Bitchy Village Bumpkins

Dear readers, I have to relay to you this unbelievable story of rudeness. Yes, I'm still stuck in the mountains, yes the roosters are still demented and yes, everything is still not working. But that's not what this blog entry is about. Oh no! It's about village bumpkin bitches! Yes, Cruella de Vil lives and, unfortunately, it's nearby!!

Just the other day, we were invited (or perhaps not, you never can tell in the mountains) to a village function. Apparently, my sisters and I are known as the village snobs because no one sees us anywhere (HELLO, THERE IS NO WHERE TO GO). Anyway, we decided to go and since it was a cocktail affair, I knew there was no risk of me being seated with five-year olds just because I'm single.

When we arrived, we said hello to everybody and all were polite ... except for one hideous being who is so far removed from civility, it's a wonder anyone would invite her peasant ass to mingle with genteel society. When introduced to my sisters and I, she looked straight at me and said that I look like this woman in the village who is famous for being hideously ugly! I mean, I don't expect to be compared to a supermodel or anything, but to a complete dog biscuit? WHO DOES THAT?? I thought being told I had gained weight or had fat thighs was bad enough, but this?? This was just about the worst insult ever.

I was stunned into silence, a million things to say back running through my head, but not one I could form into a coherent sentence. Don't you hate it when someone says something completely awful to you and you're so shocked, you can't think of a thing to say in return? I knew she said the comment out of pure spite because she is rather revolting looking (being generous with that description) and her husband (who is a known philanderer with a mistress that actually lives in the same village) was more than eager to leave her side and come introduce himself to us, but that is no excuse for such rude behavior.

Although I was struck mute by her venom, my sister rushed to my defense, taking me back in time to our days on the playground when she would always strike any bully that dared upset me in any way. She told the bitch that she was wrong and that I look nothing like that notoriously unattractive woman. But still, it didn't seem enough. I wanted to hurl equally hurtful insults at her, but just then, a friend of ours who we hadn't seen in years came over and the conversation with the peasant bitch was cut short.

I was not appeased. I just don't understand people. Why go out of your way to offend someone you don't even know; someone you literally just met? And why, oh why would she think it okay, under any circumstances, to show up to a formal event in cycling shorts? I mean okay, we're in the village, but does that mean that manners and any semblance of fashion sense should be completely discarded?

Next time she is lucky enough to be invited anywhere, she should go through a checklist: 1) Get some manners (no, 'class' is not just a cell phone shop, but is actually a human quality); 2) Don't look like clothes were bought from Homeless Bums R US. Seriously, I don't know what was more offensive - her distasteful remark or her hideous outfit!

And exciting life in the mountains continues ...

Shame on You, Lebanese!

This past Sunday evening I was sitting at home, relaxing and watching TV. It was a tranquil night and I was unwinding just before the start of a hectic work week. I had a DVD of one of my favorite shows playing, and I was sipping some de-stressing tea concoction ... when, all of a sudden, I hear POW POW POW. Gunshots? I nearly jumped out of my seat, hand on heart. Are we under attack again? Is another war erupting?

NO! It was none of those things. The reason for the uproar? Brazil scored a goal against the Ivory Coast. Imagine the stupidity of some people!

Okay, so we all understand that the World Cup is a huge big deal (to losers who act as if football is their life) but that is no excuse for such antics. I mean really, are gunshots really necessary when your favorite team scores a goal? Are you that pathetic that the highlight of the past four years is a football game? I know this blog entry is off track from my usual ones, but I am sooooo disgusted with my fellow countrymen right now that I had to let out my frustration. (And unlike the morons going around shooting in the air, I know that the pen is mightier than the sword.) That night, I didn't get to sleep until after 1.30am because of all the retarded people that were driving around in their cars or on mopeds, honking their horns and blowing those annoying as hell vuzuwhateverthehelltheircalled horns. How brain dead are these people? Even genuine Brazilians living in Brazil don't act so stupidly!

I have a message for those idiots: HELLO DUMBASSES, NO MATTER HOW MUCH OF AN IDIOT YOU MAKE OF YOURSELF, NO MATTER HOW MANY T-SHIRTS YOU WEAR OR FLAGS YOU WAVE, YOU ARE NOT BRAZILIAN - or German, or Italian or Spanish, for that matter.

The next morning, a talk show radio host was discussing all the raucous the night before, and this poor woman phoned in saying that the animals shooting in the air shattered all the glass panes in her windows. She called the police and all dumb and dumber could say was, 'Well you know, boys will be boys and it is the World Cup,' because of course football is as good excuse as any to shoot loaded weapons in a residential area. So what if an innocent person could get shot? IT'S FOOTBALL ... totally worth it. Deputy Dawg and co. then advised the woman not to press charges, because God forbid they get off their lazy asses and actually do their jobs and put away a**holes disturbing the peace.

