latest OkCupid hottie for our first date.
As Sharon so sweetly tried to smooth down my billowing dress ( remind me NEVER to wear that ill-fated polka dot dress to another date!) so onlookers would not see my multiple tummy tuck-in tights and the security guards called for the first aiders, Hellrider83 came to find me.
Cue the awkward “So sorry about this. Could we possibly reschedule our first date?” conversation, with Sharon and co listening in.
Seriously…ground swallow me whole!
To his credit, Hellrider83 stuck around for the mucho embarrassing wheelchair ride through the mall and even offered to go with me to the nurse at Dischem to have my ankle wrapped but he looked hellavu relieved when I told him to go , I’d be fine and I would text him.
Which I did, and apologized profusely for my Joneseque behaviour and ….not a peep out of him. Nada, zilch, zero after three days. I’d been dumped, again, before even being dated.
F*** it! NEXT!
I wouldn’t mind, really, but by then, EVERYONE in Cavendish Square knew that this poor girl twisted her ankle whilst on a first date… the pity looks, the “Shame, my dear!” comments while trying to stop their tears of laughter running down their cheeks, were not doing my fragile ego any favours.
Kids, with #WonderWomanDay being celebrated on Saturday 3 June, 2017, in honour of the ultimate female superhero’s 75 year anniversary and the release of her first live motion film, it was only a matter of time before I dusted off my Amazon Princess suit and took to the streets of Cape Town in it…
Ok, maybe not the streets – but definitely to Readers Den, my home away from home since age 5, for their Wonder Woman Day event:
Kids, in the autumn of 2017, your Spirit Mom, Uncle T and I were having one of our daily WhatsApp conversations about life, work and crushes when Tendai threw a curveball at us…
We’d been discussing his latest cougar crush and teasing him about all of the very naughty things he wanted to do to her and he stopped my and Leo’s decidedly NSFW (not safe for work) lewd talk with this one liner:
“No, I just want to hug her and tell her that everything is going to be okay. That’s all I wanna do”
Leo and I both hit back with “What’s that code for?” and “Why does a guy just want to cuddle and hold? That doesn’t make sense!” because come on, hugs from guys ALWAYS meant they wanted more, right? RIGHT?
Nope…according to Lord Grey, sometimes a hug from a guy who likes you or whom you like is just that …a bloody hug.
Leo and I were floored, crushed, heartbroken, DEVASTATED.
As your Spirit Mom put it:
“I feel like my entire life’s outlook has just been turned upside down. I’m so confused now “
As for me, my world was spinning on its axis because those bone-crushing hugs that bordered on the inappropriate that I received from Monroe ( remember him?) still topped my all-time favourite crushee moments!
My mind was blown:
Leo was struggling with all the guys she turned away in her youth when they hugged her and said “Come to my flat and see my etchings”, thinking it was the 90s version of “Netflix and chill”. I was having a hard time seeing all those “moments” I thought I’d had with Monroe and past versions of him going up in smoke.
Lord Grey had messed us up worse than any of our previous “sandwich” experiences… F*** a zombie!
Tendai, realising how this had fundamentally changed my and Leo’s entire man-woman relations ideals, expanded on his theory a bit more:
“A man’s thoughts aren’t always the worst. Ya, we wanna get in and get out…that’s 90 – 95% of our thoughts but then there are those moments we wanna cuddle. Cuddling is a warm, relaxing and comforting feeling… especially after a long day.
He continued to drop this bombshell with:
“It’s platonic. Guys have no intentions for anything more. Just cuddling and maybe talk through the night. Just to forget about the madness of the world. It’s like how a woman says “Let’s go for a drink” and a guy thinks it’s code meanwhile, it’s literally just a drink!”
It would take days, weeks even, for Leo and I to recover from this explosive news…and when we chatted to other women about it, they’d had similar reactions. Life, as we knew it, was no longer the same…
Kids, in the autumn of 2017 I was MORE than ready to treat myself to another dating pause because gods be damned, pickings for suitable men were drier than the Sahara.
