Author Archives: Farrah Berrou

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All I Have to Do is Dream

Dear Dreams,

I’m writing to you to ask for an explanation on a few things. You see, ever since I was young on to my undergraduate psych classes, I have heard conflicting information when it comes to your functionality. The only one that can reveal your true nature is you. I’d really love it if you could tell me the extent and purpose for your existence, the depth of your accuracy, and your relevance to reality.

According to Freud, you are a manifestation of the true desires of my subconscious. All the trepidations and conflicts that simmer in my brain come alive when it is in its resting state. The thing is, Freud, with his twisted complexes and theories, links almost all imagery to phalli, penetration, or the womb. I’m not about to assume that we all want to be ambushed into a game of musical chairs with veiny male genitalia just because our consciousness is on hiatus. Other theories about you claim that you are essential to development; while more say that you are completely insignificant, being just a series of randomly strung together memories or thoughts like a video montage done for an 80’s teen movie.

There are so many questions. For example, if I am in a lucid state of slumber and I die, could it be so vivid and believable that my brain would quit? Speaking of lucid, how do I know I’m not in one of those Matrix pods hooked up to a stalk in a field of humans being juiced for the machines? In behavioral neuro, we were told that the best way to tell if something was actually happening was to see if information was fluid. In other words, if you looked at your watch and it said it was 5p.m., check it again. If it changed, then you’re not in the real world. Of course, I don’t remember being in complete control when I’m unconscious except for the voluntary ability to scream or fall off my bed.

And that’s another thing: why are my memories of you so selective? Is it like emotional memory versus memory about emotions? An emotional memory is stronger than a memory about an emotion. For instance, you remember giving birth to your child but you don’t remember how it feels giving birth – because if you did, we wouldn’t have a population problem. If Freud is right and my mind is revealing all that I am denying myself, which is valuable info when you’re a lost puppy in your twenties, why do you slip away so quickly before I can even take notes? Don’t you want me to realize that I should direct a music video with Alejandro Sanz playing his Spanish guitar on a pink elephant? The greatest question for me though is this: why don’t you make any sense if you know me so well? If my brain is your creator, why do you feed me baloney sandwiches when you know it makes me nauseous ever since that Thanksgiving when I had one and hurled because I refused to eat turkey breast and gravy? What good is it to make me watch my mother tap-dance on my laptop? Maybe you are just a form of torture or a way of teaching me to be grateful that a black trench-coated figure isn’t standing in my closet waiting for a moment to smell my hair.

However, I am not just referring to the version of you in my head which is a combination of surreal and impossible. There is the abstract yet tangible version that has made you into a synonym for goals, aspirations, and “American Idols.” The you that I create intentionally without the ability to blame it on the Id. These are the wants I know I want, not the ones you tell me I need when I’m asleep. This is when we switch teams and, even though they are a part of you, you get confused about the extent and purpose for their existence, the depth of their accuracy, and their relevance to reality. Since I’m expecting an explanation from you about your half, I’ll give you one for mine.

The extent of their existence is always under construction until said dream has been accomplished. This is related to their purpose for existence: they exist as a form of personal drive so that I will have an endpoint to reach for, a destination in sight, an Emerald city at the end of my yellow bricked road. The depth of their accuracy is dependent on my sanity at the time of their inception. You are not allowed to judge me on this one because I think all the dreams that I conceive are more probable in nature in comparison to your  half-baked thought bubbles laced with LSD. They are quite relevant to reality for I am grounded in my ambitions. Don’t laugh at me for wanting to travel to New York City to become a successful designer who eats breakfast on the steps of the Met every morning. I know my life is not an episode of Gossip Girl and you know that a large portion of my motivation for going to NYC is just to find out if Gray’s Papaya is truly the shit. I know I may reach for the stars with some things but no one ever said being an eager beaver was a negative trait in a world where Paulo Coelho was wrong: when you want something, all the universe does not conspire in helping you to achieve it. If I’m dreaming of it, then I have to get off my ass and go get it.

It’s all quite simple. Your turn.