Then this other jerk phones in and says, 'Yeah, so what? We want to have fun, we want to enjoy ourselves. We have the right to have a good time.' Uhh, not if said 'good time' requires guns and bullets, ya ahbal. Haram, poor guy, we really shouldn't judge him since I'm sure that listening to all that vuzuwhatever crap has given him permanent brain damage.

Now, I'm not saying that the World Cup isn't fun - it is - or that I don't enjoy watching the matches - I do - but that doesn't mean that I throw all civility out the door just because my favorite team is playing. It also doesn't mean that I should strap on a pair of revolvers and go all Annie Oakley on everybody when they score a goal. Helllooooo, it's just a game people. Shame on you for thinking otherwise. Shame on you for all the noise. Shame on you for all the bullets. Shame on you for being such uncivilized beasts and bothering so many people...

SHAME ON YOU!

Have I made my point? Now, with all that said ... GO USA :) !!

Beiruti Beach Bunnies

This past Saturday, I woke up to sunny skies and decided it was a good beach day (of which I have not had many, as readers of my last entry well know). I wanted to go to a casual place, but Mr. US insisted on going to one of the swankier beaches in Beirut because he was meeting a friend there who had already reserved 'prime sun beds by the pool.' Reluctantly, I agreed although I really wasn't in the mood to be surrounded by emaciated socialites.

We got there just in time to see two tourists arriving in a service just in front of us. We stood behind them, but they were pulled aside while we were ushered straight through. I looked over at Mr. US questioningly and he said, "They came in a service." REALLY?? They weren't allowed in because they arrived in a cab? They're tourists, of course they'll show up in a taxi. Mr. US shrugs, "They're also two guys; if they had a girl with them, maybe they would've gotten in." REALLY?? What is this place, some sort of flashback to Studio 54? You need hot wheels and hot chicks to get in? I think to myself, if this is what it's like at the valet depot, what's it going to be like inside the place?

I didn't have to wait long to find out. Every chick there looked like she could be carrying a sign that says, Hi, my bikini cost $5,000 and so did my boobs. I look down at my $5 Gap flip flops, Old Navy beach dress and tell Mr. US, "I hope I don't embarrass you with my lowly Victoria's Secret bikini." I don't add, even though it's your fault that I'm at this ridiculous beach to begin with (which I have avoided up until this point because of its reputation of catering to that kind of crowd).

While swimming in the pool, I see a woman, probably in her early 40s, strutting up and down the pool in an itsy bitsy two-piece, fully made up (complete with bright pink lipstick), perfectly coiffed hair, jewelry galore and ... high heeled pumps, just begging to be noticed. When the strutting doesn't work, she then starts to dance, yes dance, poolside in front of everyone all by herself. It is strange, sad and hilarious all at the same time. The things people do to get attention! Next thing you know, they'll have stripper poles installed.

As I sit and sun myself, nose in book, iPod blaring, I look up to see a Paris Hilton wannabe waltz in with bad blond extensions and a flower headband across her forehead. She's also clutching a Louis Vuitton bag ... at the beach. I guess she didn't get the memo that a) Paris Hilton is so 2005 and b) beaches are not fashion runways. By this time, my non-coiffed hair is a mess that I tuck into a hat, my tan is uneven with a bright red strip going down my left leg where I missed the sunblock and I have unintentionally flashed half the beach after my strap comes undone. Luckily, I'm so disheveled that no one takes the time to look at me much less notice my bikini malfunction.

When Mr. US is ready to leave, we head back out to get our car from the valet. Two women are already standing out there and have been apparently waiting ages for their car. I hear the parking attendant yell something about a Honda into his walkie-talkie. Mr. US hears this too and gives me a knowing look, like you see, that's why they're waiting so long for their car. Yes, how absolutely horrendous that they should own a non-luxury vehicle! I look back at him with my Really?? expression. He just shrugs and says, "Welcome to Lebanon." As we get in our car and take off, the poor ladies are still waiting.

And that's how you get a tan Beiruti beach bunny style!

Chronicles of the Last Tanless Chick in Beirut

Sunshine ... the Final Frontier. These are the chronicles of a really white chick in Beirut. Her summer-long mission: to get her ass to the beach; to get some sort of tan so that she no longer looks like a freaking albino; to boldly go where every person in Lebanon has gone over and over again, except for her!

