Unleashing My Party Gene with J2 Vodka - Woot, Woot!!

Adam Aboulhosn makes J2 happen!

So, I know you're all wondering, where oh where can Anissa be? Still mourning the loss of her once-future-husband, George questionable-taste-in-fiancees Clooney? Sulking away at Tarjeh spending way too much money on lip gloss she will never use? Drowning her sorrows in caramel macchiatos from the only-fools-pay-$5-for-coffee Starbucks? Stealing Starbursts from unsuspecting 11-year-olds? I'm glad to tell you 'NO' to all of the above (except the Tarjeh thing - damn that place! Okay, and Starbucks - damn that drive-thru!). So what have I been up to? I'm happy to say that this week, I got to unleash my party gene - yes, even here in the mighty RIC! Yesterday, J2, Lebanon's first premium vodka celebrated its pre-launch in Beirut, and although I could not be there physically, I was definitely there in spirit.

The story of J2 is actually four years in the making. It started as a dream on a balcony in the mountains of Lebanon when two exceptionally forward thinking men decided that Lebanon needed its own vodka. Adam Aboulhosn and Paul Koder, his brother-in-law, were sitting together when Paul said, "Adam, let's make a Lebanese vodka." Adam, the founder of J2 said yes, and the rest, as they say is history.

There were many hurdles along way, but with a lot of hard work and a dedicated heart, J2 Vodka - which gets its name from the genetic marker of the ancient Phoenicians - finally made its entrance in grand style on the rooftop of the Lancaster Plaza Hotel. And what an entrance it was, amid the lovely backdrop of Beirut's shore! I couldn't be there, of course, but I saw a lot of familiar faces in attendance from the photographs splashed all over Facebook, Twitter and Instagram, like comedian Nemr Abou Nassar, DJ MadJam, band members from the Wanton Bishops, and Radio One personality Gavin Ford.

Although I was in front of my computer screen and constantly checking updates on my phone, I felt like I was there, clinking glasses of signature J2 caviar shots with other party goers and letting my party gene loose. Mr. B got to go and he gave me some firsthand accounts throughout the evening. This is a big deal considering that the World Cup is going on. But since England lost to Italy (sorry, mate) I guess he figured there was no better way to lift his spirits than with some good ol' J2!

MadGlam is probably reading this and going, 'Anissa, you have a party gene?' She has her doubts because when she came to visit last week, she dragged me to a redneck bar along with Pixie Minxie to hang out with truck drivers. I am not kidding. This was what she wanted to do. She had a great time, but I was miserable, trying to stand as still as possible so I wouldn't touch anything (but more on that later). And to make matters worse, there was no J2 there to make the night more enjoyable!

You might be wondering why I'm so excited about J2 Vodka. Well, as I said when I moved in November, I left behind my heart and it will be there, always. But at least now, I can pick up a bottle of J2 and have a little taste of my beautiful Lebanon any time I want.

So, yeah, even I have the party gene! Doesn't every Lebanese?

Follow me on Twitter @anissarafeh 

Like J2 on Facebook, follow them on Twitter @J2Vodka

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!

New Year's WHATEVER!

So, New Year's Eve is coming up and now the question on everyone's lips is: 'Yiiiii, shoo a'mlee al ra'as al sinee?' New Year's parties have become such ridiculous displays of excess in Lebanon that it's a wonder why anyone would want to go through it all. Seriously, what is the point? I heard the other day that some hall or the other is selling tickets for $800 so people can sit in a VIP section up on a balcony overlooking the commoners on the ground floor who paid a mere $500 per ticket. I asked why anyone would pay so much more for a balcony and the response was, 'Because people think that having VIP stamped on a ticket is clah.' Well, if by 'clah' you mean R.E.T.A.R.D.E.D, then that would be absolutely correct! (FYI: In Lebanon, VIP may as well stand for Very Idiotic Pansy.) I would much rather use that money for a new pair of shoes than waste a gazillion dollars on a ticket to some crap party where the nasty ass meal might as well have food poisoning stamped on it and the alcohol is most probably supplied straight from the gas pump.