Nightly chats with your Auntie Yoli reassured me that I wasn’t the only one experiencing this phenomenon but nevertheless, in the interest of educating and certainly entertaining you, here are two occassions when I became well acquainted with the ol’ block button:
Whilst watching your Spirit Brother take his well earned turn on the cosplaying stage at the FanCon masquerade, I was joined by what on the surface seemed like a cute photographer named Cole *** ( name changed to protect the idiot’s identity).
It started out with that most perfect of rom-coms lines: “Is this seat taken?”
I was sure that finally, FINALLY my luck had turned and your Spirit Mom was right, I was meeting my Superman at a comic book convention. Here was someone who took an interest in me, my geekiness and was quite keen to get to know me.
While Cole initially charmed me with how uber excited he was to be there and cooing over the cute kids dressed in costume, he quickly disgraced himself in my eyes.
Not only did he quickly fill me in on the politics of comic book convention photography and the perverts that take models’numbers and details to stalk them with, but he then kept yelling sexist and inappropriate cat calls at the Masquerade MC ( and I quote : “OMG, you’re so hot…DO ME already!).
I shit you not.
As I hurriedly whisked your Spirit Brother off the stage and away, Cole yelled out to me:
“Invite me on Facebook!”
Hells to the f*** no! BLOCKED!
Another month, another comic book doos who thinks he has superhero player powers…
With two busy months of magic PR and mountain socials ahead of me, I was adamant about taking a break from dating… then Mo*** (again, for his own safety, let’s give him a different identity) slid into my Instagram DMs, as the cool kids (obviously not me!) would say.
This too-cool-for-school jackass managed to get in a couple of half-assed messages asking about my TV series, movies and comic book interests before throwing the “Come and give me a back massage” line at me.
What the actual f***?
We, and I stress this again, were not having a sexual conversation of any nature.
In fact, he hadn’t even made any mention of trying to chat me up, up until this point. I thought we were just having a general “Hey, we’re comic book geeks together” conversation so where, in all of Krypton, did this idiot get the idea that I wanted to be his masseuse or call girl?
I want to say I blocked him after that but sadly, when I didn’t respond to his request, he sent me another message a few days later, asking me to come and nurse him back to health because he had the flu.
Kids, every good writer and singleton looks to their peers for inspiration – others who were in the embattled trenches of dating in the 21st century and understood how hard it was finding love in the difficult hook-up culture we lived in.
In 2017, mine came in the form of the following three incredible dating bloggers:
Not only was your Auntie Yoli my gorgeous and amazing birthday twin, she was also a published author of the incredible We Write What We Like book AND she was sharing her dating woes online on the All4Women site.
A fabulous Capetonian, Yoli was tackling the ups and downs of the single life in sunny Florida and regaling international audiences with her often funny but always true stories.
We traded horror stories via WhatsApps and Twitter quite often but none of them made me spit my tea all over my phone like the one with the dodgy and cheap baseball player.
Confession time: in 2017, I had a MAJOR online crush on the ridiculously handsome and sweet James .
As I followed his dating advice, fitness adventures and move to Hollywood on Instagram (and no, I was NOT stalking him …that behaviour is reserved for your future daddy Alexander Skarsgard!), I thoroughly enjoyed getting the male perspective on the dating scene.
This hottie (again, did I mention I was crushing hard???) posted fantastic video tips, inspirational quotes and adorable photos of his dog that gave me hope when I was in the dumps about bad online dating experiences.
I’d been addicted to Violet’s quirky musings about sex, love and the single life since seeing a live performance based on her blog and performed by the sexy Lynita Crawford at the Kalk Bay Theatre in 2015.
Reading the “real” Violet’s side-splitting tales online brought me many laughs and comforts on a daily basis.
Laugh out loud with the beautiful Violet Online here.
From superhero themed jewellery and glitter tattoos to endless geek memorabilia and opportunities to meet our favourite comic book authors, there was just SO much to see and do at FanCon.