Sleep tight,

Me

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5 Signs Your Laptop is Like Your First-Born

1. Self Sacrifice

Your own health, sanity, and temperature are not important when your personal computer is around. If it’s pouring rain, you will tuck your waterproof-cased laptop under your shirt for fear that the drops are of low pH and the acidity will penetrate right through the shell and melt your screen. When something happens to it, like falling to the ground for example, you rush to see if it’s okay inspecting for dents or cracks. If this were a person, you would be laughing your ass off because they made a hilariously terrified expression before their impersonation of Humpty Dumpty. The fact that they nearly missed the jagged metal from that construction site makes it funnier because the hilarity of their expression is equally proportional to the probability of death or dismemberment.

2. Soccer Mom Arm Move

You’re on your way to work and your baby, like any significant other, sits in the passenger seat. Whenever the impulse to slam on the brakes occurs, you bust out the Soccer Mom Arm Move. This move is when you reflexively jut out your right arm to protect the PERSON next to you from catapulting through the windshield. Your laptop will not do this because it is not the weight of a small elephant. It will slide off the seat and on to the floor of your car completely unscathed because it’s sealed in a bulletproof bag.

3. Lying to Protect It

“Can I download this on your computer? Mine’s downstairs and I just need to open a file”, “No, it doesn’t have the right software to play that file anyway so it’ll just be a waste of time but I’m sure you can use the computer in the lab.” Get your illegally downloaded virus-infested malware away from my baby. It’s like the first time you were left at home by yourself by accident; as you’re watching Home Alone dressed up in your mom’s purple evening gown, you are interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. You tell the unexpected carpenter that your parents ARE at home, they’re just both in the shower and that he can just wait outside if necessary. At the age of 9, you don’t know that the lie you’ve just told a complete stranger is probably more graphically disturbing than the truth, but you’re lying to protect yourself so whatever.

4. Worried All the Time

They say that having children feels like allowing your heart to walk around outside of your body. When you leave your laptop somewhere unattended for short periods of time, you have what can only be described as separation anxiety. What if it’s stolen? What if it gets mistreated? What if someone takes advantage of its kindness? What if someone logs on to my Facebook, reads all my private messages, and owns me for life after changing my password? What if someone steals that folder named somethingnonchalantonlyasadisguiseforwhatitactuallycontains? OMG, MY CAT PICTURES.

5. Tete-a-Tetes

You will have conversations of all kinds: pep talks, venting, discussions. When it’s slow, not responding, freezing, or giving you the color wheel of death, you begin to cheer it on and pray for it to pull through this tough time. No baby, please, you can do this, don’t let me down, I love you. You will also curse it out when your file crashes anyway with no recovery, or when “Google Chrome has quit unexpectedly.” Your face has quit unexpectedly, hoe. You will ask it questions while singing along to Body II Body, what ever happened to Samantha Mumba? She had potential. She could’ve been one of the first generation of Mark Wahlberg and Helena Bonham Carter offspring apeople in Planet of the Apes: Evolution. 

You will realize that you’re talking to a computer that doesn’t love, think, or care about you but it’s okay because they all leave the nest sometime. You will get over it because you’ll have the younger ones to think about.

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A Series of Khatt Ahmars

Khatt Ahmars.

Khatt Ahmars.

“Khatt ahmar” means red line in Arabic, but the deeper meaning refers to personal limits or boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed. Although you may disagree with a few, here’s a series of my behavioral khatt ahmars when it comes to befriending someone new:

Etiquette

You don’t hold the door open for someone when you see them walking in/out…and you’re at the door. Please note the word “someone.” This is in no way a rant about chivalry – it’s called being considerate. But hey, maybe you’re in a hurry and you didn’t notice. But maybe you make sounds when you eat like you’re a full orchestra of bodily functions? No excuses there. Stomach gurgling is acceptable and can be entertaining/embarrassing but when you chew loudly and make that squeaky noise when you suck the food out from between your front teeth…that’s it. YOU CAN’T SIT WITH US. We’re so over. Use a toothpick. Far, far away from me.

Language

Using “am” without “I” before it or any other pronoun/verb combination without the pronoun. It’s one extra word/letter. You can do it. If you can’t, please refrain from using English in any way or form. Other issues with language: ghinij, mehen, and any other distant relative of baby talk. These combined with puppy-dog-eyes are prohibited unless your significant other/love interest is, in fact, a poodle.

Hormones

You have freakish levels of estrogen or testosterone and I don’t mean it in the literal blood work-up way. If you feel the need to or just happen to put on a show to prove how feminine/masculine you are, then you can go do that with your pink ladies/t-birds because I’ve got chills, they’re multiplying and I’m losing control because the power you’re supplying, it’s got me crying.

