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

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

Sex, Lies and the Internet: Part II

As promised, here is part two of my 'expose' on online dating sites. Today we shall discuss the total perverts! I don't know, maybe you guys won't find the below so offensive. Maybe I'm a complete prude or just plain old fashioned. But honestly, I really don't know what these guys expected when they emailed me with this stuff. Seriously, my picture is about as seductive as one of Mother Theresa feeding the poor! But that doesn't seem to matter - my caption might as well have read "Don't need nothin' but a good time!"

So, here are a few of the messages, that I am literally copying and pasting. Oh, just to let you know, I am not using these morons' real handles. 

[NB: Please don't read on if you find stuff like this offensive.]

Perv1: Hey, did u know that women tend to reach the peak of sexuality in their mid 30's !!

Uhm, thanks for the sex ed PERFECT STRANGER who I've never met. Totally appropriate first email. Yes, totally appropriate.


Perv2: hey babe are u into bondage ?
Okay, first of all 'babe'??? Hellloooo, do I know you? NO! So, don't call me babe! And second, just a word of advice, do not send this kind of crap off the bat. It's a good idea to send an introductory message first, like: "Hey, my name is so and so. I like movies and going out to clubs and would love to hear back from you." If the girl responds, then you can try and see if she's into the same gross stuff as you by giving more details. For example, "I like (porno) movies and going out to (strip) clubs." 


Perv3: I think I want to force u into something else than clubbing. I am sure u'll love that.
I guess I should explain that I wrote in my profile that I'm not a big partier and usually go out 'by force' (yeah, that means you MadGlam!). So the above email serves me right, I suppose. 


Perv4: Ok, I can't copy/paste this one verbatim because this is not Penthouse. It was an email with descriptions of licking and sucking ... ending with "yep, that's how you eat an ice cream!" so you all can use your imagination. It is kind of funny if you take away the fact that I've never met the guy before, and slightly clever so we should give kudos to Perv4 for his originality at least. 

Perv5: What's the AR stand for. If what am thinking of applies on what's on ur mind ... I am  more than happy to share with u :)

So, I very cleverly included my initials as part of my online handle. Don't ask me why! So stupid. Anyway, that's the AR this dumbass is referring to. The rest, however, is beyond me. I must not be very well versed in my pervy vocabulary, because I cannot think what AR stands for. I mean maybe if it was one letter or the other, but both? I suppose if you were a complete pervert you could make any initials sound sexual. Maybe I'm missing something and AR is a total turn on. Maybe I should start using just my initials when I meet hot guys, so when he asks, "What's your name," I'll be like, "Aaaaaa Rrrrrrr, wink wink." Yep, I've got the whole seduction thing down pat, so thanks for the tip, Perv5!


Now we come to the worst one - this message literally made me blush, and it was so explicit that I can't include all of it. So here is a short excerpt. 
Perv6: listen i find ur lips and mouth and above all ur bright eyes extra special...u'll never ever find a man more gentle, [CENSORED], sensitive and always [CENSORED] for girls... i love all and everything about you girls...the smell of ur feet - i can cover them with heavy kisses even if smelly like after a long day in ur shoes and then lick them clean...ur soles r like a merry cream to me... then go on [CENSORED]
OMG!!! The rest of the email is like really, really graphic that I'm embarrassed for this guy. How can he send something like that? The funny thing is that as I was reading it, the first part about the smelly feet grossed me out so much more than the nasty sexual stuff further down. It is just so beyond gross. Who in their right mind wants to lick smelly feet! HOW IS THIS REMOTELY SEXY???????? EWWWWWWWWWW. I almost messaged this guy back just to say, "AYBBBB! Ya aybeshoum aleyk!" But then I remembered I'm not his mom. I also thought about telling him that at one point I thought he could have a future career as an erotica writer, UNTIL I REREAD THE PART ABOUT THE SMELLY FEET. EWWWWWWWWWW. 


As you can tell, this whole online dating thing has not been working out so well for me up until now. I've gotten 68 emails to date, and according to the 'matchmaking' expertise of this site, my best 'matches' so far are liars, perverts, or guys from Israel. Hmmmm, so my choices are feeling like I'm in a porno movie or being shot for treason? Great start.

Sex, Lies and the Internet

Recently, I was hounded, literally hounded, by ... well let's just call her Little Miss Bossy ... to sign up for an online dating site. She's been on my case forever about this issue, giving me the usual so-called pros: you have nothing to lose, you never know, increase your pool of acquaintances ... blah blah blah. Anyway, after a while, I thought, yeah why not? Let's give it a shot. So I did.

I know there is this whole taboo about online dating sites here, but I figure there is no harm in meeting new people and it's so easy over the internet. You don't really have to do anything except answer a few emails. So I signed up using a different name, of course, and you would just not believe what has crawled out of the woodwork so far! (Before I go on, I just want to clarify that some of the guys that have contacted me seem really nice and cool, but they don't make for good blog material, so obviously, the decent ones will not be mentioned. I only say this because I don't want to make it sound like I'm bashing these sites, which I'm not, and that it is possible to meet normal people.)

But for now, let focus on the LIES!!!

So, I can understand why some people will opt not to put a picture. Maybe they're hiding something, or maybe they are just embarrassed about being on a dating site. Who knows? Personally, I don't respond to messages from guys without a photo because I figure, if you're embarrassed, then don't be on the site, and if you're hiding something, I am not interested. Also, between you and I, I'm going to assume that no-picture dude is ugly. Wait, did I just say that out loud?

Anyhoo, what's even worse is the guys that use fake photos of hunky celebrities - I've had several of those. It is beyond pathetic. I mean do they really think we're going to believe they look like Jason Lewis, Samantha's hot boyfriend on Sex and the City? There was also this one guy who had two pics of himself from a distance and then a closeup pic of ... Clive Owen! OMG, what a LOSER!

Maybe I should try putting up an obscure pic of me so no one can really see my face and then use a close up of Angelina Jolie. What? Is that a stretch? You mean I don't really look like her even though we have similar coloring? Reallllyyyyyy??? I dunno, I think like Clive-Owen-NOT Dude, I could get away with it. And when I meet guys in real life, and they are shocked, just shocked, that I'm not Angelina Jolie's twin, I could just say, 'Oh, well this is what I look like from a distance.'