Kris went nuts for all of the cool jewellery at the Treasure Box stand, picking up a really lifelike looking Horcrux, from the famed Harry Potter series, while we snagged a gorgeous Tardis print for Leo in the Art Alley:
Here are few of the awesome social media posts by fellow geeks of the event:
You know, I am sitting here at my desk as I do on a regular basis because, mamacita got a day job and there ain’t no sugar daddy in sight, which got me thinking about a certain someone that made me become more aware of the weird way in which some men operate.
I say some, because contrary to hurt girl beliefs, not all men are bad. There are awesome men out there, good ones, and gentlemen. Yes ladies as hard as it is to find them, there are some men who look out for the person in their lives.
Now that I have gotten that disclaimer out of the way, let’s begin with spilling the tea.
I would like to recite to you the tale of the Lady and the Douchebag, not just any douchebag I tell you, this one dear Sirs and Madams was a doctor. You know how everybody and their auntie wants to get together with a doctor because….bragging rights aaannnnnd free checkups well let me tell you, ye know the saying, “just because you met them at church don’t mean they ain’t a demon”. Well,just because he’s a doctor, doesn’t mean he will save you. Hippocratic Oath be damned …. this man needs to be schooled and not with a PHD.
It started off innocently enough. We met at a party with friends, locked eyes for longer than 5 seconds ,did the whole lingering smile thing before going back to our respective corners to critique and make notes with the guys and gals in our posse (Don’t give me the side eye ladies, you know you do this -men too)
At this point you may be asking why I call him Dr. Douchebag, to which in turn I say, you will understand and agree as you keep reading.I cannot make this shit up. At first you will like him but then you will squint your eyes and think to yourself….is this man an idiot?
Ok,so picture our first meeting; an extravagant birthday bash in a wonderful venue set against a beautiful backdrop of black and gold, swish and full of wonderment.
Beautiful people in beautiful clothes dressed to the nines, amazing music is pumping out from the DJ box, the crowd is alive and having a great time, we’re busting out moves that make Beyoncé shy away to the corner ’cause guuurl, we got this!
I’ve been on my diet and my gym game isstrong so the girl is snatched, yes Gawd! It’s all seemingly perfect right,? RIGHT!?!?!?!?!!?! I was wrong, nothing was perfect. It sunk like the Titanic before it even left the docks and although there was ice involved, there was no iceberg so mofo had me looking like a deer in the headlights, stunned AF.
As you do when you find someone you like and want to attract their attention in your direction you try and flirt. Problem is, I suck at flirting. All day every day I would not get even a D, it would be more like an F for WTF are you doing with your LIFE go buy yourself a clue. I tried and he looked like he was not interested so I chose to continue enjoying the night.
So, Mr. and his posse of 5 strong eligible friends looking like the Backstreet Boys decked out in all black like we’re one minute into the “I’ll never break your heart” video, (I’m a child of the 90’s, sue me) are generally all around me and our one common female friend.
He in particular is always right behind me which at first I could not figure out why because I thought my weak attempt at flirting had crashed and burned…(Chica you’re oblivious you might say while reading this, my response:YES. I was like a blind man in a dark room with no music, absolutely clueless.)
Their presence is so prominent my friends start asking why I brought bodyguards with me like I’m a foreign diplomat trying to suss out national secrets or something and I am oblivious to the fact that he has already laid claim to my person and is now protecting his territory.
Because I was so clueless I tried to move away from him as much as I could to get down and boogie but everywhere I went ,there he was. Eventually I sit down on one of the swish seats made available for our party and one of his friends ,whom I later found out was his brother, was sitting next to me.
We get chatting about frivolous nonsense and after a few moments I feel someone plop down next to me……yes that’s right it’s the doctor he is sitting as close as possible to me which I think is because he doesn’t want me speaking to his friend so I look up and let Mr. know I’m just finding out if his friend is ok. I think at the end of this little conversation he will get up and go, but boy was I wrong.