Space

You notice I’m in Bambo (Rambo Bambi) mood and you keep poking for information. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? No really, what it is? Bottling it up doesn’t help you. You can tell ME.” There’s a misconception here: sometimes, bottling it up is a good thing if I think I’m going to scratch someone’s eyes out or regret anything said due to my projectile verbal vomit. If I’m not talking about it already, I don’t want to talk about it. Yet. Or ever. Believe it or not, you may have caught me not smiling for 10 seconds and you repeatedly insisting that I’m in a foul mood will put me in one when I SAID I’M FINE.

Social Media

You write mysterious status updates or tweets about how angry/depressed you are. Perhaps we have all been guilty of this at least once in our lives but, after you’re over your shitfest and you see how ridiculous it is when other people do it, you vow to never “express” yourself publicly unless it’s by screaming your face off in the middle of a paintball battle. And sharing photos you found on someone’s blog that have an inspirational quote over a black & white photo of a person drawing in the sand with a piece of driftwood is the same thing. Remove from feed/unfollow/goodbye.

IRL Drama

The first fight I can recall having was when I called my friend, Judy, “Judy Booty.” She didn’t take it well. We were four. This is expected when you’re in preschool. However, if you have completed at least one post-puberty graduation ceremony in your life, then you have earned the certificate that verifies that you have completed +12 years of education and survived +12 years of petty drama. That means you should’ve grown out of this phase so if you call me up and interrogate me as to why I went to a movie with a friend you know (only because you met once 8 months ago at a mutual friend’s Christmas party) and I didn’t ask you to come with, reread the sentence and you’ll know why.

Comprehension

You can’t understand my pop culture references or you can’t have a conversation that’s 46% song lyrics. I am aware that this is related to my upbringing, age group, and personal preferences but I’m just a teenage dirtbag baby like you. Only I’m not. We need to be on the same Air Force Pun, plane of lame. If this is not the case for you dear reader, then you probably didn’t understand the majority of this post, you need to use the links I include for clarification, and you are not my platonic lobster. It’s okay, there are plenty of fish in the sea but just keep reading, just keep reading…

If you recognized that as a Finding Nemo reference, then we can be homies.

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7 Annoying Unfatal Injuries

Image

YAY, #firstworldproblems galore.

1. Canker Sore

Not to be confused with the lovely herpes-of-the-mouth, these yummy beauties attack the inside of your piehole. It hurts to smile – even more so when you imagine weird insects laying eggs in the sore leaving you to think they’re hatching whenever it tingles. Yes, movies are good for your imagination. Canker sores are so much fun, especially in a country that loves lemon on everything. It’s like our Windex. Wait that’s not right, olive oil is our Windex. There ya go, rub olive oil on your…canker sore. That turned out less kinky that you thought it would. HA.

2. Papercut

How something so small can cause so much pain is amazing – that’s what she said? Remember all those trees we cut to make paper? Yeah, it’s called karma. We cut them, they cut us. It’s the same logic that goes behind avoiding nuclear war: mutually assured destruction. The only minor difference is that we get over it but they’re still dead. Final Destination 37 will have someone die from too many papercuts. That, or The Happening 2 which will hopefully never happen.

3. Nail/Skin Separation

It’s when you’re trying to open something and the skin beneath your nail separates slightly from it leaving you to wish there was 23 meters of gauze that you could use to wrap it up so you don’t have to feel it anymore. They’re like married couples with a joint Facebook profile: two separate entities just fused together into one hermaphroditic blob. You mean that’s not what they meant to do? You mean they just want to share everything and cease to exist as a sole being because they’re one now? You mean your nail/skin doesn’t have reproductive organs of both sexes? TANGENT ALERT. Just saying, you don’t want them to separate, you want the melded, welded, matrimonial fingernails. Get some high quality Mickey Mouse Band-Aids. None of those $1 store Dou-Bang knock-offs. Cut off that circulation good.

4. Mosquito Bite(s) on Knuckle

You’re vegetating on the couch, minding your own business, eating Ministrels and remembering how Wedding-Planner-J.Lo said the brown chocolates have less artificial coloring in them (I’ll have you know they have “Quinoline Yellow, Carmoisine, Ponceau 4R, and Indigo Carmine” – ALL ARTIFICIAL), when you notice a flying vixen has made off with your blood. Twice. From your knuckle. It itches for 3 years.

