The Fabulosity of Anissa

Mr. B inspired me the other week. He is great at combing through headlines in the local papers in the 'Root, posting them on Facebook and then slamming them. I particularly love the ones about Lebanese who have achieved a modicum of success in the arts and are completely in love with themselves. I don't understand why most of those people are born without the modesty gene. I guess the ego gene is just far too dominant. It made me think of how I would be if I were one of those people that thought that paid for followers and one newspaper article meant I was a 'star'.

So, sit back, relax and enjoy the article (that could have been) with Anissa the Fabulous.

Disclaimer: I realize people not familiar with the local Beirut papers will not get the sarcasm, so I just want to emphasize that this is a satire and I don't think that I am the world's greatest anything, except maybe worst cook.

Anissa Rafeh is a vision sitting on her comfortable sofa, the sun shining through the windows in her luxurious townhouse in the uber glamorous city of Richmond. "Do you like it," she asks me, as her fingers caress the lush white cushions. "It's Laz-eh Boiyh," she says with her upper crust accent that just drips with class.

We start talking about her great passion: writing. "Writing is my passion. I am so passionately passionate about it. I write passionately about passionate things because I am a passionate person who approaches everything in life with passion," she explains. "My life is writing; writing is my life. We co-exist in harmony in my soul and in my heart... which is full of passion."

Her phone then pings and she picks it up. It is a common sound for her, as she receives an endless (not really) amount of mail from fans (or her mom) each day, telling her how much they adore her blog and relish every word that emerges from her perfectly manicured fingertips.

She reads the screen and giggles charmingly, as if to herself. "Oh, this fan just said that my writing touches his soul. And that I am the mirror image of Elizabeth Taylor when she was in her 20s. Ha ha ha," she trills in modesty. "Surely he miss-typed and means when she was in her 30s." Yes, she is that modest. Such compliments clearly embarrass her (not in the slightest).

Her blog has recently caught on fire (she accidentally burned her laptop with a scented candle from Bath & Bodyworks). Just yesterday, it recorded five unique visitors. Yes, you read correctly, five. This, of course, is an amazing accomplishment. What other blogger can boast such phenomenal numbers? 

"Yes, it's true. My blog is just so popular. People stop me on the street all the time (to ask for directions). They could stop anybody and ask where the mall is, but no, they ask me. It's their way of saying, 'Hey, we recognize you but don't want to embarrass you, so we're using this excuse just to get to talk to you.' I get this all the time, but that is the price of blogging fame."

Writing about her amazingly exciting life of going to work, shopping at the mall and being in awe of Target (which she so classily pronounces Tarjeh) have made her an internet wunderkind. Not many bloggers can boast such a fascinating life. To prove her immense popularity, she has one million (minus 900,960) followers on her blog alone. She used to have a huge following on Instagram too, but a 'glitch' in the system brought down her 500k followers to five. 

"My (non-existent) followers were devastated when they were suddenly dropped from my page. I still don't understand what happened and I'm working to fix this horrendous situation. Luckily, I don't feel alone, because Justin Bieber and Kim Kardashian have had a similar problem. Oh, the injustice of it all," she said, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. 

When asked why she thinks readers are so attracted to her one-of-a-kind, unique, nothing like it at all blog, she pauses briefly and carefully ponders her well thought-out, original response.

"I think it's about my passion, which I don't think I properly emphasized before. My reader(s) feel it through my passionate writing, and this is what draws (all five of) them to my blog. Yes, it is all about my passion. Did I mention my passionately passionateness passionate writing yet?"

How eloquently said. 


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!