But the worst fake picture offender was this guy who used a photo of Dirk Benedict, the original Face from the 1980s show The A-Team and the original Starbuck from the 1970s Battlestar Galactica. I bet he was thinking, 'This actor is from the 70s and 80s, no one in Lebanon will know that I'm not Dirk Benedict. So what if his hair is feathered and the jacket has shoulder pads? I can totally pull this off.' Loser just doesn't cover it.

I also never respond to guys with fake photos, but this one I just had to confront. So I emailed him back and asked why he was using Dirk Benedict's photo and if he is some sort of die-hard A-Team fan or something. This is his response, copy/paste, I kid you not:

'i want know you . i want friend together talk . plase write me mail'

Then he gave me his email address. Oooooh yeah, I was so tempted after that!

But the lies are not as offensive as the pervy emails some nasty guys thought would somehow get me to email them back. I don't know what they were smoking before they started typing, but let's just say they definitely didn't sign up for the site to find their soul mates!

So, stay tuned to Part II of Sex, Lies and the Internet to read all about the perverts!

A Beautiful Mind

I know that I always have an excuse for a (VERY) late blog entry, but this time, a very dear and close friend was going through a hard time and I could not write for laughs knowing she was so sad.

Anyway, without further ado, let's get down to business ...

You'd think that my absence over the past few weeks would mean that I have even more material to write about. Well, yes, a lot did happen, but funnily enough, the thing that sticks out most in my mind is one very exciting, stimulating and mind blowing game of Trivial Pursuit. No, I am not the world's most boring person (even though I admit I've had my moments), but sometimes there is nothing more fun than a good old board game. So, after dinner and drinks in Hamra last week, I returned home with Mr. MUF and decided to play Trivial Pursuit along with Mr. US.

Now, let us backtrack a bit. I like to think of myself as a well-rounded person, with a little knowledge about a range of topics so I can participate in a variety of conversations. When hanging out with the guys especially, this is particularly cumbersome, because I have to read up on coma-inducing topics, like sports!

For example, last month was the rugby world cup and Mr. B was incredibly enthusiastic to watch the England games. He organized a couple of viewing parties at our favorite pub, and for some reason invited me, and for some reason, I went (that reason being the English breakfast on the menu). As long time readers of this blog know (hello, mom), I'm not exactly a fan of rugby. But nevertheless, before the morning match, I brushed up on some basics so I would fit in with the guys. As they were talking rugby, I put in my two (very vague) cents so I wouldn't appear totally out of place and they'd think that I knew what I was talking about. But between you and I, I was just there for the food!!!

Then there was the wine fest that took place in the downtown a few weeks ago. Not much of a drinker, or a wine enthusiast for that matter, I decided to go anyway. I went with Mr. B, Mr. US and another friend and we made the rounds of the different wine stands. The other three are totally into their wine. They like know stuff and understand what things like 'bouquet' mean. I think I did commit a serious faux pas though. This one wine rep from a very snooty vineyard said, "I am going to open a very special bottle for you. Here taste this from [I don't care year]." So I did. "Do you taste the [I don't care what type of wood and fruit]?" I replied, "Yes, sure," even though all I tasted was wine. "Isn't it marvelous?" he then asked. "Oh yes, marvelous," I replied as I dumped the rest of the glass in the dump bucket and escaped as fast as possible after glimpsing his horrified expression. He was positively aghast that I didn't want to finish it!

The rest of the evening, I just smiled and nodded and sipped the wine in between my teeth to make it look like I knew how to taste the wine properly, which I don't because my extent of wine knowledge comes from the movie Sideways, which I thought was totally crap by the way. I also twirled the wine in the cup to see how it coats the glass, because that also means something and made me feel very 'winey'. But the buck stopped there. When I ran out of things to say, I said that I was done drinking because I was the designated driver, which was true ... and also convenient.

Okay, so far, I've given you examples of how I barely got by with minimal information while doing stuff my guy friends like to do. Now let's get back to that Trivial Pursuit game, during which I didn't have to fudge my way through anything. I totally kicked butt because while Mr. MUF was awesome when it came to sports, and Mr. US was awesome when it came to history, because I read about EVERYTHING, I was totally awesome ... period!

I even knew who took some boxing championship away from Hector Mercedes (or some question about boxing). You stumped yet? Yeah, well it was Mike Tyson. Okay, so I only got it right because he happens to be the only name in boxing that I know (yes, him being in the Hangover movies has something to do with that). Anyway, although I was grabbing up wedges with lightning speed, knowing how guys hate to lose to girls no matter what the game, I gave sooooo many hints to help the others out. I even sang the jingle for the Hershey Bar after Mr. MUF said that the name of the American chocolate factory that broke ground in the US in 1903 was, and I quote, 'Tweex.' He still didn't get it right.

So while I may not know a great deal about sports, or wine (or a bunch of other things that I'm not going to reveal), I do know a little bit about a lot, which you know, kind of makes me a genius.

Hey!!! I said kind of! 

Sealing the Deal Part II

After much ado ... the second part of the 'Seal the Deal' series has finally arrived. Why the delay, you may be asking (if you weren't asking, then skip ahead to the next paragraph)? Well, I was on a self-imposed writer's strike. I was holding out until my demands (to myself) were met. Negotiations (with myself) were tough and extremely stressful. Finally we (me, myself and I) reached a compromise and now I'm back to work.

Now, back to the blog subject at hand. As promised, I spoke to Typical Single Lebanese Guy and he gave me the scoop on how picking up chicks is done a la Libanaise. First, let me describe TSLG. He is successful, above 35, with his own love pad and in general a nice guy. I'm not a shrink, but he does not strike me as someone who is particularly egotistical or full of himself, and does not try to over-compensate any insecurities by talking about how much money he has or the people he knows. (Hmmm, on second thought, maybe he's not a typical Lebanese guy ... anyway, I digress.)

IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER: This is not some parody on Lebanese men, or a slam in any way. TSLG exists and he is a friend of mine, who has given me permission to write this up. Also, the description of the ladies below are according to TSLG's view point and are not my opinion necessarily. And just to reiterate that this is not a diss, let the record show that I love Lebanese men!