5. Fajita Plate Burn

“Oh look, my apple crumb fritter breaded heartattack looks so scrumptious. Picture time! AH MY THUMB!” You just had to Instagram that hoe. No number of likes is going to soothe that growing bubble. And toothpaste is just a myth. That growing pagoda firework during the 4th of July on the driveway? Awesomesauce until it disintegrated right after it took my index finger hostage. The toothpaste did nothing but make me smell like a 11-year-old dental hygienist. It was all a lie. Cold water is your only friend here. And wrap that shit up, it’s nasty.

6. Stubbed Toe

WHERE THE FUDGE DID THAT TABLE COME FROM?!

7. Sleeping Limbs

Your body parts just fail on you. “You’re not using me? Fine, I’m out” and you become one of those bamboo rain sticks – if someone flipped you over, you’d make rain sounds because you’re full of rice, exist to decorate, and have no purpose whatsoever. The only use those things could possibly have is to be a conversation starter through a bad pick-up line: “If you touch my stick, Imma make it rain.”  Again, this is why the trees are mad at us. Anyway, you’re Lieutenant Dan-ing the Forrest Gumps around you, waiting for the feeling to come back whimpering “I can’t feel my legs” like you’ve barely survived military warfare. Then a muscle cramp surprises you instead. Those muscle cramps that sneak up on you are the bee’s knees. No really, they are because when that random pain jolts up your thigh, you’re going to wish you could just sting something and die. Ah, poetry.

 

F.Y.I. – I know that “unfatal” is not a word and that the correct term is “nonfatal.” It’s on purpose, Mom. 

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Je Suis Libanaise

It’s 8:30 p.m.,
I can’t take a hot shower
Bas ca va, I’ll take one
When they turn on the power
I have a dinner to attend
On Rue Gouraud
Bas deja, akalit labneh
W baddeh rou7 3a Flo
I walked down 4 flights of stairs
To get to the lot
Ukh 3a Hamra,
Ma ili jleideh fattish 3a spot

La2eit mahal,
Bein Barbar w Red Shoe
Ijitneh whatsapp hala2,
El sahra bi some place new

Off to Downtown,
Shi pub 3a Uruguay street,
Rah el tartine,
Gotta get something to eat

Got there in 10
Fitit 3a salle,
Helou ma ishbo shi,
Pas mal, pas mal

So I called my friend
Asked him “oures?!”
2alle “shu you’re Armenian now mmm…
Laves?”
And then it hit me,
How many languages we use,
To chat, converse,
Argue, and amuse

So I sat down at a table
In the corner alone
Pretended I was chatting
On my smartphone
Ija el maitre
Ka2no ba3do shirben shi
So I asked for some Bailey’s
Just for me

Sa2alneh iza baddeh
El drink ma3 moz
Jawabto “mab tefrou2,
C’est la meme chose”

Thanks to the hawajez
On the way there,
My friends were late
Bas 3anjad I don’t care
It was a good night
Even though I’m broke
But at least my hair
Doesn’t reek of smoke

Sure, “we could’ve had
The French passport”
And not worried much
About international transport
I guess we can blame
the Independence in 1943,
But then again, it’s good to be Libneneh,
Mais oui?

And even if everyone leaves
And no one stays,
We will be Lebanese
until the end of our days.

P.S. Sorry about the über patriotic posts lately. And forgive the Arabizi please. TEINX.

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10 Lebanese Things We Should Be Thankful For

HAPPY TURKEY DAY!

Leah Dieterich’s book “thxthxthx” and website of the same title encourages giving thanks for all things in life (even tote bags) in the form of little scribbled thank-you notes. It’s just more evidence of how much a shift in perspective can change your whole mood and how you see your surroundings. In Lebanon, we tend to focus on the negative because, let’s face it: there’s a lot. However, in the spirit of Thanksgiving that falls on the same day as Independence Day, here are 10 Lebanese things that we should be thankful for:

1. Second Set of Parents

With some time, your close friends’ mothers with eventually adopt you. They will overfeed you, tell you to borrow a jacket when you forget yours at home, and lecture you when you get your first tattoo. They will say things like “yiii shu mahdoumeh/taybeh/jou3aneh” and ask about all your family members because they have now become a part of your family too. And in your silly attempt to win over Mommy #2 because you want her to think you’re an angel and a very good influence in general, you will playfully tease your friend (her child) on their shortcomings and laugh together in slow-motion while “A Wonderful World” plays in the background. Your friend takes no offense because they know you’re putting on a show and they’ll return the favor next time YOUR mom makes peach cobbler.

