Ho, Ho... Huh?

'Tis the season to be jolly, at least that's what the song says. I actually really like how everyone is so into the Christmas spirit here. I know that a lot of people get stressed over Christmas shopping, but I'm not one of them. I am an expert shopper. This year was a world record, even for me. Black Friday, laptop... BOOM! All shopping done in two hours.

You can't really online shop in Beirut. There were about two destinations where I could do my Christmas shopping: ABC Mall and downtown. I do miss the tacky decorations along Hamra Street, though, and the smell of roasted chestnuts on every corner intermingled with shawarma roasting and manakeesh baking. I don't know if they still do this, but they used to play Christmas carols through loud speakers all down the main road as people shopped or sat in cafes. It was a nice counter-balance to the constant 'toot' of car horns and people yelling out of car windows because of traffic.

Over here, we get the Tacky Christmas Light tours instead. I have to admit, they are a lot of fun. The lengths people go to to make their homes look like the North Pole threw up all over the place just to blind your retinas is really quite extraordinary. As for music, there's even an incredibly annoying festive radio station solely dedicated to playing carols (no, it does not make me roll my eyes; no, I did not just roll my eyes thinking about it). And of course, every mall in the country plays Christmas music while you shop. (Side Note: Mariah Carey must get tons of residual checks this time of year. All I want for Christmas? Stop hearing that song!!)

Because I am so thoughtful and considerate, I pick out my own gifts and send the wish lists out so others don't have to stress about what to give me. These gifts rarely work out for me though. Although I am a great in-real-life-shopper, my online shopping persona is not so effective. I look at things online and think, Ooh, this would look so cute on me. Click, item put on wish list. I put so many things on my wish list that I often forget what I picked. So, come Christmas morning, when I open up the present and see what's inside, I'm almost always like, 'Oh... this is um nice.'

This year, for example, I got red pants. I opened up the box and inside there were red pants. They made me think of Mr. B and his red pants, for which I constantly made (make, he still wears them) fun of him. I think I must've been drunk when I was picking them out because, WTF, Anissa? Red bloody pants! Never Sits Still was like, 'But you picked them'! I did a quick recover and immediately professed my love for them while trying to remember what the hell other questionable pieces of clothing I sent out as part of my disastrous wish list.

I soon found out. A pair of still-can't-determine-what-color-but-could-be-some-kind-of-beigy-grey pants with giant pockets down the middle of the thigh with huge shiny buttons. Because, you know, my thighs don't look large enough as they are, so let's add more material and bling to accentuate them even more. Tres chic. Surprise, surprise, don't remember those either, but apparently, 'They were on your wish list,' said another gift giver, who shall remain anonymous because she is awesome, and I did pick the hideous thigh enlargers, so it's totally not her fault.

Ok, so the moral of the story is Christmas is not about the gifts (yeah right, but had to put that in there to stave off hate mail or any chastising about the true meaning of the Christmas spirit, etc), and also don't do your own shopping online.

In fact, if you're in Beirut, head over to Spinneys (or any number of official resellers and pubs) and get yourself a few bottles of this instead! (Shameless plug for J2 Vodka, but it's my blog!) The best present you can give and the true 'spirit' of the holidays!

Merry Happy New Everything!


Follow me on Twitter @anissarafeh 

Let's Get the Party Started!

Things just keep getting more and more exciting here in the RIC. I'm going to use RIC from now on, because I think it makes us Richmonders all the more cooler that we have our own INTERNATIONAL airport, and by international, I mean that you can fly to Hawaii or somewhere in Canada. But still, at least we have an airport.

No, seriously, Richmond is great. Very cosmopolitan. Just the other day, I attended my very first live minor league baseball game to cheer on our very own Richmond Squirrels. So what if I left right after the national anthem. So what if I only went because my niece was singing the national anthem. The point is, I went to the baseball game, stood in line to get in holding a ticket and everything and sat in the bleachers. Yes, bleachers.

As I looked around the stadium, watching people in baseball caps chug beers from plastic cups, I thought to myself, Wow, I've come a long way since sitting at a frou-frou beach club in Beirut while some ditz was taking selfies of herself at the pool bar carrying a Chanel bag. People were actually interested in the game, not looking around to see who got the latest plastic surgery procedure and/or $10,000 handbag. Different worlds indeed.

In addition to baseball, other fascinating things I've been up to is figuring out the black money hole that is Target - oh excuse me, Tarjeh. If someone can please explain how it is possible to go in for a stick of deodorant and end up paying $300, please let me know. I am convinced someone from Hogwarts has cast a mysterious 'spend all your money here' spell on the place, so that you end up with 10 different colors of nail polish that you will never wear and hair products that will sit under your sink collecting dust for the next 20 years.