Okay, now when TSLG is out on the prowl, no fins come out - he is way more chill about getting his prey. He is a predator that operates under the radar - very effective indeed. His weapon of choice? Ignoring. Apparently, this little trick really works, as girls (or the ones swimming in TSLG's pool) are only too eager to please when they think that an unattached dude is not paying them enough attention.

In fact, so effective are TSLG's tools of seduction that he has generously agreed to share with you all his 8 Simple Rules to Sealing the Deal. This is obviously beneficial to a) guys who are new to Lebanon and are clueless as to how to land a Beiruti babe, or even guys who are just plain clueless and b) Lebanese women who want to know why the guy at the bar, who seemed so into you, never asked for your number!

So here is a page right out of TSLG's playbook:
Step 1: Go in bar and mark the hot girls. Make sure you sit within talking distance, preferably at the bar.
2: Ignore the girl - i.e. don't look at her or make any eye contact - for at least half an hour to 45 mins. Apparently, chicks are less discriminate when it comes to looks and are more interested in a guy's approach than his physical similarity to Robert Pattinson.
3: After ignoring period, casually strike up a conversation. Do not answer any questions about your job because girls are always looking for a reason to discredit you, so don't give them the opportunity.
4:  When you or she is about to leave, just say it was nice meeting you and don't ask for her number.
5: After a few days, look her up on Facebook and send her a message saying it was nice meeting her the other night. Say something funny, like 'don't worry, I'm not going to stalk you or add you as a friend.' The girl usually responds and adds you as a friend first.
6. After sending a few messages back and forth, casually mention that you should meet up for drinks. If she agrees, she will send you her number.
7: While out with her, always pick up the tab and never make the moves on her. A typical Lebanese chick wants to prove that she's a good girl and making the moves will give her the opportunity to reject you. You should avoid rejection at all costs.
8: After a few 'platonic' dates, ask some friends to meet you and introduce the chick as a friend who is like your 'little sister'. This will infuriate her. She will try to prove that you are attracted to her and the next time you're alone - boom! - she will be all over you.

And that, my friends, is how it's done!
  

Sealing the Deal

I recently met up with my pal, Priscilla Priss, and she couldn't stop talking about Slow Jim Blah, who she said she knew was into her but hadn't made the moves yet for reasons she could not fathom. She asked me for my opinion, but I had no clue as to what Slow Jim's problem was, if he was indeed as into her as PP claimed. My philosophy is that over analyzing is always a very bad idea, and so if a guy is acting like he's just not that into you, then that's just what it is. I tried to break this gently to PP, but she is convinced that that is not the case.

So, wanting to help out my friend, because I am just so generous and giving that way, I dialed up my go-to guy for all things guy related to get the male perspective. I'm talking, of course, about none other than the one and only Mr. B (back by popular demand). After I explained PP's predicament, the conversation went a little something like this:
Mr. B: Is Slow Jim a TLG?
Me: Huh?
Mr. B: A typical Lebanese guy?
Me: Uhm, yeah, I guess.
Mr. B: Well, that's the problem right there. TLG will not make the moves on a chick the way, let's say, a European or American dude would. (NB: In reality, Mr. B would be mortified at the use of the words chick and dude.)
Me: Whatever do you mean?

Mr. B then went on to describe the 'typical' pick up scene, apparently common in just about every town but Beirut. Allow me to paraphrase: Imagine the opening sequence of Jaws (the first one, not the crap sequels). The hot bikini clad babe swims in the seemingly calm waters, wading peacefully, oblivious to the danger lurking beneath. Then ... cue music as the fins appear ... dah duh, dah duh, dah duhhhh. Action!

So, if you keep the babe and just substitute the sea for a pub and the shark for out and about dudes, you'll have the essential ingredients for 'sealing the deal.' If, for some reason, two of the guys in the same group are after the same girl, it's all out war, though. According to our expert, Mr. B, in such instances, the conversation will go a little something like this.
Guy 1: Shoo, what do you think of her?
Guy 2: Yeah, she's cute.
Guy 1: Is this war?
Guy 2: I think so, mate.

I always thought that guys operated on the unshakable 'bros before hoes' code, but apparently when alcohol is involved, the only rule is that there are no rules. Now, I know what you're all dying to know: how is the fight settled? The answer will shock and amaze you!! Such a profound revelation will surely bring you to your knees. So ... hold on to your seats ... be prepared ... catch your breath ... sit tight ...stay calm ...

"Whoever hails the first cab," Mr. B replied.

I know. Deep stuff.

But if that's how a non-TLG operates, then what about a genuine, bon a fide, living and breathing TLG? Well, for that story, dear readers, stay tuned for the startling revelations straight from the horse's mouth: Mr. TLG spills all in my next blog entry! Until then, happy ... sealing?

Love, Actually

Happy New Year, everyone! I've been on holiday for the past three weeks, so that explains the long break in blog entries, but now I'm back - better than ever (not). And as another year has passed by, I thought I'd give a brief rundown of this blog's most popular co-stars to date.

Pixie Minxie
The last time we caught up with this golden mane babe, she was fresh off one of the worst blind dates in blind date history. Well, you'll all be happy to know that one of those blind dates actually paid off - believe it or not! - and Pixie Minxie is now engaged to none other than Blizzard Jogger, a newly inducted addition to this blog! Yes, it was a match made in blind date heaven - as I've said before, stranger things have happened. I'd like to say akbal me having the same happy fate, but we all know my luck with blind dates, so that ain't ever gonna happen! Congrats Pixie and BJog!

Miss HotStuff
So hot that most men do her bidding with the single bat of one eye, Miss HotStuff  had a love affair so intense this past holiday season, we all thought her heart would break when the love of her life suddenly walked out on her. Significant others can be so brutish that way! It all started one cold winter's day, when traveling abroad she noticed that her - gulp - BlackBerry was not working and she could not - gulp, gulp - BBM her friends back home. Heartbroken is actually not the word. Devastated, inconsolable, distraught ... perhaps are more accurate descriptions of her state of mind. But don't fret, dear readers, you'll be relieved to know that after hours and hours of calls to the phone company, her disastrous state of affairs was finally repaired. Her dear love was back in her eagerly awaiting arms and all was right with the world once again.