2. Nosy Families

Your great aunt wants to know why you’re applying to jobs overseas and your uncle doesn’t understand your logic when it comes to your personal life or why you refuse to tell him about it at all. Your teta is in a class of her own. This lil’ old lady will cook you a whole tray of kibbeh bil forn just to lure you over to her house because you’ve been so “busy”…going to the Alleyway in Hamra. She will ask you what you’re doing at university now, when you finish, and when you plan on making babies with a good catch from the village. There are only two majors: medicine or engineering. To Teta, if you studied anything in the sciences, you’re becoming a doctor. If you studied anything in design or architecture, you’re an engineer. All other majors mean that you are expected to start your own business. Regardless of what you’ve studied, a wedding should happen before you’re 30 or this woman is going to set you up with your cousin. Don’t get mad, she just wants to see you happy. And pregnant.

3. Parking Lot Attendants

These guys can be jerks but sometimes you get the super cheerful ones who think up new ways to say “Good Morning” to you everyday. That, or they compliment you in Egyptian dialect that you hardly understand so you just smile and walk away. Ten minutes later, you realize that when you thought he was talking about your green eyeliner, he was actually saying a navy blue car left a scratch on your fender while backing out the night before. Shit. You have to be nice to these guys because you will end up needing to park there again at some point in your life and you don’t want there to be bad blood between you. Even if they probably played Rush Hour as a kid and can arrange the lot like a labyrinth from hell, swallow your pride and just be honest when they ask you what time you’re leaving. They’re protecting your car from the evil meter maids and valets that sweat all over your armrest.

4. Host at Traditional Lebanese Joints

These guys all have mafioso names in my head. Typically, they’re on the plump side and wear suits and manrings; they look like they retired from the Gambinos and now run a respectable place dedicated to serving food to the familia. They’ll fit you in if you’re regulars and treat your dad (or whoever the alpha male of the table is) like he’s the Boss. Best part about these restaurants: puffy pita bread, the fresh bread you get that’s inflated like a balloon and crispy right in the center. Perfect for scooping hummus or soaking up the tabbouli sauce because you left it on the wrong part of your plate. You get a whole endless basket-full too.

5. Electricity Cuts

When the electricity cuts, you are dependent on generators, UPSes, or the battery life of your electronics. Since we’re skilled long-distancers, you end up chatting in a group convo with people all over the world and a game develops in the midst of a weird conversation. A current favorite is “Indie Rock Band Track Titles” which started off with one friend suggesting a bunch of music that sounded like made-up songs but were real. The replies to her suggestions were invented titles for bands and tracks which developed into a cycle of useless creativity culminating in a full soundtrack along with album cover art (photographs of items near us that inspired titles).

Examples:
Chrome Frog Teapot – Avalanche of My Desire, Tabasco – Barrons Spanish ft Juicy Fruit, Suits and Sex – Cameroon Elephants

Your batteries run out and then you have to spend time with REAL people. If we didn’t have electricity cuts, we would remain in our technological bubbles instead of spending time sitting around the kitchen table with your sisters staring at the walls and discussing why pumpkins are orange.

6. Slow Internet

Even with 3G and DSL, our internet is still unreliable in comparison to the outside world. This is a blessing because if our download rate was actually acceptable, we’d be streaming every episode of every series 24/7 and downloading every album since 1920 onwards because piracy doesn’t exist. But, you know, we’re being productive on the side. If we already do this now, what would happen if YouTube videos actually played when you press play? How much work do you think you’d get done if “buffering/loading” never appeared on your screen? Unless you’re paid to do this, and thus have an amazing job and I want to be your friend, you will get nothing done ever.

7. No Piracy Laws

Or if there are any, they aren’t enforced (like most laws here) so we get to benefit from a ton of free music and dirt-cheap DVDs of movies that aren’t even released in the theaters (because they take an extra month to get cleared or are banned). We get angry when we have to pay over $3 for a film that was released last month just because it wasn’t available at the other place. It’s even worse when you get home and find that it’s dubbed in Spanish and there are no subtitles or it’s one of those I-just-saw-a-guy-get-up-in-the-chair-in-front-of-me-and-I’m-not-at-the-movies copies. As for music, the CD section in Virgin Megastore should just be transformed into a skeet shooting range (yes, I can’t believe they’re called that too) because I don’t think I’ve bought one in the past 8 years.

