I’m Baaaccckkk: A Limited Series Event

Preamble: The world is in turmoil now — this, I know. But the arrival of COVID-19 doesn’t mean the exit of humor and laughter (it’s the best medicine after all!). So, I’m bringing back the good ol’ blog for a limited series event. Suddenly, I’ve got a little time on my hands. Let’s find the lighter side of self-isolation: I’ll share my inconsequential non-adventures and invite you to share yours ❤️.

I’m baaccckkkk! I know — I’ve written those words so many times before, they have absolutely no meaning now. So, I took a break from blogging. A reallllllyyyyy long break. But, I decided enough is enough. I’ve got to get back to entertaining all my eager fans — and by fans I still mean Mom!

So, a lot of things have changed since we last chatted. Let’s see, I changed jobs ... twice. I grew out my hair and cut it, hated it, and grew it out again ... twice. For long-time readers (again, Mom), I have given up Starbursts. I know, that is shocking! I’m still obsessed with the Starbucks app and Target is still an incomprehensible, money gobbling temple of stuff I buy but don’t need. Except now, it doesn’t have toilet paper 🧻. Also, most tragically, I now need reading glasses. OMG, that was painful to even type, let alone admit. *Sigh* But it’s true 😭.

I was in denial for a long time. NSS, Miss HotStuff and Pixie Minxie all told me I need glasses. Each time I would scream, “NO I DON’T,” as I held my cell phone about a mile from my face, squinting, trying to read a text. When I started asking friends to sign receipts at restaurants, I knew it was time to bite the bullet and make an appointment with an eye doctor.

During the appointment, when it was finally confirmed that I did indeed need glasses, the doctor saw my crestfallen face and said — to make things a million times worse — “You shouldn’t be upset, you’ve done well for your ag...” He didn’t finish saying the last word. My eyes grew small and dark, and he had the good sense to not say it. My age indeed! Anyway, he handed me my prescription and I thought, If I have to wear glasses, I’m going to wear them in style. And anyone who knows me knows that by style, I mean one thing: Prada.

So, I marched right into the Wal-Mart eye glasses place and asked, in all seriousness, “Where are your Prada frames.” At a Wal-Mart. The sales guy looked at me with a WTH expression that befittingly said without words, “You know you’re in a Wal-Mart, right?” I still didn’t get it. Reeling from the insult of needing reading glasses, I demanded designer frames. So, he took me to a wall with the pricey ones, naming them and the cost. And still I asked, “So, you don’t have Prada?”

No ... no they did not have Prada. Finally he asked to see the prescription. He then said, “You’re eyesight really isn’t bad enough for you to be investing in expensive frames. You’re better off buying the ready-to-wear kind.” He had thrown me off. I had a plan. Now my plans were thwarted!

I walked the aisles of Wal-Mart wondering what was I to do? Then I spotted this turntable display thingy with all these cheapito glasses and I did a complete 180. If I can’t get designer frames, I thought, I’m going to get the cheapest pair I can find. And the cheapest pair I did get — $9.99, thank you very much. And off I went.

I kept the glasses in my purse and only brought them out when I needed to sign a receipt at a restaurant. I didn’t use them for anything else. Not even for reading, and I love to read. So, guess what? I stopped reading. I did buy another pair to keep by my bed just for that purpose, but could not bear to use them. Don’t ask me why. So, when self-isolation started, I decided to get over it already and start reading again.

There is a book on my nightstand that has been collecting dust for 18 months. I started the first 25 pages, then realized, Hmmm, these words are blurry, and never picked it up again. But now ... now is the time to finish this book. The other night, I picked it up, put the glasses on and reached for the remote to switch the TV off.

Oh, Superbad is on. Okay, I’ll just watch the beginning, then I’ll read the book. Took the glasses off. Ten minutes went by. I’ll just wait for the McLovin part, then I’ll read the book. McLovin came on screen, fake ID in hand. Right, I’ll wait for the scene at the liquor store, then I’ll read the book. Another half hour goes by. That’s it, when the party scene is over, I’m switching this off. Party scene is done. I go for the remote again. Wait, I simply can’t turn this off without seeing the Panama scene. That would be crazy! 