Captain's log, stardate beginning of Lebanon's summer season: So, the sun has been shining all of five minutes and 90% of the population is already tanned and lovely! What gives? How do these people get to the beach so fast? Do they not have jobs? What?? I'm not jealous or anything. I mean, I'm just saying, some people have lives, you know, they can't just drop everything once the temperature is just above freezing so that they can look good in white (or any other color) again. Seriously, I feel like I'm on board the USS Last Tanless Chick Standing.

Captain's log , stardate a week week into the summer season: I'm still tanless. Everywhere I look, I'm surrounded by bronzed babes. I made plans to go to the beach with Miss HotStuff, but (because she's mad at me for a BB debacle) she went without me. I'm going out tonight but it's taking me forever to get dressed because everytime I pick something to wear I think, Nope, this will look better on me when I get a tan. I finally find some black t-shirt that will just have to do.

Captain's log, stardate a few weeks into the summer season: I have a meeting today and was looking particularly pale, so I decided to try some fake tanning stuff the night before. I wake up and nearly have a heart attack when I see an orangey line across my forehead where I failed to properly blend in the tanning lotion. I LOOK RIDICULOUS, I scream at my reflection! I scrub my forehead for about an hour with alcohol and lemon juice in a desperate attempt to get rid of the hideous line, but I end up making it angry and raging red. To make matters worse, my face no longer matches the color of the rest of my body. Let's just say, thank God for makeup. I look heavily made up for the daytime, but hey, at least I don't look like a clown.

Captain's log, stardate four weeks into the summer season: Yes! I have finally made plans to go the beach. I'm so excited. The night before, I do all the necessary grooming stuff; I've picked out my bikini and bought the sunblock. I'm ready. I get up in the morning, put on my bathing suit and pouff, the sun goes away! 'Ha ha,' says the sun, as if it's imitating Nelson from The Simpsons. I decide to go for a walk and buy some stuff that won't look good on me without a tan. Along the way, I blind people with my glaring whiteness.

Captain's log, stardate the second month into the summer season: I'm having dinner with Mr US, Miss HotStuff and MadGlam. They're all tanned. Bitches! It takes me an hour to find an outfit that doesn't make me look like a whiter shade of pale. In the end, I pick a green color that I think looks all right, but after we order, Miss HotStuff says with a grimace, "Man, you really need a tan." You think? Helloooo, I have a mirror. "You shouldn't wear that color until you get some sun." Thanks! Just what I needed to hear. She picks up a sushi roll, points to the rice and asks, "Hey, what does this remind you of? Anissa's skin. Ha ha ha." Yeah, very fraking funny!

Captain's log, stardate the second month and then some into the summer season: Today's the day. I can feel it. I look out the window and declare, today's a good day to tan. The sun seems to finally be on my side. I head out to the beach, find a good spot, spread out my towel and begin to soak in the rays. I'm happy, I even take a picture and BBM it to Miss HotStuff, who's stuck at work, to make her jealous. My eyes are closed, I'm loving the day eventhough the crappiest French music is blaring from the loud speakers and is grating against my eardrums. Then, I feel a sudden cool breeze and a shadow crosses my lids. I open my eyes...

NOOOOOO, I scream in my head! This can't be happening! Not now, not today! Please stay! But the sun doesn't care. 'Ha ha,' it says again as it disappears behind a cloud.

I'm One Of Yous Now!

Forgive me readers, for I have sinned. It has been over two weeks since my last blog entry - a grave offense in the blogosphere! What can I say? I had a really packed and busy two weeks. I was drained - all creativity sapped from my psyche. But now my batteries have been recharged and I'm back! Okay, so without further ado, let's get to this week's entry ...

Last week, in the midst of one of my most stressful deadlines of all time, my phone decided to die on me. A little over a year old, I was surprised that the thing didn't last longer. And the timing, the timing!! Anyway, I could not be without a phone so I decided to go the next day and get a new one. I have for the longest time been refusing to join the CrackBerry world, but in my weakened, vulnerable state, I succumbed to peer pressure. Miss HotStuff and Mr. US have one, not to my mention MFFF and Mr. B, all of whom have been telling me, 'You gotta get a BlackBerry.' And so I did - I know, bakeer, right?

Since everyone and their mother has one, it's not like the BlackBerry world is exclusive or anything, but it sure is fun! My favorite thing so far? As a self-proclaimed MSN addict it should come as no surprise that it's BlackBerry Messenger! And the icing on the cake? IT'S FREE from one BB to another! And since MMS doesn't work in Lebanon (among a trillion other things) the fact that we can also send pics to each other is also very cool.