8. Emigration

The majority of the people you grew up with now live abroad or are planning on leaving within the next year. Reasons vary from higher learning to job opportunities to I-just-need-to-get-out-of-my-parent’s-house. It takes some time to get used to the country being an airport terminal at all times of the year, especially the last two weeks of December and the extended June-September window. However, you get to have friends all over the world so you have plenty of no-hotel-options when you want to travel for a break and there’s always someone awake to keep you company when you can’t sleep. Plus, you get to online shop and use their addresses for shipping. SCORE.

9. Professional Compensation

The salaries here make it harder for young people to be able to stand on their own. If they were to move out, they would have to pay for rent, utilities, and the meals they swipe from the fridge. Is it possible to do on a Lebanese salary? yes. Is it done? rarely. Besides the social stigma that accompanies young adults living on their own before marriage, it doesn’t make much sense to move into your own place and pay rent if your parent’s house is two blocks away and you can live there for free. However, this gives you the ability to save some of the cash you’re making since you’re not paying for EVERYTHING. Eventually, you should be able to live on your own especially if you can afford to throw away cash on booze, shoes or Black Ops. No excuses. We should be thankful for shit pay because it teaches you what you really should spend your hard earned cash on. And it’s not a pair of $800 peep-toes.

10 . No Metro

Actually no, this just sucks.

But mostly, we should be thankful for our schizophrenic patriotism.

We love Lebanon. We hate Lebanon. We complain about all its imperfections daily but preach about its awesomeness to foreigners. We tease each other for speaking different languages in one sentence, yet it’s a blessing to know more than one language to begin with. Our country is in debt, our infrastructure is always under construction, and our employable youth is our best export but it’s home. Our country isn’t special because of Jeita or Phoenician roots, it’s special because of its people regardless of who they are or what they believe in.

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Dear Unemployer

Update: This post was inspired by the struggle of many young people in my age group. It is written on their behalf and is not a diary entry directly related to my personal experience. 

Dear Unemployer,

First of all, thank you for rejecting me. I think about your graceful brush-off ever so often in the moments before sunrise. My mind creates scenarios as to why you were so cold and distant. I can’t help but wonder if you ever think twice about your decision. You seem to go on without any consideration. 

Second of all, I think you’ve made a huge mistake. In a world where the young dabble in “natural substances” and “travel to Amsterdam”, you should know that, regardless of my low tolerance for bubblegum cough syrup and that time I almost overdosed on Flintstone chewable vitamins, I’m as clean as the interior of a Clorox bottle. I also have a pristine virtual photographic history which is an asset in the age of the Internet. I don’t have pictures in digital space that will tarnish your company’s reputation. Ain’t nobody don’t ask me, I’m just so fresh, so clean.

I’ve done countless things to outshine all the other applicants. I’ve done internships, volunteer work, extracurricular activities, and I’m a social media fiend. I once Facebooked a YouTube video that was tweeted from a Tumblr page on Pinterest. I don’t share bogus links featuring Morgan Freeman narrating the death of a 40 hamster-mass-suicide. I spread useful, original, corroborated stuff. I even blog about various important topics that affect our youth today like globalization, love, and happiness. Hell, I have two bachelor degrees and a minor. I know you’ll claim I don’t know a lot of languages in a market where the majority speaks at least 4 but I am eloquent in English, unintentionally hilarious in Arabic (I once said I did it with 3 cakes), and I can piece together enough French to order lunch for the office. I also have enough Armenian friends that I can tell you that although you think that “gogortilos” is a wicked Mexican dish consisting of sex wrapped in tortillas, it actually just means “crocodile.”

Lastly, I’m just an overall really GOOD person. It’s just in my nature ever since I was a child – I couldn’t eat meghleh when my younger sister was born because I thought it was made of Mowgli, I have an unexplained hate for Clive Owen, I use inappropriate jokes to see if a new acquaintance is weird enough to be my friend, and my vocabulary is not very “lady-like” at all times but that’s quite a sexist label for the fucking 21st century. What I’m trying to say is, my bad points hardly make a blip on the morality radar and the Dalai Lama would be my homie if I lived in Tibet. 

