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

Amusement Park Fun a la Libanais!

I'm just going to pretend that it hasn't been six months since I last wrote a blog entry. I'm going to be one of those people that sweeps things under the rug in hopes that no one will notice. (A six month absence isn't really such a long time in the blogosphere, right?) Sweep, sweep.

Anyway, a couple weeks ago I had the immense pleasure of spending a weekend with Harry Potter. It was AWESOME! I hadn't been to an amusement park in decades, literally, because of my whole complete disinterest in roller coasters and such. But this was different. This was the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. To walk in Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley and take the Hogwarts Express was a dream come true! Yes, I am that much of a geek.

The long weekend trip could not have come at a better time. Benedict Cumberbatch got engaged (insert tragic crying emoticon here)... and I was definitely in need of a bright picker-upper. With Never Sits Still and her gang in tow, we headed to sunny Orlando for the vacation of a lifetime.

First thing was flying there. We found a great deal on some tickets, but at the airport, I discovered that this airline does not have assigned seating. It's a first come, first serve kind of thing, which made me kind of panic. My Lebanese blood started to churn as I imagined everyone fighting to get a seat. This was going to be a nightmare, I thought. Images of my life in Beirut and the enigma of the Lebanese people's inability to wait in line in a cordial manner consumed my thoughts.

But then I remembered, Hey I'm in the US now and Americans love to wait in line. Since I moved back here, I noticed that whenever there are two lines, there are always 800 people in one and only two in the other. Sure enough the ordeal was short lived and we all found seats with little fuss (and no bruises).

As soon as we arrived to our hotel, we dumped our bags and headed to Diagon Alley. WHOPPEE! I was literally jumping up and down in excitement, but with grown-ups dressed as cartoon characters on every corner, I didn't feel like too much of an idiot. But then on the second day, we decided to try some other non-Harry Potter attractions. As always, I styled my hair in the morning and wore a comfortable yet stylish outfit that I thought was suitable amusement park attire. Maybe in Beirut. Boy did I feel like an idiot after going on a water ride! I looked like a drowned rat.

While other people were screaming in fear, I was screaming because my hair got wet. I'm not kidding. Through all the 'Ahhs', you could hear me yell, 'My hair! My hair!' This one couple on the ride started laughing at me, and rightly so. They were like, "Um, why'd you dress like that?" I gave them death stares and said, "I'm Lebanese, ok? We only wear gym clothes to the gym!" Ok, you caught me. I didn't say anything, but laughed along with them. I really was a sight. I tried to imagine MadGlam in my predicament, with her gold and diamonds dripping all over the place. At least I'm not wearing jewelry, I thought.

I looked over at the couple that were mocking me (in good fun, but whatever) in their gym gear, hair in a hassle-free ponytail or a cap, and flip flops, and where 10 minutes before I was thinking, pick up a copy of InStyle, I was now thinking these people are amusement park fashion geniuses.

Before going on the ride of hair-disaster-hell, I saw people cramming into these giant hot air blowers and thought how moronic. It cost $5 and I was like, what a waste of money, suckerrrrsss! Guess where I headed as fast as my soaked, denim-clad legs could take me afterwards? You guessed it: the giant dryers. If my hair looked bad before, you can imagine how it looked after five minutes in those dryers. I sent a picture of myself to a What's App group of my peeps and one wrote back that I looked like Monica from the episode of Friends where her is so awful frizzy, she has to put it in dreadlocks. That was one of the nicer comments.

I looked around for a hat store or any place I could buy a hair band. I messaged the What's App group and informed them of my emergency hair rescue plan. Miss HotStuff responded immediately, "No no no, your hair will stick out at the sides and look worse." "No no no," I countered, "I look good in hats." Well, not to toot my own horn, but I do. Long story short, I found a hat. It cost $30 and was made of paper, but it did the job so I consider it a good investment.

The moral of the story is this: you can take the girl out of Lebanon, but not Lebanon out of the girl. And also, water + Anissa's hair = disaster that not even Harry Potter's wizarding can fix!



Follow me on Twitter @anissarafeh 

I'm Baaccckkkk!!

I know, I know. No comment/excuses necessary. The world's worst blogger is back! So, after a six month absence, where do I begin? You'd think after such a long hiatus I'd have at least gathered up some juicy, sexy morsels to share with you all. I guess some things did happen since January. I grew my hair out, and then in a sudden fit of madness, chopped it off again. I know, exciting. Just FYI, don't, no matter how hard a time you're having styling your hair, take a pair of scissors into the bathroom and think you can channel Vidal Sassoon and a create a new Jennifer Aniston craze by trimming your own locks. Unless you enjoy looking like Raggedy Anne. I have to admit, I'm not enjoying it so much.

