Bitchy Village Bumpkins

Dear readers, I have to relay to you this unbelievable story of rudeness. Yes, I'm still stuck in the mountains, yes the roosters are still demented and yes, everything is still not working. But that's not what this blog entry is about. Oh no! It's about village bumpkin bitches! Yes, Cruella de Vil lives and, unfortunately, it's nearby!!

Just the other day, we were invited (or perhaps not, you never can tell in the mountains) to a village function. Apparently, my sisters and I are known as the village snobs because no one sees us anywhere (HELLO, THERE IS NO WHERE TO GO). Anyway, we decided to go and since it was a cocktail affair, I knew there was no risk of me being seated with five-year olds just because I'm single.

When we arrived, we said hello to everybody and all were polite ... except for one hideous being who is so far removed from civility, it's a wonder anyone would invite her peasant ass to mingle with genteel society. When introduced to my sisters and I, she looked straight at me and said that I look like this woman in the village who is famous for being hideously ugly! I mean, I don't expect to be compared to a supermodel or anything, but to a complete dog biscuit? WHO DOES THAT?? I thought being told I had gained weight or had fat thighs was bad enough, but this?? This was just about the worst insult ever.

I was stunned into silence, a million things to say back running through my head, but not one I could form into a coherent sentence. Don't you hate it when someone says something completely awful to you and you're so shocked, you can't think of a thing to say in return? I knew she said the comment out of pure spite because she is rather revolting looking (being generous with that description) and her husband (who is a known philanderer with a mistress that actually lives in the same village) was more than eager to leave her side and come introduce himself to us, but that is no excuse for such rude behavior.

Although I was struck mute by her venom, my sister rushed to my defense, taking me back in time to our days on the playground when she would always strike any bully that dared upset me in any way. She told the bitch that she was wrong and that I look nothing like that notoriously unattractive woman. But still, it didn't seem enough. I wanted to hurl equally hurtful insults at her, but just then, a friend of ours who we hadn't seen in years came over and the conversation with the peasant bitch was cut short.

I was not appeased. I just don't understand people. Why go out of your way to offend someone you don't even know; someone you literally just met? And why, oh why would she think it okay, under any circumstances, to show up to a formal event in cycling shorts? I mean okay, we're in the village, but does that mean that manners and any semblance of fashion sense should be completely discarded?

Next time she is lucky enough to be invited anywhere, she should go through a checklist: 1) Get some manners (no, 'class' is not just a cell phone shop, but is actually a human quality); 2) Don't look like clothes were bought from Homeless Bums R US. Seriously, I don't know what was more offensive - her distasteful remark or her hideous outfit!

And exciting life in the mountains continues ...

Karma is a Bitch!

I once read that the Dalai Lama said inner peace is about choosing how you react to a situation: you can choose to be mad/angry or you can choose to let it go and be happy. Hmmm, well he must never have come to Lebanon. I really want to be one of those people that can do that, though, I really, really, really, do. They say, after all, that it's all about Karma - i.e., you get what you give out. So, I always try to be polite and considerate, expecting the same treatment in kind, but that just doesn't always happen. The reason? Karma really is a bitch, and guess what? I've met her ... more than once!

Before I begin my tale, however, I must insert this short preamble. In Lebanon, it's in the people's DNA to immediately remark on another person's weight, whether colleagues, acquaintances/relatives or even complete strangers. They will just come up to you, say hello, immediately followed by, "Yiiii, shoo nashanee," which translates into, "Oh my, you've gotten so fat." They will then follow the statement with either, "But it looks good on you," or, "What have you done with yourself," depending on if your reaction is a 'what the *#$*%*?' facial expression, or an amiable admission to said weight gain, respectively. For the record, I have never been so rude as to tell anyone that they've gained weight, yet Karma has still found a way for me to be on the receiving end of such bitchy remarks.

Take for example one fine day in Beirut, when I was on my way up the elevator to get to my office (I was working at this unfortunate company at the time) and these two receptionists were having this conversation at the front desk in the lobby right in front me as I stepped in:
Bitchy Receptionist #1: "You know what's weird about Anissa? Some days she looks really thin and other days, she looks really fat."
Bitchy Receptionist #2: "Yeah, you're absolutely right."
[Both look straight at me as elevator door closes and my jaw drops in shock]

And then there was the time I was in the locker room at my gym and I was making sure everything was tucked in the right places in the mirror before heading out to the treadmill when this random chick comes up to me and starts this lovely conversation:
Random Locker Room Chick: "Hey, have you ever considered liposuction for your thighs?"
Me: [Face in total horror at extremely inappropriate remark from complete stranger] "No! And I can't believe you just told me that."
RLRC: [Noticing my horrified facial expression] "Oh, I was just kidding, ha ha ha."
Yeah, nice save Random Locker Room Chick, who I don't even know and even if I did WHO SAYS THAT?  

And so-called friends can also jump on the rude bandwagon, like the time I was having lunch with Miss Bitches A Lot and we had this short but illuminating conversation:
MBAL: So, do you want dessert?
Me: No thanks.
MBAL: Oh why? Is it because of your thighs?
Me: NO!
Now, how can any normally functioning female emit positive energy after hearing that? Actually, maybe those people do exist - they're called ROBOTS! Oh wait ... positive energy, positive energy, positive energy.