Mr HJNTIY
Who knows whether or not this dude is still obsessing over barely legal debutants who he'd rather describe as 'sisters' rather than love interests. At a recent outing, he emphatically stressed that he was a changed man - perhaps transformed through a New Year's resolution? Yes, he no longer sets an age limit of 25 or less for the women he dates. Now hold on ladies, those of you waiting with bated breath should also hear the clause to this so-called change of heart in his lifestyle. He's okay with women who are older than 25 as long as they look 25. Such revelations give me so much faith in the core values of the opposite sex!

MadGlam
Oh, the lifestyles of the madly glamorous were equally void of passionate romance this past holiday, but that didn't stop our heroine MadGlam from capturing the hearts of her many admirers. Unfortunately, she did not find her one true love in her stocking come Christmas Day. Hmmm, could it be that Santa caught glimpse of a naughty side none of us knew about? Perhaps old St. Nick thought her shopping spree with suitcases a bit much? Or perhaps he was offended when 'Sweet Emotion' came on the radio and she said, 'Oh, I know who sings this song ... uhm, Bono.' You mean U2, thought Santa, listening in all the way from the North Pole. 'No, no, it's the that group, I don't know their name, with Mick Jagger,' she said, thinking she was correcting herself. No, it's not the Rolling Stones either, mused Santa from atop his sled. 'Now I've got it, it's Guns N' Roses!' she said all excitedly. IT'S AEROSMITH, AEROSMITH, Rudolph screamed after he just couldn't take it anymore, nose flaring even more red than usual in frustration.

Mr US
Now here's some tantalizing tale from the dark side! Mr US recently met SHB, an acronym I shall not spell out for you, but let's just say the chick deserves the name COMPLETELY. Imagine, she thought she could play two men - friends at that - at the same time without the brain power to think that maybe, just maybe in a town as small as Beirut one of the dudes might catch wind of it. After going all Fatal Attraction on Mr US - yes, she even admitted to going to his home while he wasn't there and peeking in the windows... so CREEPY - he gave her the benefit of the doubt despite my warnings that he was going to soon find bunny rabbits boiling in a pot in his kitchen. After a while, he realized that SHB was playing the same game with his friend, and even after she found out that Mr US learned of her shenanigans, she still had the gall to contact him again! Move over Glenn Close, you've got competition, and boy is she nasty!

Bronzed Poop and the Courtesy Flush

Never I have felt more that men really are from Mars than a few nights ago when having drinks with Mr B and Beardy McSnow. Seated in between the two, I was caught in the crossfire of the most bizarre conversation. I was just sitting there, enjoying my drink, thinking I was part of the conversation when Mr B looks over to Beardy and they start sputtering about something incomprehensive and burst into fits of laughter. All I caught were the words 'Suri's dispatch.' Confused yet? Well, join the club!

I felt like I was at a tennis match, bobbing my head from left to right trying to figure out what the two guys were talking about and why it was so bloody hilarious. So, logically, I asked, "What on earth are you guys talking about?"
"What we're going to name our yachts," replied Mr B.

Yachts?? Yes, this is what men discuss when they are alone together. It was a conversation that they had started earlier in the day and decided to finish at the pub later that night with a few beers in the mix. Lucky me.

"Oh ok. Well, what would call your boat?" I asked Beardy, trying to participate, although not really all that interested.
"Suri's Dispatch," he said, Mr B laughing even more. I stared at him blankly, totally not getting the joke. Then came the enlightening explanation.
"You know Suri ... Tom Cruise's kid," explained Beardy.
"Yeah, okay," I said, "but why dispatch?"

All right, hold on to your seats, because here is the story: Apparently, a few months after Suri Cruise was born like four or five years ago, according to Beardy, the Cruises bronzed her first poop and auctioned it off on eBay. So enraged by this, Beardy can't let go of it to this day. "Uh, I don't think that's true Beardy," I said. "No, no it's true, Google it," he assured me.

Okay then, moving on ... I turned to Mr B. "And what, pray tell, would you call your yacht."
"Courtesy flush," he responded without hesitation, further eliciting laughter from Beardy. Now this did not need explanation. Mr B, you see, is kind of obsessed with the toilet behavior of your average Joe. He thinks the world would be a better place if more people flushed immediately after delivery and contact. Apparently, this is a huge problem in guy world.

Not that anyone asked me, but if I were to name my yacht I would call it Men are from Mars and Women are NORMAL!

Lebanese Don't Love Rock N' Roll

What is with Lebanese and their non-existent taste in music? I would say god awful, but that would be just a tad arrogant, no? Allow me to explain …. As this week has consisted of one holiday after the other, I have been stepping out on the town quite a bit with the usual suspects, give or take a new addition or two. As is usually the case, I get really bored with the going out scene mainly because the music at most places (with the exception of my favorite haunt in Monot) is so bloody terrible. It’s like people in this country can only like one song at a time, and they obsess over it for an entire season, so that it’s played over and over and over – you get the picture? – again until the mere opening bars start to make your ears bleed. But no matter how over-played the tune is, when it comes on at whatever club you happen to be at, Bimbo Barbie jumps on the table, ‘whooing’ until her shrieks break glass while Macho Man waves his hands up and down in his best ‘gangsta’ impersonation, with cigarette in one hand and whiskey in the other. Yes, tres cool. Ask them what this song is called or the name of the singer, though, and you will be met with blank stares.

Now, I’m not saying I have superior taste in music or anything - actually most people here hate my music, which is fine - but at least I have my own individual taste. I know the names of the songs I like and who sings them. I even have favorite bands – shocker! Okay, so I know this country has major problems that go way beyond no real music knowledge, but it would be nice to mention a singer and have the other person know who you’re talking about. There are a few exceptions, like Mr. B, for example. We don't have the same taste, but at least we can have discussions about different bands and genres. We argue a lot - he thinks British Pop is a genre on its own, I insist it's part of the Alternative group; he thinks The Clash rock, I think they suck; I think Moonlight Mile is the best track off the Rolling Stones' Sticky Fingers, he thinks it's the worst, etc. But at least I can have a conversation about the Rolling Stones with him ....