He stayed, ladies and gents, all freaking night, bought the most expensive bubbly you could at the establishment and always served me and only me and no one else……(Yes, I was that clueless, but he’s a douche so it evens itself out.)
We speak a bit and as I try to keep the conversation going, he gives me one word answers. Just like the men out there, women are not mind readers: if you like us, use the tools you were born with and let us know.
If you’re not good with that, go buy yourself some power tools and get to hammering away. I am not an X-Men character… my name is not Jean Grey and I cannot read your mind.I do not have access to Cerebro. (For reference to this reference, watch anything where Hugh Jackman has his shirt off and has knives coming out of his knuckles even if you hate the movie just fast forward to the parts were Hugh has his shirt off, you will thank me later) if I did we would not have this problem.
If you’re a talker, orate something if you use ASL sign it out, if you’re not good with words send me a text made up of emojis or go all Last of the Mohicans and send me a freaking smoke signals I don’t care, QUIET DOES NOT LET ME KNOW THAT YOU LIKE ME!!!
The following week my good male friend and I(Yes, just a friend I’ve known him since I was a kid there is a friend, no benefits…that’s just ….ew) go to a club where we know the people and our friend worked.
I let her know I’m on my way. As we enter she tells me that the doctor is in and would like my presence at his table that night. I don’t see any harm in being friendly and go over to he and his friends. I’m welcomed and he acts all gentleman like, offering me a seat when his friends are clueless and just let me stand whilst speaking to me.
He goes all out thanking me for helping his brother when something happened on our first meeting, insists that anything and everything I want is on him. Which is nice but I didn’t ask for anything so I still snuck away to buy my own drink because I can. The gesture is nice but I helped because he needed it, not because his brother would buy me drinks. (He seems so nice right now doesn’t he, aaah yes ignorance is bliss.)
As the night progresses he and I get very close, on the dance floor, off the dance floor the whole toot and at one stage we’re holding hands and nuzzling.
My friends told me this afterwards because I was a little… how should I put this…..fragile so some of the details are a bit fuzzy. If only I could insert a laughing cry emoji right now I would. Ok ,people of the palace,this is where things start to get a little douche bag like.
He starts to have a few drinks, I notice the more he drinks the easier it is for him so speak to me but instead of engaging me in friendly conversation I was met with this. ‘” You are such a lady, I can see that you’re not like most money hungry females out there but please understand I will buy you whatever you want I have access to unlimited funds just tell me what you want, anything any time I will buy it for you. You know I just bought a car for a million rand, but there was a problem accessing my cash and my uncle gave me the money, the next day I deposited the entire amount back in his account. You will want for nothing I will always look after you, do you like bikes I have two I’m getting another one soon” .I shit you not, this is verbatim.
This went on for longer than I’d have likes and the more I told him I don’t care about his money the more he kept assuring me that he had Rockefeller money.( Like that’s nice but, who you iiiis though?)
At one point in his very one sided conversation I turned to his friends and asked if they could shut him up about his money as I wished to know about him and not about what I could only imagine was bags of moola just strewn across his house ready to for him to brag about. (He did not notice or listen when I asked him to stop talking about his money, he smiled and continued)
They looked at me fully stunned as if I was the first woman to ask him to shut up about his cash, all the while he kept droning on about how I should call him and no matter what it is I need or want he will get it for me because there is no limit to the amount of money he has access to (Douchy right?)
He keeps on talking about money and repeatedly asks me what I want …I was so irritated I gave him the evil eye and said a house in the Swiss Alps which shut him up because though he has a lot of money he does not have Swiss Alps money. (Rockerfeller ,my ass)
I excuse myself from the situation and head to the dance floor. A few friends are already there and we’re grooving to the music when I feel a tug on my arm before I get pulled away rather roughly from the person I’m dancing with…yes you guessed it, Dr D himself. According to a friend of mine he saw me on the dance floor with a male friend, downed a triple gin while giving the guy I was dancing with a look of pure murder and made a bee line for me and subsequently dragged me away from the offending male…..jealous much?!?! (You’re starting to squint aren’t you…and yes, we’re on our way to creepy town)
His friends form a wall of impenetrable douchebags around us and at this time the only thing running through my head is that scene in Lord of the Rings where Gandalf the Grey screams “YOUSHALL NOT PASS” which nobody did, for the whole night.