Okay, so obviously I still need to work on the whole 'learning to let things go for inner peace' thing. But sometimes I wonder, is Karma trying to send me a message about my thighs? If so, then seriously, what a bitch!

Beauty Salon Bitches

Yes, yes,  I know... I am absolutely the worst blogger ever, which is why this is the blog that no one reads. And how can I blame readers out there?? I have not updated my blog for three whole weeks! Oh, mon dieu! In blogger time, that's like 50 years. My blog is so neglected that it's begining to mold! The reason for my inexusable lapse in writing is a tortuous job I was working on that depleted my soul of any ability to write creatively. Yes, it was that bad. But, on Friday, I finally finished with it - WOHOO! - for good and now I can get back to life as I know it.

Speaking of life as I know it, the other day I went to get my hair done (even though I was busy with work, as every Lebanese gal knows, there must always be time for grooming, no matter what!) and after 14 years living in this country, it never ceases to amaze me how annoying beauty salon bitches can be. I had actually taken an appointment - you know, when you call ahead of time and make sure the hairdresser can take you at a specific time - and I arrived right on time - a concept foreign to most Lebanese. Anyway, I get there and the salon is an aboslute mad house. A lot of foreigners were in town, still on holiday, and as if it wasn't bad enough that they can't drive worth a damn and cause the worst traffic jams ever, they also think that the Lebanese should cater to their every whim, because naturally, the world revolves around them.

My hairstylist was very apologetic and said he would get to me as soon as possible. I'm not the pushy type, so I told him not to worry about it and took a seat in the waiting room and patiently waited my turn. Have you ever noticed that at the hair salon, nearly every woman has like this emergency situation so that they need to get their hair done right away because they are so much more important than everyone else and, naturally, too good to wait? They march in with their fake boobs and fake lips, wearing outfits more appropriate for their grandchildren and wail, 'Dakheelak ya ______, lazim itruk ba'ad sa'ah, a'ndee mow'ad.' Yeah, if that's the case then MAKE A BLOODY APPOINTMENT.

Anyway ... I waited 45 minutes and finally went in to get my hair done, which brings me to my next beauty salon rant. Why, oh why, do they allow women to smoke at the hairdresser? Is there anything more annoying than getting your hair washed and blow dried, only to have some vulgar cow sitting next to you blowing smoke into your freshly styled locks??

Oufft! These beauty salon bitches bring new meaning to the word 'inconsiderate.' Hmmm, sounds like they need to pick up a copy of my book and read chapter 13 on minding manners for a refresher course on how to be polite!

Immortal UNbeloved

Over the past few weeks, my mom has been working on transferring all our home movies (from the early betamax days to the present) onto DVD. My dad bought his first video camera back in 1984, when I was ten years old, so there are A LOT of tapes to convert. We all thought it would be a lot of fun to start watching those old tapes right from the very beginning, but boy, was I wrong! You see, over the decades, I had forgotten how awful I was growing up, and just remembered myself as being a nice kid who was good to her siblings (for the most part). And with advances in technology and things like the betamax going obsolete, it became harder and harder to revisit those tapes for a little dose of reality. The cold hard truth could not be hidden forever, though, and now, what I was really like as kid has resurfaced. Dah dah dahhhh ...

Yes, the theme of haunting music should be playing in your heads right now, it is only fitting considering what a dreadful child I was. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating just a little bit. It's not like I would've been perfect for roles in the Exorcist or The Omen, but I wasn't exactly a little ray of sunshine either. My sister Alyah always told me that I was mean when I was kid and we'd get into huge arguments as adults over this issue. I would say I was delightful and charming and that she was the meanie, and she would say that I was horrible and always picking on her. Yes, very mature, I know. Anyway, I now have to eat my words because she, in fact, was right all along. And to top it all off, there is video evidence to support her claims! (Okay Alyah, happy now, you were right!)

At practically every occasion caught on film, I am making acidic comments about my siblings, or making fun of them in some way. At one family lunch, I'm even filmed whacking my little brother across the head without batting an eye. (I think I felt guilty immediately afterwards, because then I am seen hugging and kissing him, so I guess I wasn't completely awful, right??)

I'm second from left, hugging a then one-year old Nadya.
Don't be fooled by my seemingly sweet demeanor!

My siblings, on the other hand, might as well have been actors in a Hallmark movie, always holding hands and hugging each other and playing with each other. They look into the camera and make cute remarks, whereas I look into the camera and wax lyrical about how completely fabulous I am. Yes, I forgot to add that in addition to being unbearable, I was also totally conceited, believing that I was the greatest thing on earth. I have no idea why. I was overweight, had braces AND glasses, not to mention the worst sense of style, and let's just say that every day was a bad hair day.

Little miss conceited. That's Alyah on the right looking
on in horror, thinking, 'What the hell does this chick see in herself!'

It made me nostalgic for the good ol' days when no camcorders existed and people could remember themselves anyway they liked and nobody would be the wiser. Unfortunately for me, the truth is out of the bag. Just call me the Rafeh Immortal UNbeloved!