Which is totally not the case with MadGlam, who was at a club in London where a Rolling Stone - identity still unknown - was partying and she didn't even know who it was!! An actual Rolling Stone!! Can you believe it?
"Oh, I was at a club with someone from that band you like," she brought up nonchalantly.
"What band?" I asked.
"I don't know, the one on that t-shirt you wear."
"The Rolling Stones?? Was it Mick Jagger?" I asked, excitedly.
"Yeah, the Rolling Stones. No, no, not Mick Jagger," she answered, "it was the other one." Hmmm, very helpful.
"Was it Keith Richards?" She had no clue who that was, of course, and trying to get any further information out of her was about as effective as getting water from a stone - no pun intended - not surprising considering that she wandered onto the set of the latest Pirates of the Carribbean movie and thought it was a Halloween party ... where everyone was wearing the same costume, but that’s another story entirely.

I guess, then, that I'm only to blame when, on discovering that one of my all-time favorite bands Guns N' Roses will be playing in nearby Abu Dhabi, I asked her to go with me. (In my defense, I did ask Mr. US first, but he replied, "I only like two of their songs." Hmph!) MadGlam's reply? "Isn't that a clothing brand?"

I guess Huey Lewis was wrong - the heart of rock and roll is not still beating ... not in Beirut anyway!

Beirut Knows How to Party

This past weekend, a group of us decided to go to a hot new club that opened up not too long ago to ring in the upcoming holidays a little bit early. We were a big group that included MadGlam (of course), Mr. Borrring + 1 (his cigar), Mr. HJNTIY (minus his 'sister') and Mr. US (nothing scandalous on him yet, except that he NEVER reads my blog). A bunch of other people were also there, but I can't be bothered to make up nicknames for everyone (whatever, it's Monday!).

The place itself is really nice - you know, tasteful decor, good service and food, and the entertainment is really cool. But the people - OH MY GOD. I seriously felt like I was at prostitute central. No, it's not like the women merely dressed like ladies of the night, they actually were ladies of the night. It's the kind of place where hookers are given out like party favors and you don't want to get caught rubbing your nose because people will automtically think you're a cokehead. The bathrooms even have ledges for easy snorting and I have allergies and a weak bladder so I can only imagine what kind of impression I made!

So scantily clad were nearly all the women there that I felt like I was Maria from The Sound of Music - sersiously, the ladies on our table were probably the only ones wearing bras and clothing that covered all our 'kibbles and bits.' There was one chick wearing gold sequined shorts with a black bustier and bustle over her rear. It was probably one of the most hideous outfits I've ever seen in real life. Mr. US still can't get over it. The funny thing is, she probably paid a fortune for it and I would be too embarrassed to give it away to Goodwill.

On the table just in front of ours, 60 year old men were fawning over 20 year old girls, who were sitting in their laps and acting about as inappropriate as you can imagine ... in a public venue ... that is supposedly not a brothel. On the table to our right, about 20 women were all over balding old farts, dancing in leapard skin outfits so trashy Courtney Love wouldn't be caught dead wearing them (okay, maybe Courtney Love). Funnily enough, they all looked remarkably similar. 'They must be sisters,' said Mr. US. 'Uh no,' I replied, 'they just have the same plastic surgeon.'

All the men, not surprisingly, were overweight, balding or bald, smoking cigars and drinking whiskey, thinking they were totally important and cool because they were with barely legal, semi-dressed, trashy women. Yes, very tasteful indeed! Well, here's a news flash: paying women to be in your company is about as impressive as being able to pee upright.

Of course, Mr. US and Mr. Borrring had a field day -'What, we're only people watching!' Uh huh, well, there certainly was a lot to see. My eyes are still burning!

Free Peep Show and Other Unfortunate Events

I know that everyone has had that excruciating embarrassing moment - the one that they can't seem to forget no matter how much time goes by. You know, like the time you were walking down the street, head turned in the opposite direction as you were talking to someone and then walked straight into a lamp post, hitting your head. Or the time you fell out of your chair at the computer lab in college one evening when it was PACKED with students so that about 10 of them jumped up to 'see if you were ok' when you were desperately trying to pretend that nothing happened so no one would notice. What?? None of those things ever happened to me - no, of course not! But my karma must've been really wonky one day not too long ago as I did have a moment and it was pretty embarrassing to say the least.

So, my good friend Mr. B just wrote a book and I was invited to his book signing. I decided to wear a light, airy dress, even though it's been getting kind of breezy lately. BIG mistake. I think you can all tell where this story is going. Anyway, I arrived to the place, and as I was getting out of the car, my dress flared up just as this guy on a moped passed by. He obviously got a great look because he said something smarmy and I was just so incredibly mortified, you can't imagine. For the first time, I was totally grateful that my Arabic sucks because I did not understand what he said. I knew it was a nasty comment, though, because he had a chick on the moped sitting behind him, so he wasn't exactly going to compliment another girl in front of her.

It was like I timed my exit from the car perfectly to give the sleazy dude a free peep show. I was soooooo embarrassed that I wished I had the opportunity to explain myself to him. You know, like scream after him I DO NOT FLASH PEOPLE ON THE STREET like trashy starlets have a tendency of doing. IT WAS THE WIND!! I'm usually so careful when getting out of the car when I'm wearing a dress or skirt. I even watched this episode of Oprah once years ago and she had this etiquette expert on, who described how to perfectly get in and out of a car without making a spectacle of yourself. And I paid attention! Stupid wind.

This was even more embarrassing than the time I was bending down to get something from my purse one night when I was out in seriously low cut jeans and I realized a little too late that buying those jeans was a really bad idea. Or the time I was walking down Bliss Street, again in a dress, and again it flared up because of the wind, and it was broad daylight, and the street was packed with pedestrians and cars. But the difference between those times and this time is that no one made any rude remarks so I could soothe my mortification with a whole lot of denial and convince myself that no one saw anything. It's not like anyone came up to me, pointed, and said, 'Ha, ha, saw your underpants,' which is basically what that idiot a**hole on the moped must've said, give or take a lewd word here or there.

Yes, embarrassing things happen to me a lot and now I know why they say ignorance is bliss! It really is, trust me!