I turned to the book, still in my lap, placed it back on the nightstand, reviled glasses on top. Tomorrow ... I promise, I’ll read you tomorrow.

#WeekOne

Exciting News!

I know you've all been desperate to hear from me. Where has Anissa gone? Why this extensive absence (again, for the 100th time)? Well this time, there's a good reason. Really! I have been working on something new – something HUGE! It's my second book people! So, I think that's a pretty good excuse, don't you? So if you really missed me and my words of infinite wisdom (and humor) all you have to do is buy a copy of Beirut to the 'Burbs, which will be available starting January 19. I will give more details soon.

It's got everything a good book should have mystery (why did Anissa write a new book?); tragedy (why did Anissa keep away from her blog for soooooo long?), and, of course, romance (Netflix, Netflix, Netflix).

So forget about Shakespeare, Austen and Dickens... there's a new player in town and she's way better *wink*. Don't believe me? Just read the synopsis below and judge for yourself!

Beirut to the 'Burbs
From the writer who brought you Miss Guided: How to Step into the Lebanese Glam Lane comes this hilarious book at surviving life in suburban America after 18 years of living it up in Beirut. Anissa Rafeh tells you all you need to know about essential life skills, like: 1. Microwaving (dinner in two minutes or less), 2. Knowing what’s playing on Netflix (every Friday is a holiday), and 3. How to shovel your driveway without chipping a nail (get someone else to do it). It’s clear that you can take the girl out of Beirut, but never Beirut out of the girl, especially when it comes to socializing, dating, shopping, and getting picture-perfect. Leaving her Louboutin’s back in Beirut, but forever clutching on to her Prada bag, she maneuvers the bumpy transition, taking detours and making wrong turns, but always remembering the number one rule to surviving the ’burbs: life’s a laugh!

For the Love of Gossip

So I decided to come out of hibernation. I’m really riled up about this whole ‘Arabic is scary’ language drama that’s going on right now. Really? To put things in context: a guy was escorted off a plane a few weeks back because he was speaking Arabic on the phone. A passenger heard him say a common Arabic phrase ‘inshallah’ (God willing), misinterpreted it and reported the poor guy as a possible terrorist.

I’ve read several articles about the incident, but what’s really making me nuts is the ignorance over the language. First of all, Arabic is not an Islamic language. It is spoken by some Muslims but it is the language of the people of Arabia, who happen to also be Christian, Jewish, Druze, Buddhists, Atheists, etc and, in Lebanon at least, 18 different religions. The Arabic language pre-dates Islam, the alphabet was actually created by the Ancient Phoenicians. FYI: the first three letters of the Arabic alphabet – aleph, be, te – is where the word ‘alphabet’ comes from. 

Many non-Muslims, like myself, speak Arabic in public. I am really shocked by the idiocy of the people in the comments sections of these articles justifying the removal of this guy for saying ‘inshallah’, because it’s an ‘Islamic terrorist war cry’. I understand there is a lot of fear, but that is no excuse for such extreme stupidity. There is nothing remotely terrorist-like about the word 'inshallah'. In fact, the so-called 'war cry' these people are referring to is 'Allah wu akbar' (God is great), which is totally, completely different. Where the latter is indeed from an Islamic prayer, the former is a universal, pan-Arab saying.

I say ‘inshallah’ all the time and NEVER in a religious context. We use it whenever we are talking about a future plan. ‘You coming to dinner, tonight?’, ‘Yes, inshallah’. It is commonly used in the context of ‘hopefully’. In Lebanese culture, it’s said mostly out of superstition by all communities. You should never say you’re definitively doing something, because then you are tempting fate to stop that thing from happening. So, you always tag a ‘hopefully’ at the end, just in case. It’s also used when you want to avoid giving a definite answer: ‘You coming to my kid’s violin recital?’, ‘Um, inshallah.’

Now, of course things are different. I have to think twice about saying something in Arabic when in public to avoid Homeland Security detaining me. This is a problem, because you know, how am I supposed to talk about people when they’re right in front of me? I’m sure people are like, Oh, how can she be making light of this? People have died because of terrorists. Yes, people killed them, not a language. People can be scary, not a language. The fact that I’m ridiculing the vilification of a language is because the notion is entirely ridiculous. Arabic is not scary, but ignorance surely is.