I think it's really scary how much I love Tarjeh. Whenever MadGlam calls and asks what I've been up to, I really want to lie and say that I've been hanging out at all these amazing clubs and restaurants, but it's weird how  99% of the time when she rings I'm actually at Tarjeh. When she asks where I am, I give the vague 'running errands' answer, because I think the mystery will make me sound more interesting. One time I was on the phone with Miss HotStuff and going through the Starbucks drive-thru, and she was like, 'Starbucks has a drive-thru over there? That is so neat!' She lives in London and was totally impressed so I felt cool for three seconds.

So come on over to the RIC - it has everything: live sports, international airports, drive-thru Starbucks and a magical Tarjeh on every corner! Did someone say partayyy?

1 Broke Girl!

Dear readers, this year has not been stellar for my business. It was so bad that I didn't even make enough money to buy a single new designer bag. I know, so tragic. Forget about the Arab Spring and global warming - this handbag situation is the tragedy of the year. Okay, so I'm exaggerating - what else is new? I can just imagine the litany of angry emails I will get in response to that last statement: you compare Marc Jacobs camel tote to Middle East revolution?? Oh, who am I kidding? Like anyone ever sends me mail in response to this blog (that no one reads) anyway!

As usual, I digress...

So, business has been really bad and I have been forced to reevaluate my whole business plan (yes, I have a business plan!). Should I stay in Beirut, where let's face it, the amount I make from one brochure means about the only thing I can afford in this town is a Starbucks coffee - a Venti, but still. After reviewing my invoices for 2011, I realized that if I were living in the US, local churches would be coming around giving me charity gift baskets as if to say, 'Oh, we're so sorry you're so poor, here, have a banana muffin.' And if I were still living in the US, I would so take that gift basket and enjoy that muffin with my Starbucks coffee, or my net worth as it were.

The trouble with being poor in Beirut is that no one admits that they're strapped for cash. It's like this giant taboo. I mean, people are actually ashamed that they can't afford the latest $8 million cell phone or ridiculous sports car that transforms into a rocket and flies to the moon. In fact, I would go so far as to say that admitting you have money problems is worse than, say, admitting you never graduated high school ... or that you robbed a bank ... or that you still wear Speedos.

I know that some people would even prefer to sell an internal organ in order to pretend that they live la dolce vita. Kidney? What kidney? Who needs that itty, bitty thing when you can get knee-high Christian Louboutin boots instead? I know what you're thinking, but the thought has never crossed my mind. Really! Why don't you believe me? I'm telling the truth. Honest! I'm not even a fan of Louboutin! Okay, okay. I'm kind of a fan. Minor, really ... a passing fancy, if you will. Perhaps maybe with a medium sized appreciation for the supple leather, pretty heels and oh so hot red soles. Nothing major. Alright, a little major. Okay, alright already, so I'm a huge fan! HUGE!

Other than being frustrated at not being able to purchase new, pretty things, another problem is explaining to friends that I simply can't afford to do certain activities unless I resort to the Daddy ATM machine, ever so popular in Lebanon but a place I haven't visited since 1995 (okay, 1998!). To some Beirutis, though, admitting that no, you can't just hop on a plane to the south of France for a 30 day vacation at a ritzy five-star hotel that costs $2,000 a night is tantamount to saying that you're homeless and living in a cardboard box in an alleyway off Hamra Street, practically starving if not for the LL250 mankoushi that Abu Mustapha, the guy with the neighboring impostor perfume stand, gave you after selling his eighth bottle of faux Chanel No. 5.

So I've accepted that I'm not going on any shopping sprees at Saks any time soon, but with Christmas and FOUR birthdays coming up, my bank account is still in a major panic. Wouldn't it be great if I could just buy everyone socks and they would all think that was the best present ever? Even the kids, would be like, Yay, socks! So awesome! Anissa is the best aunty ever! If that completely believable scenario doesn't happen, I could always feign innocence and be like Whaaaaat? Socks aren't a marvelous present? Why, I had no idea. Look, they have ducks on them!


Oh well, you know what they say: ♫ It's the most  expensive wonderful time of the year ♫ !!!

Naked Dudes and Shopping with Suitcases in Spain

So, it's been a LONG time since my last blog entry - but because I'm awesome, you'll all forgive me ;)

Dear readers (yes, I have more than one now!), I have just come back from a lovely sojourn in splendid Spain, where I spent a great week or so with none other than the still fabulous MadGlam. I won't bore you with the whole sightseeing spiel on the wonders of Barcelona and Madrid, but let's just say a lot of it was indeed cultural and a lot was ... hmmm ... let's just say interesting. (Did we see a grown man remove his pants, squat and then use the sidewalk as a toilet? Yes! Did I see two random men walking down a major street buck naked - oh, excuse me, one was wearing flip flops - for no apparent reason, except maybe they wanted even tans while getting some exercise? Yes!)

