Archive for the Love Category

Boy vey!

Posted in Dating, Fiction, Humor, Love, Relationships with tags , , , on September 8, 2013 by kondeeskaos

“Please. Please can I just touch it for a while?” He pleaded.

“No! I don’t even know you!” I reply. 

“Ok. I’ll give you MY foot first to make it a fair exchange.” 

Before I knew it, this 6.2ft man had his Paul Smith-clad foot in my hand. I had no option but to marvel at his chutzpah. 

I slipped my shoe off. I can safely assume he liked my foot. He grabbed my face and kissed me.

(Note: my nail polish was called “My Chihuahua Bites”. True story.)

Hours of chatting later and I find out this crazy, lovely, sexy man is Jewish. “What! I had no idea!” I exclaimed….He wasn’t wearing a yarmulke and he wasn’t naked so I couldn’t exactly tell.

“Well that’s terrible, don’t you know all Jewish men are intelligent, funny, successful, direct??” He says.

Add modest!

I have dated a Jewish guy before, sure. He wasn’t a very nice person, and sadly he lived up to a lot of the unfortunate, negative preconceptions us Gentiles have. I certainly didn’t stick around to glean any knowledge over a bowl of matzo ball soup.

“Will your mama like me?” I ask. “I already own a lot of leopard print and jewellery. I used to be a chef. And! I platz for kosher wine” I offer.

“My mother will love you. She’s gay.” He replies.

Great, halfway there, I think.

“You’d have to stop eating bacon.”

WHAT? Mon dieu, no ways, no such thing would be possible.

“Also, Judaism requires a high level of admin. You’d need to free up a lot of your time for me.”

Erm. Nope. I have enough of a hard time remembering to schedule dentist appointments. If its between work, gym, partying, reading, catnaps and Facebook- maybe. If you’re lucky.

So far, so mazel tov.

We speak about religion a lot and love it. Mainly because my ignorance is endearing to him, and he loves to educate me on the generalisations.

In fact, today’s text message:

“Babe did you know one of the biggest fallacies about Jewish men is that we’re stingy and materialistic? Not so. We only strive for financial success because we’re insecure about our circumcision and we’re trying to save up enough money to buy back from the mohel what we lost.”


(Yes, I had to Google “mohel” too.)

A Man in Uniform…

Posted in Dating, Fiction, Humor, Lessons, Love, Relationships with tags , , , , , on July 21, 2013 by kondeeskaos

He’d just come back from London. It was 1998. He had a on a pair of Diesel Zathan’s, Nike Air Max, his Carharrt hoodie, Aigner fragrance he found in Venice, and a designer Toni & Guy haircut.

 This was my metrosexual Belgian born boyfriend and I on our 3rd date. My friends all teased me about his well-groomed coiffness.

Quiet and reserved, I had no idea if this man was still “in the wardrobe”.

And then we were driving, in his new leather seated BMW. It was still in the days when I drove (long long ago). We were on the way into the wild, for a friends wedding.

When… I carelessly drove over piece of jagged metal.

He, calm as a cucumber, said “That’s ok. I think I know what to do.”

Within minutes, my boyfriend went from a 90’s heroin chic looking model to ripsnorting hetero male.

“Oh my God I’m so sorry, is the tyre ok?”

“Ah yes, no problem. Luckily the army prepared me well”, he said.

We dated for 10 years. He is the most metrosexual man on Earth, I can be certain. He also knows how plugs from any continent work, other causes urine is useful for, how to use a tourniquet and how to stop a car whose brakes have failed.


I’m a South African woman in her 30’s, so that means I am familiar with my male family’s war stories, badges of honour, uniforms in storage and opinions on compulsory military service.


I’m all for it.


In fact, I should’ve been the face behind those WE WANT YOU! propaganda adverts.

I’m only half joking.

If I neatly and politely smoosh all my dating experiences into 2 categories, there’d be A) men who’ve served in the military and B) men who have not.

I haven’t dated nearly enough men younger than me (there’s still time) to pass fair judgement (is there ever a time to pass fair judgement?) but I have to concede there are some glaringly obvious differences:

1) Men who’ve “served” know how to wash and iron their clothes.

2) They also completely recognise the value of a can of baked beans, firewood, running water and folk music.

3) They are less arrogant.

4) They understand being a graphic designer holds no purpose in Real Life.