So, let’s use some common sense. And, for the love of gossip, let me talk about people in Arabic in public without turning me in to the authorities!

Follow me on Twitter @anissarafeh

Blonde Ambition in a Mad, Mad World

In your resume, when there's a big gap in your work experience, you always have to have a good reason. When you're a blogger (or in my case, 'blogger'), you simply own up to being the world's worst. Where has the time gone? And, most importantly, did you miss me?

To be honest, with all that's going on in the world and a personal family loss, I felt I could not write about the trivial and inane. You know, I usually don't get political, but things are too nuts to not even mention. So, yes, pretty terrible things have happened around the globe since May.

I was waiting for one, tiny bit of news that would show me that the world isn't so doomed after all, and it finally happened a couple days ago in the homeland. Lebanese soldiers that had been held hostage for nearly 18 months were finally set free! It so gladdened my heart to see these brave men returned to their families that I thought, hey, it's ok to talk about dumb stuff now.

Now, let's talk. A lot has happened, so where do I begin? Since we're on the subject of how mad the world is nowadays, I should mention that since we last touched base, I dyed my hair blond! I know! And not Lebanese blond, either, but real bright, yellow Scandinavian blond. It was not a good look on me. My entire head glowed in the dark, even during the day (I know that doesn't make sense, just go with it). In some lights, it even looked kind of green.

I don't know what came over me. Like I said, the world is going mad, so I thought I should dye my hair to match. Reactions were mixed. Some people, like Miss HotStuff and, of course, Mom, thought it looked fabulous. Mad Glam said I looked 'pale and kind of tired'. She is not one to sugar coat things, like ever, which is why I don't really ask her opinion on my appearance. But I changed my picture on What's App for like 3 seconds and I got a message at 3am my time with the delightful comment above.

FFF was very diplomatic and said that it looked good but she preferred me with brown hair. Pixie likened me to a fluorescent bobble head, which you know, was not too far off, if I'm going to be fair. Mr. B saw the same What's App pic as MadGlam and simply said, 'You're a blonde!' He did use an exclamation point, though I'm not sure if that was in excitement/approval or disgust/horror.

It did not take me long to regain my sanity. A couple glances in the mirror and blinding my corneas with my now neon locks were enough to convince me to go back to brunette. But the whole thing reminded me of when I dyed my hair black when I was in graduate school. I had just moved to Beirut but was on Christmas break in RIC when I woke up one morning determined to look like Elizabeth Taylor (because when you're 21, you think anything is possible, even the impossible).

As a student, I was on a tight budget, so I just bought one of those supermarket brands that was supposed to be a temporary shampoo color. At the time, I thought it looked awesome. People back in the 'Root did not agree. One day, I was walking to class at AUB and a friend came up to me. 'OMG, what did you do to your hair?' she asked. I replied I dyed it black. Duh. 'OMG, all I saw across campus were these big purple eyes!' she said. Yay, I thought, mission accomplished. I totally look like Liz Taylor now. Then she finished with: 'You look like a witch.' Ouch.

The moral of the story is that I should stop dying my hair. And also, people should seriously compliment me more.


Follow me on Twitter @anissarafeh

My Two Cents

Penny pinching has never been my thing. It is the most un-Lebanese thing you can do, but now that I have a mortgage, well let's just say that the honeymoon period of buying Prada bags at my leisure is officially over. (Insert tragic crying emoticon face here. Insert it more than once. And one more time for good measure.)

MadGlam would be (is?) horrified at my new frugal ways. We once traveled to Greece together and rented a quad, which broke down in the middle of the road... at the bottom of a hill. She sweet talked some young (Italian, I think?) teen to push it up the hill for us, but it still wouldn't work.