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!

Tales from the Ladies, Part III: Unibrow Ape Man

And now we come to the third and final installment of Tales from the Ladies, with this letter from the delightful Pixie Minxie, who was traumatized after a particularly horrific evening with Unibrow Ape Man. This one's a doozy, readers. Poor Pixie - who knew guys could be this bad?!?

Dear Anissa,

It all started when this guy, Unibrow Ape Man, asked me out for a coffee. I agreed so he then asked if I wanted to meet up with him or have him pick me up. I told him I’d meet him, but he insisted on getting me (why did he offer if he had already made up his mind?). Anyway, my house is on the left side of the street and when he picked me up, he pulled over on the right. As I was walking down the stairs to the street, I saw his ugly ass still sitting in the car. I had to wait for cars to pass before I was able to cross the street. When I did, he was still sitting in the car.

I have to mention that I don’t really know this guy and had only met him once before, so I couldn’t believe that he didn’t get out of the car to greet me. Anyway, I opened the car door and sat down and he didn’t even shake my hand! He had his right hand on the wheel and the left hand outside the window and asked, “Hi, how are you?” I answered fine, but I was so pissed that he didn’t get out of the car to greet me properly. WALAW?

We drove to a restaurant in Gemayze, which was my idea because he didn’t bother to make any plans for our first date. I ordered a tea and he ordered coffee and dessert. The WHOLE time he was telling me how great he was because he was almost done with his residency to be a doctor. Then he went on and on about how all the girls who ‘know’ of him only want to meet him to get married because he’s a doctor. As he was shoving his dessert in his mouth, he kept telling me how delicious it was. Did he offer me a taste? Of course not! He just kept telling me how amazing it was and how amazing HE was.

To add to my misery, he went on to tell me that he doesn’t want to marry me. I was pretty sure I never asked him to, so I kind of laughed thinking he was kidding. He told me he was serious and that just because I was the same religion as him, and he was a DOCTOR, he wasn’t ready to settle down. I told him that was completely fine with me and I had no intentions of getting married to him either. At this point, I was completely over the whole date and wanted to leave just to go home and make fun of him. After he paid the bill, I thanked him, and as I was putting my cell in my purse, he was already out the door! The waiter felt bad for me I guess and stuck around to say bye and walk me out the door.

When we got in the car he started telling me that he really liked me and I was really pretty and then told me he had a girlfriend. Of course, upon hearing that, I couldn’t be polite and quiet anymore. I looked at him like the pathetic loser he was and asked him why he bothered to take me out. He told me that he wanted to get to know me better and not pass up a good opportunity but he didn’t wanna get married. At this point, I'd had enough. I bluntly told him that being a doctor isn’t so wow considering I have a family FULL of them. I then went on to tell him that he shouldn’t flatter himself when girls ‘of his religion’ give him the time of day because it doesn’t mean they want to get married. Not every Lebanese girl above the age of 25 is desperate to get married for God’s sake!

I then told him that I sure as hell didn’t see him and think I was going to marry him because A) he’s ugly with a unibrow that’s makes a complete circle around his big head; B) he has NO manners and C) he’s a complete APE! As if!!

When we were approaching my house (yeah I’m not done yet), I started to rummage through my purse to get my keys out because I wanted to get the hell out of the car. He passed my building and kept driving, so I asked him what he was doing. He said he wanted to cruise a bit because he was ‘enjoying’ my company. Ugh! He asked me if I minded and I said yes! What was the point of talking to him? The date was over and we had nothing in common.

Now here’s the funniest part. As we are cruising around Beirut, he tells me that after he drops me off, we will never talk again because we will never be friends! I started laughing, truly laughing. Without me even asking why, he told me that he can’t be friends because I was the same religion as him. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I said that was fine with me and not being friends sounded great! He then tried to explain himself with reasons that I didn’t even pay attention to. I was literally looking outside the window at the people smoking argilli on the manara wishing I was with them rather than in the car with this jerk.

After over an hour of driving around and wanting to kill myself, I asked to go home. Of course, he parked on the right side of the road and didn’t bother to move his nasty ass from the car. Handshake? Nope! I got out of the car and traffic was a bit heavy, so I had to stand out there till the traffic lessened. What was about 20 seconds waiting to cross felt like a fraking hour! I crossed the road finally and started walking up the stairs of my building and as I looked behind to see if Unibrow Ape Man was still there, I saw that he had already driven off!!

I was so disgusted I came home and made fun of him to allllll the people I know. That was BY FAR the worst, most torturous date EVER!

Ahhh dear, Minxie, don't fret! Who knows, maybe someone will call animal control and get this ape back in the zoo where he most definitely belongs!!

And now that our tales are over, I'll see you next time, when the Blog that No One reads returns to its old, delicious ways. Until then, you know you love me, XOXO, Blogger Girl!

Tales from the Ladies, Part I: Mr He's Just So Into Himself

The other night I was having drinks with MadGlam and Blonde Bombshell and we were discussing - what else - the male species. BB said that she really enjoyed my blog entry about Mr. He's Just Not That Into You, and asked if she could write in about her disasterous dates with his could-be cousin, Mr. He's Just So Into Himself. I thought it was a great idea and started thinking about the experiences of other Lebanese babes with similar stories to tell, which is why I decided to run this series, Tales from the Ladies! So, without further ado, here is Part I, straight from the horse's mouth:

Dear Anissa,

I really liked your blog entry about Mr He’s Just Not That Into You and I was wondering if we could exchange notes, because I went out with Mr He's Just So Into Himself and thought I’d share with you what it was like to date him!

I’m sure we’ve all heard about Narcissus, the guy who was so into himself that he actually fell in love with his own reflection. Well guess what? He’s not just a story, but lives among us, and I actually dated him! Let me start with my first outing with Mr HJSIH, which I would qualify as ‘educational,’ to say the least. I got to learn all about his measurements: jean size, tee-shirt size, etc. It was actually hard not to memorize such important information, since he kept reminding me how in shape he was and what weights he lifts at the gym everyday – with a private trainer, of course.

