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! 

Blabbing with the Bassara

So, yesterday after a weekend of beer, baked  beans and rugby (yes, it still looks like gay porn to me), MadGlam and I decided to go see a bassara, also known as a fortune teller. Now, I should say that I have not frequented a bassara's lair since the good ol' days with FFF way back when. But so extraordinary were these supposed talents of yesterday's soothsayer that I allowed curiosity to get the better of me and tagged along.

Off the bat, Fortune Teller Extraordinaire NOT (FTEN) was totally off on my 'aura' or emotions, or whatever. Before looking at my coffee cup, she said my 'energy' was showing her that I was an extrovert [WRONG] who loves to go out all the time [WRONG] and everyone loves me [so true, of course, and I mean, like EVERYONE.]

Right, great start, I thought to myself. Then she says: "Now I want to move on to your emotions, and by that I mean your love life, and by that I mean you don't have one." [Uhm, okay, that sounds hopeful.] "I see in front of you a white wall." [How droll, at least couldn't my boyfriend, i.e. the wall, be a more exciting color? Maybe something psychedelic or at least slightly funky?] "But don't worry, I see past this wall." [Phew, thank God. I was really starting to think I was going to exchange vows with dull concrete.] "Yes, yes, past this wall, there is a man [specific]. You will meet him in May or maybe some other month or maybe you met him already ... [looks at my raised eyebrows] but no you have not met him [looks at me again] but yes maybe you have [looks again] but no, no you haven't." Whatevs!

Yes, FTEN was that good. Apparently Future Husband, who thankfully is not a wall, works in advertising, or marketing, or something in the arts or is just employed. At first he was NINE years older than me. When I expressed my disappointment at this big age difference, the conversation went something like this:

FTEN: "Why are you upset - nine years is not so much an age difference."
[Please bear in mind that at this point I had already given her my birth date and year.]
ME: "Uhm yes it is."
FTEN: "Oh, oh, I made a mistake. Do you feel better now?"
Me: "Oh yes, soooooo much better. And I'm so glad that I'm getting this totally accurate and not at all BS reading from you based on my facial expressions and body language."

Okay, then she starts spewing out letters. 'R', 'M', 'E'. "Do you know anyone with those letters in your family?" Actually, no, but my brother's middle name is Ramzi, which technically could be spelled Ramzey, which would fit, so I threw her a bone and said, yes, my brother. "You work together in a family business." [WRONG] "You work in similar fields." [WRONG] I was so annoyed at this point, I just started to give her information and told her we share an office space. "Yes, yes, that is the connection I see." Eye roll.

When I BBMed my brother and gave him this super exciting news, he said that FTEN is just as accurate as Wheel of Fortune. They give those letters for free in the final round because they are some of the most popular letters in the alphabet and chances are, she's gonna get at least one right. Which is probably why she told me future husband has an 'S' in his name and MadGlam's has a 'T'. When FTEN revealed this tidbit to me, I was like noooooo wayyyyyy, thanks for narrowing things down. I mean, just about everyone I know has an 'S' somewhere in their name. Hello needle, have you met haystack?

After about an hour with FTEN, I was really ready to stop my fortune telling adventures foreverrrrr. Seriously, even rugby makes more sense to me than her so-called predictions!

Touching Me ... Touching You ...

The following is a true account of how Lebanese people watch rugby.

So, I really do not care for sports at all, something that was confirmed at my weekly pub night with Mr. B, MadGlam and co. The evening started out well enough and as per usual we caught up on a variety of interesting, mind stimulating topics ('remember the swipe?'). Eventually Mr. B and co. left and we were joined once again by the very exciting Mr. Borrring (yes, he is still bored) and his friend. As we continued our intellectual discourse, a mad group of over-excited sports fans stormed in and before we knew it, we were caught up in a raging rugby match that had just started on TV. Oh lucky us.

(By the way, just an off-hand observation, I don't think your average Lebanese guy is into sports either, unless he's lived abroad, has another nationality and thus follows the team of another country. Of course the exception is soccer, in which case every Lebanese man either supports Brazil or Germany because unlike Nelson Mandela who used rugby to unite his country, we Lebanese have no such national team. Yes, I watched Invictus.)

MadGlam, who is as into sports as Mr. Borrring is into yoga, was excited that her fellow Frenchmen were playing 'football' against some team in red (Wales). Someone points out that it's actually a rugby match and we all decide to support France because 1) Wales isn't even a country; 2) none of us gives a rat's ass about rugby; and 3) no one even remotely understands the game - yes, even though I watched Invictus - which is demonstrated by my discussion with Mr. Borrring on whether or not a score was called a touchdown or a goal. "No, no, it's a touchdown," says Mr. Borrring confidently while puffing on a cigar, which is how Lebanese men watch sports. "Are you sure? I think it's a goal," I interject, although I have no idea what I'm talking about - yes, even though I watched Invictus - and am more concerned about the effect of the cigar smoke on my freshly washed hair. "Yeah, yeah, I'm sure," settles Mr. Borrring.

Our loud (if mock) enthusiastic shouts of 'Vive La France' draw the attention of a rabid Welsh fan, who comes up to our table for no apparent reason and asks if we're into the game. We reply that sure, we are soooo into the game. He then asks if we're with France. Again, we (faux) passionately exclaim our devotion to the French team. Rabid Welsh Fan then asks if we understand the game, and we say, "Sure, sure we understand the game." And just to emphasize how much we all understand the fine nuances of all things rugby, I ask, "So, is a score called a touchdown or a goal?"

RWF (who by this time has revealed that he is in fact Irish) gives me a face of disgust. "Urgh, you Americans always take a fine, respectable sport and turn it into a vulgar game. You took rugby and made it into American football and took cricket and made it into baseball." I interrupted his stimulating diatribe with, "Uhm, can you just answer my question." "Oh, it's called a 'try'." Man, we were so off base. A try?? Stupid rugby, not even their scoring makes sense.

Not in the mood to get into the whole 'America ruins everything, even good sports' discussion, I turn to MadGlam, and say, "At least American sports players are hot! Rugby players look like toothless cavemen." "They look like hobbits," she says. "Yeah," I agree, "hobbits carved out of tree trunks." As you can tell, we don't care about the game, the talent, or even the team - to us, if we have to watch sports, for the love of Prada, at least let the players be hot!

Anyway, MadGlam, then bursts into fits of hysterical laughter and takes a napkin to wipe her eyes. By that time we are joined by another friend and we all look to the giant screen to see what has so captivated our companion. We see a bunch of stalky, squat men in short shorts in a huddle grabbing each other's asses (no lie) - it looks like a scene from a gay porno, but with clothes, except when one guy pulls down another guy's shorts and we are treated to his bare buttocks. Suddenly, Neil Diamond's 'Sweet Caroline' pops into my head: Hands, touching hands; Reaching out; Touching me; Touching you ... Good times never seemed so good. Could be the rugby theme song.

I look over at RWF and wonder how he thinks American football is vulgar compared to this!! "At least Tom Brady never looks like he's auditioning for an x-rated version of Brokeback Mountain!"  I shout ... in my head  ... but still, I'm right, right?

And that's how Lebanese people watch rugby.