The fact that you have rejected me should probably discourage me. After all, you were my gateway to freedom, my paycheck to adulthood, my ticket to an unlimited supply of BIC pens. You’d give me the power to buy useless furniture and “decorative pieces” for my own living space; I’d finally own a statue and invite friends over for a night “at my place.” I’d be like “bring some wine” and they’d be all “okay, as long as you make your guacamole!” and then I’d freak out because avocados are expensive but it’d be okay because I’m making paper. Therefore, your rejection should make me feel hopeless and defeated. It doesn’t though. Sure, it stings like when you remember Hogwarts isn’t real, but I’m not that torn up. Actually, the Hogwarts void is harder to accept. I mean, come on, even you wonder what you’d see in the reflection of the Mirror of Erised. I used to think I’d see you but now I know that there are bigger and better things out there for me.

I will be diplomatic and say that, perhaps, I wasn’t the right fit for you. Maybe you aren’t meant to be with me. Maybe the fact that Kathy Bates‘ advice was easier to remember than anything ever explained in those etiquette classes in my private elementary school is a sign that I am on a different wavelength of comprehension so I will never get why you don’t want me. Or maybe I’m just too “overqualified.” In which case, you’re right, I’m too good for you. 

But you know what? Whatever it is, I really do thank you. If you can’t appreciate what I’m offering you then you don’t deserve to have me. Translation: I’m going to work for your competitor and make you cry someday. 

I’m strong, smart, and made to succeed. What’s funny is that I could’ve been all these things with you, but I guess you’ll never know since you let me go.

Warm Regards,
Unemployee

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10 Reasons You Secretly Hate the Beginning of Winter

Since the duration of Autumn in Lebanon is a weekend, it seems that winter decided to officially roll in as of last Monday. This is confirmed by the 3 common signs: your house has rugs again, your winter clothes have reappeared, and you’re having (maybe) non-sexual wet dreams of a jacuzzi filled with non-sticky hot chocolate and mini marshmallows.

And so 10 Reasons You Secretly… – The Winter Edition

1. Waking Up in the Morning

You’re all wrapped up under heavy blankets. It’s warm. It’s safe. It’s all yours and you’re never going to leave this feather fort of cotton. What’s that, body? You need to pee? No, you don’t. What’s that alarm? Time to get up? No, it’s not. And not to use profanity but, in the words of Babe, BAH RAM YOU ALARM. Snoozing is the reason you have set 4 consecutive alarms with different tones. You know what awaits you: you have to get out of your cocoon and then get undressed to change into whatever layers are going to return you to the warmth that you currently have, the same one that took all night to create. The dog is barking, the duck is quacking, and then there’s the nuclear holocaust alert that is your phone’s way of saying “THE SHIT HAS HIT THE FAN, MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!”

Uhm, how ’bout no. Snooze.

2. Hot Water Dependency

You would rather go a week without a shower than take an ice cold one (okay, you’ll go to Teta’s before that happens…I hope) but the dependency on hot water that develops during winter is always surprising. You’re late for work and the hot water heater was off all night. Shower? No. Okay, fine, shower. Short-haired folk, you win on this one. You don’t have a layer of drippy icicles attached to your scalp once this is over. Are you hiding in your bed wrapped in your mom’s fluffy robe wishing you were home-schooled/freelanced/never had to morning-shower ever again? Skip the shower you say? You still have to wash your face with the liquid cousin of an unlicensed acupuncturist. And then your hands are never warm ever again.

3. Darker Earlier

Normally you’re not afraid to walk to your car after a late afternoon at work but then again, no one told you to park in the underground-flickering-light-leaky-pipe-horror-scene-you’re-all-going-to-die-down-here-umbrella-corporation parking lot. So now that it gets dark at 5 p.m., you’re running like the Matrix phone is ringing. It’s okay though, there’s a security guard who looks like a sweet old grandpa, kind of like the man who used to sell you 500L.L. bags of Fantasia chips in the village when you’d go on walks to the mini market because you were bored. He’d give you free chocolate when you were short on change because he knew you’d be back once you get another Eidiyyeh from your old-school-Marlboro-reds-only uncle or when you got bored again…so 30 minutes tops. 3amo Security even has the same tooth missing under his bushy mustache…maybe he’ll give you a free “lo7 chocola”, too. TANK, I’M IN. *hand on car window*