The last time I went to one of these NY's parties was a few years back. I paid about $180 (which by today's standards is a peasant fee equal to about 23 cents), so I could party with friends at an upscale locale downtown. So, I get there and I'm sitting on this table and everyone is like, 'party, yeah' and I'm thinking, what is the big deal? You can party any day of the week, what is soooo special about tonite? Nothing, except that instead of paying $10 for a drink, you're paying over $100. Okay, so then I was sitting there, designated driver because, call me crazy, but I wasn't in the mood to spend the next day in the company of the toilet bowl, and I'm trying to have fun. But, as is always the case with these over-inflated shingdigs, the food was gross and the music made my ears bleed. At midnight, I went around kissing everyone, and then spent the rest of the evening looking at my watch trying to decide what time I could gracefully make my exit without being labeled a loser. I decided 2am was good enough, but too studied and exact, so I waited another 20 mins and at 2.20am I was out the door.

After that exciting - not - evening, most other NY eves I've spent outside Beirut. But this year, here I am back again, and while everyone else is scrambling for tickets to this dumbass party or that one, I've made my own 'exclusive' plans. Ticket cost: about $5 (for DVD rentals); Menu: anything not involving an IV drip is a step up for me; Guests: two hot studs who have never let me down:

Toby (l) and Harry

So what if one has a weak bladder and the other is blind (and both have really bad breath), I'll still have better dates than most people, I'm sure! And come New Year's day, I'll probably be the only person around who's had a good night's sleep, non-puffy eyes, and ... a great ass pair of new shoes! Of course, all of you will be passed out and too hung over to notice. But that's okay - all I can say is: Happy New Year ... suckerrrs!

Saturday Night Loser

I know this is Beirut, the greatest party city ever, but don’t you just feel like staying in sometimes and doing nothing? It’s true that image is everything, and so staying in on a weekend is considered anything but cool here, especially come Monday, when everyone is like, 'Yiii, ma rihtee a Palais??' But, last night I just could not be bothered to get all gussied up for a night out on the town. So, when my friend called in the afternoon and was like, 'Let's go to Capitol,’ the idea of putting on heels exhausted me and I thought, nahhhh, I'll skip out on that one. Then another friend called and asked if I wanted to join them at Zinc. I pondered on that one for about a second because there was a reserved table so the heels wouldn’t be a problem, but I had just washed and styled my hair and I really didn't feel like smelling like an ashtray. So I made up some lame ass excuse (well, less lame than I just washed my hair) and opted out of that plan too.

Usually when I don't go out on a Saturday night, my sister and I rent horror movies, but yesterday she was a total traitor and went out so I was left all by my lonesome self. I had a couple of movies to watch, but both sucked big time (FYI: GI JOE was beyond ridiculous and Surrogates could induce a coma). After the movies were over, I got really bored and regretted my decision to stay in, but then I remembered my freshly washed hair and thought, no, I did the right thing not going out.

I think I reached an all time low though when I decided to watch TV a bit before turning in and while going through the channels I came across a show on the beyond dorky Jonas brothers! At first, I thought, okay, I gotta change the channel real quick, but you know how it is when you come across a car accident on the road and you can't help but look at it no matter how bad it is? Well, that’s what this show was like, and so … I watched the whole thing! I usually think nothing of staying in on a Saturday night, but when the Jonas brothers started singing about how they were in love with a pizza delivery girl and running around giant pizza props, I knew I had reached a new level of loserness.

Anyway, after that horrific lapse in coolness (a rare occasion, of course), I decided to hit the sack and thanks to the brilliant writing of Bernard Cornwell, I went to bed with a gorgeous Saxon warrior who made the hideous memories of all things Jonas disappear.

So, there it is. I was a Saturday Night Loser but at least a) my hair still smells great, b) my feet don’t hurt and c) since this is the blog that no one reads, my reputation of total and complete coolness won’t suffer any consequences!