Much to my horror, she then attempted to get me to hitchhike with her back to our hotel. 'What? It is safe! Nothing will happen,' she proclaimed as she literally tried to shove me into a random pickup truck that pulled over. She thinks vacations are like Dirty Dancing with hot Johnny Castles picking you up. I think they're more like an episode on Discovery ID with Freddy Krueger lurking in the shadows. Anyway, we scuffled for a bit, with her pushing me by the shoulders to get in, me yelling for her to get off because I didn't feel like getting kidnapped by possible serial killers in a foreign country, thank you very much. The truck driver finally drove off. Either he understood the whole serial killer thing and got offended, or he just got bored. Either way, there was no hitchhiking.

We did not have our cell phones, but somehow managed to find a cab to take us back to the hotel. Once we got there, I told her to call the quad guy and demand her money back, since she's the one who rented the thing, and to ask him to reimburse us for the cab fare. Now it was her turn to look horrified. 'It's only five euros!' she said, too embarrassed to fight over what she considered such a small sum. This is, after all the Lebanese way. It is ayb, or shameful, to argue over money. But my American sensibilities would have none of that BS. 'It's the principle of the matter,' I shot back, reminding her of the ordeal that had just transpired. It wasn't the amount, I reminded her, but the fact that he cheated us and we shouldn't have to pay for that, no matter how little the sum.

So, she called the quad guy and he came to the hotel. I was with her for moral support. She agreed to argue over the five euros but not the cab fare. After some wrangling, the quad guy gave MadGlam her money back and she was ecstatic. She opened her palm to show me the money and there was actual glee in her expression. 'My mother will be mortified,' she said. 'Well, I'm proud of you,' I replied.

But now that I'm back living in the US, I may have taken that 'matter of principle' a little to far. I got my cable bill and it was up by two cents. Yes, I know two cents. But since the ad said that my bill would stay the same for the first year, I thought, you know, it's a matter of principle. I probably shouldn't be admitting this, but I called. And complained. Over the two cents. I didn't express outrage or anything - this is the same cable company that had sent out bills to 'annoying' customers with curse words in place of their names. I was super calm and explained the change, no matter how small, had messed up my automatic payment system.

Can you guess how this story ends? Well, I got my two cents!


Follow me on Twitter @anissarafeh

The Un-Princess Diaries

I think the daylight savings somehow affected my brain activity last week. I didn't even know it was daylight savings. I had brunch plans with NSS and her brood. I was in the kitchen, looked at the microwave clock and thought, wow, I have like 2 hours to kill, let's do some housework .

So, not to pull a Gwyneth Paltrow or anything, but I'm just not used to housework. I relayed this to my co-worker, who then put on a British accent (it sounded kind of Swedish) and said, "Oh, did you used to have servants do that for you?" And so I responded, "Um, yes." He was a little surprised, but you know, in Lebanon, many people do have housekeepers - it's not uncommon. Anyway, of course, in the past I have had to scrub toilets and do laundry and sweep floors, etc, but it's been a while. I have been doing just fine since I moved, though. There was hick-up with a blanket I put in the dryer that got a thick layer of lint stuck to my new sheets. But other than that, I have been managing.

That Sunday, after the blanket debacle, I decided to take care of an old cast iron skillet my parents had in storage and gave to me. It's been sitting on my kitchen counter top for weeks, waiting to be 'seasoned' to remove the rust. I looked up the instructions online and followed the steps: 1. put layer of cooking oil, 2. line bottom of oven with aluminum foil, 3. heat oven to 325 degrees, 4. place pan in oven upside down and leave for an hour. Fine, done.

One hour later, I go retrieve my DIY work and see that even though I used the aluminum foil, the oil had seeped through and now black gunk was super-glued to the bottom. I tried scrubbing it, but nothing came off except for my manicure (which I'm beginning to think are a waste money with all the manual labor I'm doing). I spied a self-clean button on the oven and thought, Great perfect. This should be easy. I pressed the button and went up to get ready for brunch. Five minutes later a loud, deafening noise goes off. I was a little stunned at first, but then realized, Oh, burglar alarm. And although I should have been panicking that there may be an intruder in my home, I was more concerned with the noise bothering my ancient neighbors.

I checked the alarm and it was fine, but I still had no clue what the sound was. Daylight Savings Brain. After a  minute, it clicked: smoke alarm. So I rushed downstairs and saw that the self-clean had totally stunk up my entire living area and caused the smoke alarm to go insane. How do I stop this? I asked myself. Believe it or not, some random movie scene popped in my mind of a broom being waved in front of a smoke alarm. See, you do learn stuff from movies!