But as with all delightful inventions, BB also has a dark side. I'm still trying to get the knack of the whole BB etiquette thing, and I've made one major blunder so far (and it's only been a week!). I was out with Mr US, MadGlam, Mr B and co. when Mr. Borrring showed up. I was so excited about my new toy that when he asked about Miss HotStuff, I decided to whip out a ... well, let's just say not very flattering photo she BBMed me when she was under the weather and bored. It was supposed to remain between us (get your minds out of the gutter, nothing naughty!) but I, being completely clueless, showed it to Mr. Borrring. BIG MISTAKE! I thought it was funny, but to Miss HotStuff, showing it to Mr. Borrring was a huge breach of BB etiquette.

Mr. Borrring did not make things any better by immediately BBMing Miss HotStuff and telling her that he saw her photo and it was nasty! THANKS MR. BORRRRING! Her rage was swift and merciless. I had already left Mr. Borrring and was on my way to another venue when I heard the delightful 'ping' that let's me know I have a BBM. 'Yes,' I said, 'somebody loves me!' HAH! Let me tell you, I got anythng but love. What ensued was a rant about how  thoughtless and terrible I was to have shown that picture! Miss HotStuff was livid with anger, which she surprisingly expressed pretty well considering the limited capacity of BBM.

Needless to say, I felt like crap. My new shiny toy had turned into an instrument of guilt and shame. Why oh why had I done that?? I was feeling down, my excitement over my new BB subdued by my bad BB behavior. But just as I began regretting my purchase, I heard it ... 'ping'. My eyes lit up, my excitement began to stir again. I picked up my phone, clicked and my joy returned. 'Yes! Somebody does loves me!'

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 II: El Cheapo Grande

Welcome dear readers to part II of our eye-opening series on the world of dating with this tale of shocking cheapness. Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds was recently horrified to find herself on a date with El Cheapo Grande, who was so stingy, he made Scrooge seem generous. Wonder how she managed to navigate herself through the treacherous waters of this scandalous adventure? Do read on ...

Dear Anissa,

I was asked out on a second date by this guy last week, who we’ll just call El Cheapo Grande. The fact that ECG said, “I wanna go somewhere cheap and casual,” should be an indication of why the name is perfect for this creep! Plus, it should have alerted me to his soon-to-be discovered lack of manners, but being the open-minded lady I am, I decided to go just the same. Upon arriving at the agreed upon venue, not only did he not stand to greet me, but he also seemed generally unexcited to see me. I was looking pretty hot, if I do say so myself, so a simple “you look nice” would have made up for the fact that he didn’t stand to say hello. Whatever! I’m pretty laid back so I continued to be polite. The conversation was okay, and I was telling myself that maybe ECG is not so horrible after all.

HOWEVER, at the end of the date, we were in a debate about the subject of living together before marriage – he is in favor and I am not. Anyway, during this back and forth the bill came, and instead of snatching it up like a gentleman, it just sat there in front of us both. VERY AWKWARD. I, by no means, need a man to pay for my meal, however, if I’m asked out on a date and it’s his invitation, etiquette says that it is his responsibility to pay. Either way, I wasn’t going to assume that he was going to pick up the bill, so when he finally reached for it, I of course offered to pay. (By the way, I got a salad that was $12 and had tap water as a beverage, so my bill probably equaled a total of $15, including tip.) Anyway, once I offered, he studied the bill, and then said, “Uhm, you could throw in a $20 if you like.” And then conversation went a little something like this:

ME [in my head]: WHAT AN EFFING CHEAPO!
ME [out loud, big smile on my face]: “No problem.”
ECG: “No wait, why don’t you just grab the next one.”
ME: “No that’s quite alright, I will pay for myself,”
ECG: “No really, I got it, not a big deal.”
ME: “No really, I insist on paying my share.”
ECG: “Why? Are we not going out again?”
ME [in my head]: YOU THINK?!? HELL NO, YOU CHEAP BASTARD! If you don’t think I’m worthy of a freaking $15 salad then you aren’t worth an iota of my time!
ME [out loud, exaggerated politeness]: No, it’s not that at all [yeah right!], I just don’t like to owe anyone anything.

ECG still refused my money, but at that point, it was way too late. Whatever interest I had was out the door. What a HUGE turn off that he had zero manners and was about as charming as an ape. Too bad, because he was actually good looking. But, hey, that’s what we call a Monet: good from far, but far from good! Nexxxttttttt!!

Sounds delightful ... NOT!! Let's hope our poor Lucy has better luck next time with a guy who at leasts thinks her company worth more than a salad and water! In our next Tales from the Ladies installment, Pixie Minxie dishes about her tantalizing travails with the opposite sex. Ooooh, sounds delicious!
 
Until then, you know you love me, XOXO, Blogger Girl!