5) They don’t call in sick when their nose is running.

The rest is on a need-to-know basis.


Posted in Dating, Fiction, Humor, Love, Relationships with tags , , , , on January 27, 2013 by kondeeskaos

He walks past. I can smell that he’s wearing Creed ‘Silver Mountain Water’ (erm, I have a long and complicated relationship with fragrance), he has one blue eye and one brown, and he has headphones on.


Ah, I’m crushing. Again.

I am a serial crusher. It’s always on the same type of man. No, not always bearded- surprise surprise. It’s the illusion. The mystique. The suggestion of depth; where every little mundane detail Means Some Thing.

It’s just one big imagination fest.

I had a crush on a boy I’d seen out and about, this crush went on for a month or two. He dressed amazingly well, but not “gay amazing”. He seemed friendly enough (but not to me; I seem to be completely invisible to him), and, outwardly he would seem to like the same things I do (hatred of Rihanna and radio, etc.)

So a few weeks go by before I pluck up the courage to be brave. So brave and noble, I ask his colleague what his name is.

Cue sound of miniature violins. It wasn’t Johnny, Mick, Frankie or Dave. He was christened with the most unfortunate of names.

Next reality check, his colleague quips “Oh him! Allllll the girls ask about him. And the guys too.”

I am finding it hard to resume my crushing, but, I push on.

A week later, my friends and I are driving down the boulevard… and I scream. “WHAT!!! IS IT ONE OF THOSE MOUILLE POINT RATS?!!!” No. No. It was Mr Sadname, walking, hand in hand, with the most beaniest pole surfey wonderful young blonde girl.

Mystique, out the car window.


Crush, shattered.

Trade Up or Settle Down…

Posted in Dating, Fiction, Humor, Love, Relationships with tags , , , , on December 10, 2012 by kondeeskaos

We see it all the time. We have friends who’ve done it, hell, I’ve done it.

We’ve all ‘settled’.

Like rollerblading tipsy without kneepads, it all seemed like a good idea at the time, until someone got hurt.


Oh I understand the deep need for a spooning partner, a good bout of tonsil-hockey and someone to share a chocolate fondant with. (Share! Fondant! HA!) I am not insensitive to these primal urges. But that’s what gay husbands, body pillows or booty calls are for, right?


In this quagmire of dating in our 30’s, as FNAW (Feministical New Age Women) it’s easy to find the whole ordeal quite tumultuous and stressful. You meet freaks. This is Cape Town, after all. So when someone comes along who is not a freak, you think twice. He has an RGSOH (Ridonk Good Sense of Humour). Or he is an amazing cook who happens to specialise in chocolate desserts. Or he likes Tame Impala and Whitest Boy Alive and The Presets. Or he isn’t busy raising a child single-handedly. Or he isn’t on methadone ‘for therapeutic purposes’. You know, all very rare and attractive things, at this point of life.

So yes, judge me if you like- I have been lured by these very mesmerising things.

Like shopping at Mr Price. But it looks SO RAD on the hanger! On the internet! And then, you try it on and OH HELLZ NO.

The good news is: I am reformed.

All it took to see the error of my ways was One Short Date. One sad date where I got the sneaking whiff of a “You. I could settle for you”- shocking, but believe it. Its odour is unmistakeable. I am just the right amount of self-assured to be ok with admitting that for someone, I was not The Prize.

It was fantastic.

I know I’m hilarious. I know I make a mean roast with all the trimmings. I know that I have sexy eyebrows and am not an idiot. So knowing that my combination of traits wasn’t sending this particular man into the stratosphere with excitement was quite alright with me.

Instead of settling, I suggest we all trade up. Being single is nice. It really is. If you don’t think so, I would tend to ask you why. Why trade it in for anything less than a really good fit?

Happily Married…

Posted in Dating, Fiction, Humor, Love, Relationships with tags , , , , on October 28, 2012 by kondeeskaos

“Ooooh. I want to get in your genes.” My gay husband is very sexy, yes. But this sort of sexy talk, I was not expecting.

“Oh honey no, these old Seven For All Mankind? I got them on sale.” I say, blushing.

“No babe. I want your genes. The twirly DNA that make you you.”


I am not nearly drunk enough to be having this conversation.

So I crank up the sound system and we drive in silence, listening to Donna Summer.

My genes? My eggs? My children? Can’t we just share self tan like the good old days?