So, I'm standing in my living room after opening the windows, waving this broom and gagging on the stench, and finally, finally, the ear-piercing alarm stops. Two minutes later, it goes off again. Back with the broom waving, and so I just turned off the self-clean. I looked again at the microwave clock with broom in hand and thought, Hmm, I still have an hour, so let's sweep the kitchen floor. I swept the floor and then mopped and felt very domestic and proud of myself. Then I picked up my phone to check my messages. I saw the time (which had switched automatically) and freaked out.

WHAT? I have 15 minutes to get ready and arrive at the restaurant for brunch! I immediately called NSS and said I was going  to be 15 (Lebanese) minutes late (i.e. 30 minutes in real time). I explained the whole smoke alarm and problem with the clocks and told her that I'm sure the power must've gone out to explain the missing hour. She then says, "Anissa, it's daylight savings, how could you not know." OMG.

To say I felt stupid was an understatement. I was starving, my 'clean' sheets were covered in fur, the house stank, and my oven looked like something from the Walking Dead died in there. But hey, at least my kitchen floor was clean.


Follow me on Twitter @anissarafeh

The Lebanese Princess

Sometimes, I really miss Lebanon. I know people reading this might get the wrong idea about me, but living here is definitely different from life in Beirut. Yes, Lebanon is behind in so many ways, but we live a pampered lifestyle, which I'm not saying is a good thing (so please, no hate mail). It's just that it is a big adjustment when you move. Even if you live alone there, you're never alone, alone. Car issues? Call dad or your brother to take care of it. Plumbing issues? Call dad or your brother, who then calls Abu Handyman to fix the problem.

I know, I know, but I am not a terrible example of a feminist. I am a staunch believer in equal rights, equal pay, equality in the eyes of the law. But does that mean that I have to shovel my own driveway from the snow? Does being an advocate for women's rights mean that I have to do manual labor?

This has been tough to get used to. I have always been independent, paying my own bills, etc, but when it comes to yucky stuff (see above), I always deferred to someone else to take care of it. Not because I'm incapable, but because I can't be bothered. I mean being alone, alone, sucks. In Richmond, you can't call dad to please call Abu What's-His-Name to come fix things. I have to do it myself, which - did I mention? - sucks.

For example, last week we had like eight inches of snow (we're getting more tonight). I could not get into my garage and I nearly broke my neck walking down the steps of my house to my car. I did not even have the foresight to salt my steps. I didn't even know there was special salt for the outside.

NSS called and asked where I was. I told her I was going to the grocery store to buy salt. She asked why, so I told her about my snow/ice problem and she started laughing. She was like, "Um, you can't just buy table salt." Oh. "Unless it's kosher," she quipped. "Really?" I responded, relieved. "NO," she said like I was world's biggest idiot. "Go to Home Depot."

So I head over to a hardware store and see giant burlap bags outside, praying this wasn't the salt I needed. How was I going to carry that to my car? It's not like Abu Somebody will do it for me. Luckily, they have small bottle sizes that even a wimp like me can carry. The guy there told me I would need two for my driveway. I gave him my Lebanese I-know-you're-trying-to-sell-me-something-I-don't-need side glance, convinced I only needed one. He shrugged, handed me the one and wished me luck.

So, of course, I needed two. But it did soften the snow a bit so I could ram my car into the garage. I drew the line at shoveling. I am not a prisoner in a Siberian detention camp! I was just so proud of myself that I got in with just the salt, until my car skidded and I hit a door in my garage. I still considered it a success.

I did manage to change a light bulb in my garage using a ladder all on my own. I was going to wait for the always reliable Dr JH to come and do it when he next visited, but then thought, nah, I got this. The glee I felt when the light came on was really undeserved. I felt like I was Thomas Edison. I proudly proclaimed to NSS, "I changed that light bulb all by myself," as if I had actually invented the light bulb. She wasn't impressed. "Now you need to change the filters of your air ducts."

Wait... what? Doesn't Abu Help-Please do that?


Follow me on Twitter @anissarafeh