I had my very own security service following me around. From bathroom to bar he was there but always playing it off like a gentleman. The rest of the evening is a bit fuzzy, the grape salad I ordered came in a glass or two or three…and it’s rude to send things back to the kitchen so I took one for the team and finished the bottle…(don’t judge, I see you judging)
What I do remember though is that by the end of the night TWO things happened. 1: he asks me to join he and his friends for a show they have tickets to and 2, he drinks so much he starts throwing up in the ice bucket provided for his table and starts to cry….oh and he almost fought with a waitron in his drunken state because they wanted to cash up and asked who would be paying, Mr money bags got incredibly defensive and started raising his voice talking about, “Don’t they think I can pay huh, do they know how much money I have, do they know who I am” Everyone in his party stood up to try and calm him down and he would not until I tugged his arm and he immediately stopped and then pulled out his wallet to give to me.. (Douchebag)
Because the invitation to the show was done in a half inebriated state I thought nothing of it really, but it came through. I received a text a day later asking me if I would join the friends to go to the show which I accepted and asked when I should meet them.
He insisted that he pick me up and take me home, after an exchange of, I can get myself there no sweat, and it seemed rather evident that he REALLY wanted to pick me up so I complied. The allotted time comes and I’m ready and waiting when I hear the rev of a huge car engine outside my house…My first thought, ÿeah he brought the million rand car to show off.
PEOPLE I WAS RIGHT!!, outside my house stood this shiny two door sports car that make most men cream their pants just looking at it. I mean the thought is nice and all but did our previous meeting not get you to understand that money is not how you impress me!!!!
In the car are his best friend and my female friend, I think nothing of it as we trudge along to the show. Ten minutes before we reach our destination he says nonchalantly that he no longer feels like sitting on the chairs thereand would like to rather go and get some coffee.
Also everyone else cancelled, he tells me this after my repeated questions about the rest of the party fall upon deaf ears (My spidey sense is tingling)…
Did i just get duped in to a double date, nooo I couldn’t have, like this doesn’t happen in real life right, this is some Hollywood Punk’d isht isn’t ? Sadly not. He duped me in to a double date. (Deer meet headlights)
Naturally we went to some lavish place for him to show off. It would have been great if only he was able to speak to me instead of sitting tight lipped for most of the time we were there. He stared at me, he shyly smiled at me and spoke to his friend about money, soccer, how he took no nonsense from people who worked under him and my absurd idea about going to a music festival, why I should eat more and get an iphone and use his music service and start doing this and that and so on and so forth and more about the absurdity of my like of music festivals which is stupid.
That my taste in music should be changed and I should listen more to what he listens to, all the while not really speaking to me but about me to the rest of the people there. Flashing his super expensive watch in my direction every few minutes so I would notice and ask or compliment on it and when I did not he shoved the metal timepiece under my nose to show me what the doodads were (Like I give a fuck)…(like seriously who is you?)
This man spent the entire time that I knew him showing off what he had and not once did he try and get to know me on a more personal level. His chivalry confused me, I didn’t know if he was a shy gentleman or just an undecided douche bag. In the end it was decided – OMWM was it decided!
Who tricks a woman in to a date?!?!?! Is this an everyday thing, why can’t you speak to me properly without being tipsy, do I intimidate you or should I be intimidated by you, have I stepped in to the twilight zone? What the actual fuck is going on right now?!?!
I DRESSED UP EXTRA CUTE FOR THIS. I DID MY HAIR FOR THIS DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG MY HAIR IS!!!!!!
Right now as I’m typing this out I’m still confused…..I really think I got Punk’d – maybe Ashton Kutcher lost his way and forgot to tell me it was all a big joke because that is what it feels like….