Although he is well over 40, Mr HJSIH is like the teenage boy I never had. He has the same preoccupations, maybe the same raging hormones and, just like a regular teen nowadays, he also has ADD (or like Carrie Bradshaw puts it, Another Disastrous Date). It made it impossible to have a conversation with him and difficult to make eye contact, because he was always checking out the crowd around him. I was, however, able to hear the details of how he got to select his ‘premium’ phone number, and how he has already started working on his tan. Phew, thank God for that.

On the second date - yes I did go on a second date with him, maybe because I wanted to discover if there was anything behind this façade, or maybe because I kind of liked the measurements (don't judge me!) - he told me about his deepest darkest worries: the opening dates of La Plage and Sky Bar have been pushed back!! How could they do this to him? Especially considering that he already bought the sunglasses he will wear at the beach while sipping his margaritas and the swimming trunks he’ll parade around in to show off his biceps and abs.

All this opened my eyes to the shortcomings of my own existence: how the hell could I forget about classic Lebanese summer rituals? Why am I not thinking about tanning and getting in shape! And, most disastrously, how could I possibly still be wearing last year’s sunglasses!! SHAME ON ME! Ahhhhhhhhhhh, my life is obviously sooo not worth living, Anissa. At least Mr He's Just Not That Into You complimented you – he actually liked someone other than himself and his date. Mr He's Just So Into Himself only compliments, well, himself!

When my friends joined us, he barely took his eyes off his BlackBerry, so they told me that maybe they didn’t interest him because they didn’t show up with smelly cigars and a million dollar Rolex. How shocking that I have non-Rolex wearing friends! Note to self: make friends with plastics who make Paris Hilton seem down-to-earth.

Anyways, Lebanese society is all about the looks, the muscles and the tans. Summer is the ultimate season for partying, working out and meeting a lot of shallow people. It made me realize that if Lebanese women are superficial it is because men WANT them to be like this ... and also because they are not much deeper themselves.

Hmmm, well it sounds like other people out there have been on dates almost as bad my blind-date-alogues! Any more of you out there?? Oooh, do tell!! In the mean time, get ready for Part II, when Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds dishes all about her uber fun time with El Cheapo Grande. Yikes! Sounds like another match NOT made heaven!

Until then, you know you love me, XOXO, Blogger Girl!

I Can't Get No Satisfaction

The other day I was shocked to find myself talking to a Lebanese male who actually reads ... as in books. Anyway, he asked me what I like to read and as I began to list my faves, he arrogantly interrupted me, saying, "Please don't tell me you're into that whole vampire crap." Okay, well, I wasn't going to mention those books because I've already read them ... all ... but after his whole condescending tone I found myself a little bit peeved and so I replied, indignant and proud, "Actually, I do love those books. I know you guys don't get why we women are so into the whole Twilight and True Blood stuff, so allow me to explain: sometimes fake vampires are just so much better than real life men." I then began to list the ways...

1. Grooming
Vamps: In the Twilight and True Blood books the vamp heroes (Edward and Eric, respectively) are beyond hot, especially Eric (MadGlam can totally back me up on this one). In short, they are perfect looking, with Edward not only having great hair but also irresistible breath and Eric having a towering Viking bod that would make lesbians drool.

Real dudes: Well, I know I'm no Gisele and so when I'm at the gym or beach, I don't really expect to see a real life guy that has a killer bod, but hello, at minimum if your back makes you look more like a werewolf than a human, then WAX IT. No, taking a shower and wearing deodorant is not enough! It really irks me that most guys in this country take no time to groom themselves when we women are expected to look flawless at all times. From unibrows to hairy backs, we've got it all, which is why we'd rather get our hunk fix from out of a book than in real life.

                        I 'll take this           ...          Over that!

2. Manners

Vamps: They're suave, sophisticated, attentive and charming. What more could a girl ask for? When Edward and Eric love, they love hard and make us sigh dreamily with every romantic gesture. Who could blame a gal for swooning at Edward's undying love for his beloved? And Eric - well he is just so damn hot! 

Real dudes: Some friends wanted to introduce me to a guy that they described as every bit as fantastic as a hunky vamp, so I agreed to yet another setup (because I never follow my own advice). Anyway, as you probably already guessed if you read my blind date blog, he was, unsurprisingly, a total troll. But that wasn't the main problem with this guy, he was so completely rude, so completely the opposite of a gentleman that right in front of me he asked his pal about this busty blonde at the table behind us! Did I mention that he looked like a troll? Yeah, you see, Edward would never do that!

3. Attitude

Vamps: Edward is a total gem - he is moral, honorable and respectful, and treats his lady love like a jewel. In fact, his attitude could not be more admirable. Now when it comes Eric ... okay, admittedly he does have a little bit of an attitude problem, but who cares? He is just so damn hot! So unless your over 6 ft., blond and completely ripped with Viking roots, don't think you can get away with the same antics. 

Real dudes: In Lebanon, because there are hardly any single men left, most guys think they can get away with completely abominable behavior, like not calling when the say they will, standing you up for a soccer match on TV, or trying to convince you that getting a massage with a happy ending is totally ok.

Now do you see why we find vampires so much more appealing than what real life has to offer? It's just like the Rolling Stones said, I just can't get no satisfaction!

The Hunt is ON!

The other week, I was flicking through TV channels and caught an interview with a professional matchmaker in the US, Rachel Greenwald, and I wrote about it in my latest column for Sayidaty magazine (April 2010 issue). I was a combination of outraged and amused by what she had to say and so I thought I'd write about it on my blog as well.

So, Greenwald wrote the self-help book, Find a Husband After 35 Using What I Learned at Harvard Business School, (yes, that is the real title) and although I am no fan of self-help books, I decided to check it out - for research purposes of course! In the book, she writes about ‘The Program,’ a 15-step guide on how to find a ‘wonderful mate.’ Readers, however, are warned that the road to finding Mr. Wonderful is arduous and pricey so she recommends having a special find-a-husband checking account. Hmmm ... Prada bag or husband finding fund? Decisions, decisions, decisions!

Okay, so I should admit at this point that I have not actually read the book. I did head out to the bookstore to find it, but here in Beirut, such desperate measures are apparently not in-demand, despite the supposed ratio of one man to every five women. Anyway, a little more research led me to an online article by The Observer, in which the 15 steps of Greenwald’s husband-hunting tips post-35 are listed (results guaranteed in one year to 18 months).