My GH and I are soulmates. We love each other to the moon and back. We have a marriage with a strong foundation of trust, honesty and a shared passion for sequins and leopard print.

Our relationship is drenched in compassion, understanding, deliriously ridiculous private jokes and dirty humour. We’re both romantic, ambitious, relentless, stubborn, vain, completely OCD and very clear on what we want.

We’re both single (for all intensive purposes). We’re both happy. And it seems one of us wants a baby.

It could be perfect. Separate houses across the street. His penchant for art history and knowledge of musicals. My penchant for philosophy and Film Noir. Successful Double Income With No Family History of Bi-Polar Disorder or Pyromania.

A little human with both of our traits.

That much awesomeness would just be unfair on the human race.

So for now, we’ll stick to puppy shopping, thank you very much.




Monkey Do…

Posted in Dating, Fiction, Humor, Love, Relationships with tags , , , , , , on October 9, 2012 by kondeeskaos

“He told me he has self esteem issues from when he was in high school and wore thick glasses and had acne…”     


YAWN. Yeah girl but that was 18 years ago. And he had Lasik. And went on Roaccutane, started capoeira, became a photographer (vomit), and dated every single hussy in Cape Town in between.



I’m really (REALLY) good at telling my friends how under par their love interests are.

I basically can’t stand it because I truly believe my friends should be treated like Lady Gaga wherever they go. (“WHAT?? He didn’t leave a trail of rose petals? Dump his ass”.)

And then something hilarious happened to me.

You may know it as “Karma”.

I was busy lecturing my divine girlf about her very under par love interest, whom I have grown to despise. We ended the conversation, and I was mumbling venomously to my cat how I believe she deserves better. Then my other friend popped around after work to hear about a date I went on with Much Hyped Man…

“Oh babez he was late. And then like, I wore Spanx and everything and he was so underdressed. I even wore my special R4,000 perfume. And then he had a friend join us?? Like Oh Em Gee, I thought it was a date. Anyhoo it was nice. Nice. Okay. We hugged. And I haven’t heard from him since. But that’s ok cos like he’s lank busy. And stuff”.

Yeah. I said those things. Those words, they ejected from my mouth. Slap me.

Then friend said “And I’m not allowed to date a man who didn’t open my door for me? Girl, you be tripping.”


Do as I say, don’t do as I do.

I really, really really should know better.

I usually do, unless there’s a beard involved.

Pop Goes The Puzzle…

Posted in Dating, Fiction, Humor, Love, Relationships with tags , , , , on October 1, 2012 by kondeeskaos

“WHAT? Not even a smooch?” GH (gay husband) is appalled by my lack of primal urges when I’m explaining my last date.

No babe, no. No smooch. No nada. “But whyyyyyyy?” he just can’t believe me, since I refuse more and more dates nowadays, and therefore should be grateful and frothing about a date with a man who is not 1m shorter than me, and who doesn’t wear tie-dye.

I haven’t written a blog article in months. I started a blog as a self-therapy tool 2 years ago to get over heartbreak. See, the thing is, I’m not heartbroken anymore. I don’t care about dating at all anymore.

You’d have to be pretty amazing to get me to get out of my FULUMPALA after-work outfit. And I’m just not really the type of gal you can call and say “Wanna meet for a drink in an hour?” And stop my carefully constructed plans that usually involve a conference Skype and a stationary bike? You gotta be kidding.

I have a family member who is as concerned about my singledom as the equivalent of me being a codeine addict who works in a pharmacy. From the age of 16, I was never single until a year ago. I’m still enjoying eating bacon for dinner and considering dancing solo to Ibiza Classix ’99 exercise at 10pm, and crying over Amelie once a month. Thanks for asking.

In other words, I am really annoyingly happy.

I don’t really want to date, so my eyes are closed, firstly. And then, secondly, something weird happened. Whilst I was talking to GH about the frisk-free date with an otherwise suitable candidate, I had a moment. I have had serious relationships with some amazingly wonderful men. Men who help little old ladies across the road, send flowers, can cook (even if it’s a very scary tuna bolognese), have great families, have great manners, and who are GOOD people. Men who would be perfect for someone else but not for me.

So therefore, my Mr Next would have to top that, right?

Moving backwards, like the Moonwalk, is something I can’t do very well.

Plus it just looks silly when you’re in heels.