I will, however, tell you a little bit about our trip. First, traveling with a friend is definitely a lot better than going it alone. Although MadGlam and I are complete opposites for sure - she is the energizer bunny that, literally, never stops, and I am the relaxed person who is well ... normal. For example, I wear sneakers and a small shoulder strap bag; she wears heeled boots with a pink Balenciaga bag. She is madly glamorous after all!! We also differ in how we like to sightsee. I like to soak in the sights and take my time, take a rest when I'm tired, take a cab if I don't feel like walking anymore. She likes to see a whole city in three seconds without taking a breath, and cover the whole town ... in heels. By the end of the afternoon, she still looks MadGlam, and I look like I'm about to keel over. Many an afternoon she would still have the energy to walk around more when I would walk back to the hotel alone for some rest (thus my encounter with the buck naked dudes).

MadGlam is also, for some reason, in love with trains, which is how we got from Barcelona to Madrid. Oh my God! I can't think of anything less vacationy than lugging around your own luggage across a stinky train station, carrying them onto to a packed train and then lifting them into luggage slots. HOW IS THIS A VACATION? I felt like I was in a manual labor camp in Siberia. But MadGlam is like this mysterious contradiction: she dresses like she's going to a nightclub even when going on the Orient Stinkville, yet she is also able to haul a five ton suitcase without breaking a sweat ... or a nail. I was a disheveled mess. But unlike the other people on that train, I actually use deodorant.

Yes, MadGlam has no problems with suitcases at all, not even when going shopping. In fact, on the day we went to the outlet mall, she stopped by the luggage shop and said she wanted to buy a suitcase. 'But, we're at the mall,' I said, 'why would you buy a suitcase to lug around while you shop?' In the MadGlam world, that's how you shop, you see - you buy a suitcase so you can put all your purchases in it and then you just roll it around ... in a mall.

In case you didn't believe me, that's MadGlam, suitcase in hand, at the mall!!

'Everyone does this!' she tells me.
'Uhhh, no they don't,' I say. And believe me, I shop. I know shopping. And I have never seen a person buy a suitcase at a mall and then putting all their stuff in it and then rolling it around all the other shops. Ever.
'Well, what do you do with the bags?' she asks.
'Uhhh, carry them,' I say.
'No, no, this is much more practical,' she says. Yes, MadGlam practical. Did you not know this? No? Neither did I!

Anyway, as the shopping progresses, guess who gets stuck lugging around the suitcase? You guessed it. It started like this:
MadGlam: Anissa, do you mind taking the suitcase, I want to try this on.
Me: Sure [Ten minutes later, me window shopping, embarrassed as hell going around with a suitcase ... at a mall.]
MG: Thanks, do you mind taking it again, I want to go into this store.
Me: Alright [Another ten minutes, getting weird stares from people who are obviously not in on the MadGlam philosophy of how practical it is to carry around a suitcase ... at a mall. Oh, and did I mention it was an open air mall and that it was raining?]

I'd like to say that's the Lebanese way of traveling and shopping abroad, but it's probably more accurate to say it's the MadGlam way. But because she's MadGlam, she knows how to make it work!

Designer Bags and Bombs

I think Beirut's major malls and shopping centers need to have a serious sit down with management and discuss their ridiculous secuirty policies. I'm all for checking the cars when they come into the car park, but checking our handbags at the entrance before going inside? Puhleeze. Note to head of mall security: Women are not going to bomb their designer handbags! This is Lebanon, our precious bags are more important to us than any political agenda. Trust!

My Marc is way too precious to blow up

Mind you, not every mall has some bored-out-of-his-mind geriatric secuirty guy at the entrance searching women's handbags - some management teams have been smart enough to notice that an upperclass woman with the latest Marc Jacobs draped on her arm is hardly the type to be carrying TNT. In fact, the only thing mildly explosive she'll be holding is her credit card receipts. If any mall owners are listening, please rest assured, we are there to shop, spend money and gossip over coffee with fellow designer bag toting gal pals - i.e. we are not interested in blowing anything up. Seirously, do you think we'd be dumb enough to strut into the ABC with a bomb in our bags?? Plus, all the terrible violence that has happened in this city over the past few years has been carried out by MEN and they use dingy cars and vans, not purses.

The bottom line is this: we Lebanese women (not me specifically) spend way too much money on plastic surgery, designer clothes, shoes and handbags to blow ourselves up. So, the next time you think a lady's designer handbag is a good place to hide a bomb or any other weapon, think again!