So bring out your checklist and get ready for the hunt!

1. Marketing focus: make sure you really want to find a husband
Check.

2. Marketing support: seek the help of a best friend
Check.

3. Packaging: improve your appearance and always look your best
Look good to attract guys?? No way! SHOCKER! I had absolutely no idea. Thank goodness for these totally not obvious tips!

4. Market expansion: hunt for a man in as many places as possible
Do I need a spear? Or will a club suffice?

5. Branding: show what makes you stand out from the crowd
Although I’m completely anti-smoking, maybe I could borrow the slogan from Camel cigarettes: ‘Anissa – Where a man belongs.’

6. Advertising: Ask anyone if they know of a possible date
Readers, I’m depending you – email me!

7. Online marketing: use an online dating service
Maybe it’ll be more effective if I just get ‘Marry Me’ tattooed on my forehead.

8. Guerrilla marketing: get out of the daily grind
I guess I could take up pole dancing.

9. Niche marketing: ask your married friends if they know any suitable men
Well, I suppose I could live with the nickname Ms Desperado.

10. Telemarketing: call everyone you know and ask about possible dates
See above. 

11. Mass marketing: think of everywhere you might meet men and try them all each week
Yes! My night vision goggles will finally come in handy!

12. Event marketing: throw a party and invite single men and friends who can bring some
If I knew that many single men, I wouldn’t need this program.

13. Product life cycle: if it’s not working, take a break to recharge your batteries
If only I were the Energizer Bunny, then I could keep going and going and going and going and going ...

14. Quarterly performance review: take a hard look at why you’re still single
Uhm, because this ‘program’ sucks.

15. Exit strategy: how to decide if you are going to dump him or marry him
What helpful advice! A conclusion I could never have come up with on my own. Let's see, I think I'll dump him ... no marry him ... no dump him ... no marry him then dump him then marry him again ... or... I DON'T KNOW. TOO MANY CHOICES. SO COMPLICATED. HEAD GOING TO EXPLODE!

Obviously, the above program is not for me. Perhaps I’m too cynical, or maybe I’m missing the point, but you never know, dear readers, you could have better luck. Happy hunting!

He's Just Not That Into You

We've all been there - the guy you're interested in never calls or, even worse, doesn't even ask for your number. You sit there analyzing every move he made, because every word, blink, smile, or hand gesture has a hidden meaning that you and your girlfriends dissect in minute detail to figure out why he never asked you out. But then Berger came along and ended all of that in an unforgettable episode of Sex and the City, when he opened our eyes to this simple yet life changing phrase: he's just not that into you.

Just last week, I actually got the chance to objectively observe a bona fide Mr. He's Just Not That Into You, and because I'm such a generous person, I'm going to share with you some pointers on what to look out for if you happen to find yourself on a date with someone like him. And here's how the story goes...

Some  new bar has opened up in Beirut and so a group of us decided to go check it out last week. We were supposed to meet at a certain time but I said I would get there later (what?? I wasn't watching  American Idol). By the time I got ready and finally arrived at the latest 'it' venue du jour, I was actually later than I said I would be (what?? I wasn't watching American Idol), but we were a big group so it's not like someone was waiting for me alone. Anyway, after about half an hour, MadGlam and I decided to haul over to the restroom where we ran into Mr. He's Just Not That Into You. He soon joined our table with his 'date,' and so I began to take notes on the telltale signs that he's just not that into you:

1. The Sister Act
Mr. HJNTIY stood talking to me and MadGlam when I noticed another chick sitting by herself at the other end of the table. I asked him, 'Is that your date?' and he replied all innocently, 'My date? No! She's like my sister.' Uhuh, right. Well, she certainly was young enough to be his little sister (we'll talk about guys pushing 40 who prefer to date 12-year-olds in another blog entry!), but somehow I didn't believe the relationship was at all familial. So, if the guy you're out with describes you as any kind of family member, then take note, he's just not that into you.

2. Sweet Talker
Mr. HJNTIY was all flattery that evening, first commenting on how much he enjoyed my blog and then moving on to my 'deep eyes.' I have to admit, at first I wasn't exactly sure that he was complimenting me, because when I asked if by deep he meant soulful, he said, no, he meant literally deep, as in deeply set in my skull. I was like 'Huh? Is that meant to be a good thing?' but in the end, I gathered that he indeed did find that a good thing. Now, I'm not flattering myself or anything - I don't think Mr. HJNTIY is interested in me at all (I'm not 12 after all!), but the bottom line is if the guy you're with is complimenting another girl's eyes or any other parts of her body and you're right there, then you know he's probably just not that into you.

3. Lap Dance
After a few minutes, I look over and see Mr. HJNTIY's 'sisterly' companion do the I-feel-awkward-no one's-talking-to-me-play-with-cell phone routine and tell him that he shouldn't be ignoring her like that. He calls over to the poor girl, who hastily stops faux texting people and immediately gets up and plops herself on Mr. HJNTIY's lap. Mr. HJNTIY responds by turning his head in the opposite direction and starts talking to someone else. So, if the guy you're with looks like he could be getting a root canal while you're practically giving him a lap dance, it's probably safe to say that he's just not that into you.

4. Hand and Hair Games
The lack of attention getting to her, Mr. HJNTIY's date then appears to get a wee bit desperate as she grabs his hand and starts caressing it (yeah, so sisterly). Absently, Mr. HJNTIY allows the hand holding but still does not tear himself away from his riveting conversation. His date then begins to run her fingers through his hair (an even more sisterly gesture), and Mr. HJNTIY is just as indifferent, puffing way on his cigar and looking completely bored. So, if your guy appears one yawn away from slipping into a coma while you are silently screaming 'let's get physical,' then please be advised that he's probably just not that into you!

After about an hour, Mr. HJNTIY left to tuck in his date for the night and I thought what an interesting case study he made while sipping my strawberry daiquiri. So, the next time you're out with someone who calls you his sister, pretty much ignores you half the night and seems completely bored with you the rest of the time, don't waste your energy analyzing his every move. Just put yourself out of your misery by simply admitting that he's just not that into you!