Okay, moving on...  I FINALLY joined a new gym after moaning about it for the past year. In the last four months, I have gone four times. I am so fit! I found a hilarious internet posting saying something like, 'my bathing suit told me to go to the gym, but my sweat pants, were like, nah!' and I totally decided to take it literally. Sweat pants are far kinder. But yesterday, I opened the scariest drawer in my cabinet, the bikini drawer, and reality hit in. They just kept staring at me, tauntingly saying, 'You're never gonna fit in me.' So I went to the gym. Yeah, I'm gonna be a supermodel (hey, miracles do happen)!

I also went to London to visit Miss HotStuff, who is now the constant companion of a Mr ToughStuff. A Scotsman on the subway - excuse me, Tube - wondered if I was in town looking for a British husband. Since he did not look like Michael Fassbender, you can guess my answer! Unfortunately, most crushing of all, I could not get tickets to the Harry Potter Studios, but I did get to Platform 9 3/4 and pushed a trolley straight on through to the Hogwarts Express. Kind of. Miss HotStuff embarrassingly accompanied me to Kings Cross station as we asked 20 security guards how to find it. When we got there, she made one grave mistake: the 'conductor', asked what scarf we wanted and she, gulp, said Slytherin! I near had a heart attack and made her go for Gryffindor, naturally.

Let's see. Oh! I also went to the Guns N' Roses concert, which was AWESOME! Appetite for Destruction was the first album I ever bought as a teen, so it was nice to go back in time and rock out to 'Sweet Child O' Mine' with Axl Rose. I have to admit, I was kind of annoyed with all the teeny boppers there, crying and going nuts over the band when they weren't even fetuses when they came out. I kept thinking, This is my band! Go and see a Justin Bieber concert! You can have him and his stupid hair!

One other tidbit from that night: I went with my brother, we took a picture, he posted it on Facebook and next week, we were apparently engaged. To each other. Yep, that's all it takes, one pic on Facebook and you're getting hitched, even if it is to YOUR OWN BROTHER! EWWWWWWW! And the picture was LABELED, as in appearing with the same surnames!

Anyhoo, I don't want to overload you all dear readers with too much info, so I will sign off for now! I could promise to be a better blogger in the future, but we all know that we shouldn't make promises that we can't keep!!!

What I Have in Common with Justin Bieber and Jennifer Aniston

No, it's not the physique of a 12 year old boy or Brad Pitt (I wish!), but something else entirely: a much-talked about hairdo. Okay, I'm giving myself way too much credit here. Honestly, no one is talking about my hair but me. As you probably already surmised by now, I had my hair cut a couple of weeks ago and I'm still on the fence about whether it's a good look for me or not. I thought about starting a mini-survey on Facebook, posting it on my status - a like it or don't like it type of thing - but couldn't think of a way of doing it that didn't make me seem like a vain idiot with way too much time on my hands. So, guess what? I decided to blog about it instead. Much less loserish, no?

It all started a few weeks ago when I went to get a routine trim. I've had long locks for a very long time and have been reluctant to chop my hair for ages, even though my hairdresser has been telling me I need to for nearly two years. But trying to convince a girl to cut her hair short is like trying to wrestle away the remote control from a guy - basically it's a struggle. So, back to the trim: Lebanese hairdressers are really gung-ho about cutting. You have to be very adamant about the length you want (helpful hint: always say you want to trim about 4 inches less of what you really want; I learned this lesson the hard way!), or else you might as well say bye bye to your tresses.

On the day in question, I was, as always, very clear about wanting to cut only one inch so that I would get the desired four inch trim. My hairdresser again said that I should cut my hair as I looked old and drawn (his words). I immediately said, 'NO!' He then said, 'Before you say no, let me show you a picture.' So he showed me a picture, and it was nice and all, but I said, 'It's too short.' He then huffs and goes to show the pic to Miss HotStuff, who proclaims she loves the 'do. So the hairdresser comes back to me all smug, as if Miss HotStuff's opinion should be reason enough for me to chop my hair.

Hairdresser, insistent: See, see, she loves it.
Me, beginning to waver in my resolve: I don't know, it seems awful short.
Hairdresser, noticing a slight weakening in my stance: Trust me, you will look younger.
Me, thinking Hmmm, clever, he used the magic word: 'younger.' Very clever indeed: Uhhhhhhh
HD: Khalas [he grabs a chunk of hair from the back of my head and just cuts ... it ... all ... off], so you can't argue with me anymore.
I say nothing as my jaw drops in horror after he presents my severed ponytail in victory.

In the aftermath of the hair slaughter, I have gotten used to my new, shorter 'do. And luckily, Lebanese are very eager to give their honest opinion about how you look at all times, from weight gain to hairstyles (no sugarcoating in this country). So, it's safe to say that my short hair seems to be going over well with some people - 'Hey, your eyes don't look so deeply set in your skull,' said Mr HJNTIY - and not so well with others - 'Uh, not your best look, is it?' coming from Mr B.

And then there are some, who ... well, I just don't know what they think - 'Oh, you cut your hair, well, at least you got rid of that nasty red color.' Thanks eyebrow lady!

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!