There is so much more like how his friends aren’t allowed to swear near me or compliment me or sit near me or THERE IS JUST TOO MUCH…….safe to say, boy was a douche bag in doctor’s clothing with a shitty bedside manner and I still can’t believe that I was duped in to a double date(DOES THIS LOOK LIKE HIGH SCHOOL?) …..Oh and also DOUCHE BAG MUCH!!!!!
Kids, in the autumn of 2017, I was having a very bad week of adulting.
As in epic, end-of-the-world bad… not only did I get swindled out of A LOT of money by Gumtree scammers (the buggers ran off with the mobile phone I was selling after sending me a very real looking bank deposit sms) leaving me super broke, but I was battling a cold that wouldn’t go away and I had a massive fight with someone close to me that there seemed to be no way of coming back from.
Life sucked. Being single sucked.
And just when I started feeling like none of these things would have happened if I had had a boyfriend or a husband, I ran, and beat my personal best in my second Old Mutual Two Oceans Marathon run:
I shaved more than 10 minutes off of my previous run and the act alone made me realise two things:
I am capable of doing some epic f***ing shit when I put my mind to it:
Sure, I’d lagged behind in training over the past few months before the the race but in just one year, I’d come so far. I was a runner: I got up early for races, I trained, I wrote about this physically challenging pursuit and I f***ing did it.
Running and the determination to do it well, the dedication to that pursuit had spilled over into other elements of my life.
Hadn’t I just returned from a solo trip to New York where all I’d had was my wits to see me through? Didn’t I just win a major magical career award for my love and dedication to the magical arts? I was more than capable of exceptional feats!
I am stronger than I know:
Yes, some crooks had done me wrong and my first instinct was to look for validation and comfort from someone else.
But, as I had proven over and over before, I was stronger than I gave myself credit for.
These terrible things could have happened to me even if I was in a relationship and all that the other person would have been able to do was dry my tears. It would still have been up to me to fix my shit.
Being single doesn’t mean being helpless. It takes courage to be alone ( but not lonely) and protect yourself, make the tough decisions and stand up for yourself, even if the people who should be supporting you, reject you.
On this insane road of life, there is you and the miles ahead of you. How you get to the end is up to you.
This, Guys and Girls , is my first forage in to the world of blogging about my life ’cause this shit is real and somebody has to hear about it…. The voices in my head can only do so much before they start turning on one another.
First and foremost, call me Lilu. It’s short and somewhat cute, just like me. Back in 2017, I’m a 31-year-old woman who has been single on and off for two years now and man, have I seen some M Nightshamalamadingdong crazy out there.
I’m not your typical single woman of what people discern as a “Certain Age”. Yeah, Bitch, it’s called 31 and although I don’t eat this fast food – the slogan fits ‘Mmm, I’m lovin it” cue Justin Timberlake intro…I wish.
And as always, I’ve gone off track. What I was trying to say is I’m not looking for a guy to marry, I’m looking for a partner.
I need a good relationship before I can think of marrying anyone because some of these men out there are like Freys at the Red Wedding…if you did not catch that…Child, you need to watch some Game of Thrones.
What I mean is I’m not desperate or constantly looking at who’s eligible.I don’t go out with the purpose to just meet a man so that I can have this Jerry McGuire-you-complete me-moment.
Don’t get me wrong :I was that for a hot minute. I believed this perfect moment would come and the sparks would fly and we would fly off to our castle on a magic carpet ride…. I dreamed of a Ferrari but got a Uno fire with a very good paint job.
After being in a long-term relationship where I thought I was happy and safe in this bubble of codependency and comfortable silence (in the wrong way I might add), I both revered and feared singledom.
I kind of knew I needed to get out but I was afraid to no longer have the label of girlfriend so I stayed in an unhappy and more importantly unhealthy relationship much longer than I should have. When I finally plucked up the courage and walked away it was the most terrifying thing I had ever done so far in my short life (no pun intended).
