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, 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.
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?