I went through every stage of grief you could go through because I lost a part of me that had always been there …well to me,anyway. I lost what I had come to know as home and all I could see was the loss of what was and not the potential of what could be……and oh.what potential turned out to be.
There have been tears, laughs, denials, super idiotic choices to please somebody because I wanted their approval. There have been friendships found and lost, family gained and what was shattered shards of myself put back together again.
Not in the way I was before, in a different kind of way, not better or worse just differently, stronger, better equipped to leave when a situation is bad and more confident to let someone know I like them when I do because ain’t nobody got time for high school yes , no and maybe games.
My stories are many, and the people in them a colorful array of crazy and fun, sometimes more Norman Bates-like crazy than I would like but hey, sometimes you gotta roll with the punches.
As I went through all of this and still go through the surprises that life brings me, there was one I was not ready for.
There is a difference between having life and living it and enjoying life and watching it pass you by. Once you start living it, there’s no going back..
Also…..why is Kale a thing like it’s nice and all but does it have to be everywhere??
Kids, as hard as I tried to avoid it, sometimes I unknowingly fell into the non-date trap and each time, I swore it would be the goddamn last!
Gather around and let me tell you about the loser who wasted my time in 2017…
Mr Church Spin Doctor was a 31-year-old good-looking guy, who worked as a communications officer for the Catholic Church. He’d travelled the world over and even lived in Japan for three years.
He loved reading and initially contacted me to trade favourite books and author stories. I liked his style because unlike the previous airheads/sex crazed online suitors, Mr Spin Doctor seemed to be worth talking to.
When he quickly moved to wanting to meet me, I was a little hesitant but he followed up with a “this is how I read people” track.
Now, and I f***ing stress this, he asked me out on a date, as evidenced from the below exchange:
To further stress my point, the Wkipedia dictionary definition of a date is as follows:
A first date is any type of initial meeting between two individuals, whether or not previously acquainted, where an effort is made to ask, plan, and organize some sort of social activity.
Then, who pays for said first date, is defined by UK.Match.Com as:
Fast forward to the agreed date (which he started with a big body melting hug) and things were progressing well at The Village Idiot in the City Centre.
We laughed and chatted a mile a minute about anything and everything over a few drinks: travels, family, Game of Thrones, comic books, movies and work.
I may not have felt an instantaneous convergence, as that previous non-date of mine pointed out pointed out, but I liked Mr Spin Doctor enough to consider a second date. Especially, considering that according to him, this was a first date, right?!
Somewhere between me excusing myself to go to the Ladies and coming back to the table, Jackass Deluxe decided that this wasn’t going anywhere and called for the bill.
Which he then looked at closely to calculate how much he owed (because, “Fazielah, I only brought enough for my own drinks and yeah, I drank the most”) and passed it over to me for my portion.
I refer you back to the definition of a date as above. May I also point out here that social etiquette dictates that when you invite someone out, you, the inviter are responsible for the payment of the bill?
I wasn’t so furious about the money ( because I always carry enough cash to pay for emergencies) as I was by the utter audacity of it. He explicitly called it a DATE , for f***’s sake and now he was pulling the “let’s go dutch” card???!!!
Hells to the f*** NO!
As if I wasn’t humiliated enough, the brother takes it up another notch by… wait for it… seeing me off with a wave!
A f***ing wave, guys!
Never mind the time I took out of my very busy schedule for this non-date, I’d dolled myself up in a dress and pantyhose.
Not to mention, when I realised I’d forgotten my make-up at home, I rushed back to my apartment after work to splash on some lipstick and mascara. I f***ing put effort into the this non-f***ing date and the jackass had the blatant nerve to stick me with the bill and send me off with a wave.
This shit, Kids, is why I was single for so goddamn long.
As I complained and bitched to my friends Yolisa ( who told me to ditch all the el cheapos and wait for someone worthy of me) and Lee-Anne ( who pointed out that this fool realised he wasn’t getting laid that night and therefore didn’t feel the need to pay for drinks) , I resolved that this would be the last bloody time I dressed up for a non-date.