4. Michelin Man

“Oh, winter wardrobes are so elegant”/”Don’t you love layers”/”Leather jackets are so badass.” Yes, you all look rather dashing and sophisticated in your coats, shalls, and tights with little bows on them. Everyone loves a cashmere sweater. Especially if you’re not the one wearing it and you’re hugging a cashmered entity. Sawwwwft. You momentarily turn into a cat as you nuzzle the sweater before realizing it’s attached to a person. “Sorry, I was just testing to see if you had an irregular arrythmia, it’s quite common, just looking out BRO.” If the sweater’s fresh from the laundromat, try your best not to breathe in all the softness…loudly. Anyway, because you are a hot tamale of cloth, you tend to be rounder than your actual self.  Welcome to the Michelin Man Army. This is completely normal so if for some reason the answer to “does this ski jacket make me look fat?” is a “no”, then you should eat a double cheeseburger wrapped in bacon because even Popeye’s Olive becomes a beehive in those things.

5. Driving Lectures

Because it’s raining, people don’t know how to drive. In a country where people don’t know how to drive to begin with, this can mean very scary things to worried family members, especially parents. Rain is suddenly the perfect reason not to go anywhere…even if it rained 4 days ago. You see, roads don’t dry until March so you might as well just stay home. “Invite your friends over, where are you guys going to go in this?” Of course, this doesn’t work because your friends parents are saying the same thing to them so everyone’s just inviting each other over and you’re caught in the Snowball of Parental Worry. Don’t even try the I’m-driving-to-Faraya card. But, honestly, don’t even try driving there because them bitches be crazy.

6. Uggly Shoes

Uggs galore. Studded boots. BoyzIIMen Timberlands everywhere. Burberry patterned boots – there’s always a pair of those around. These huge shoes are your only hope against keeping your feet (and sometimes your entire calves and knees) dry. If you get the really heavy duty kind, you may enjoy charging through puddles way too much pretending your Godzilla and then acting out the scene with the lighter. Winter footwear gives off the illusion that we have tree stumps for feet. We are all Hobbitses.

7. Wet Socks

HOW this happens baffles me. Could it be because you decided to live dangerously (props if you read that in Austin Powers’ voice) and wore your Converse instead? Could it be that your boots are not waterproof and you should’ve got those kind that make you look like you sacrificed a family of rubber ducks to make them? Whatever it is, you end up with wet socks. These go right up there with the roads that don’t dry until March. The only solution is to leave them on a chauffage while you and your friend watch all four seasons of the OC. Okay, skip season 4.

8. Cold Nose

It is known that the extremities are usually the parts of the body that are always the coldest. For me, it’s the nose that’s the coldest. Can’t they invent an invisible wool clown-nose? Or something you can just slip on to keep it toasty? Stop thinking about a willy warmer.

It’s even worse when you get a cold and you develop a love-hate relationship with the tissue box. Personally, I become Rudolph reincarnated in human form and no, I don’t have a thing for naming myself after male deer.

9. New Year’s Eve Obsession

The discussions as to where you will be spending NYE begin. You round up the lists of people who will be in the country, people you actually want to spend it with, people you want to avoid, and people you have to invite because they’re part of a package deal – a get one, buy 5 free sort of posse. Then comes the part where you have to figure out if these people want to actually fork over cash, go thrifty, or use the “I’m so over it, I’m staying home” excuse because this will determine whether you need tickets to a party, keys to a house/chalet, or just enough pesos for a bottle of Jack and a copy of Snatch. Don’t stress, the NYE plan will change 8 times before December 31st.

10. End of the Year/World

You hate the beginning of winter because it means another year is ending and you don’t know when that happened because last time you checked it was still February so it shouldn’t be winter AGAIN if it’s still winter but it’s November and another year has passed and you haven’t done everything you said you were going to do and you’re aging and your life isn’t going the way you thought it would and things were SO different last November but different is good because it helps you grow and there’s time to be something and achieve greatness and we’re all going to die in December.

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A Series of Contradictions

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FACEBOOK.

Facebook’s new message settings allow you to see when people have “seen” your message. Facebook’s new message settings allow people to see when you’ve seen their messages. Crap, now you HAVE to reply.
*deactivates account*

FOOD FEARS.

“There are 120 calories in this Special K breakfast bar, so I can have this whipped cream on my toffee nut latte”/ “I saw that photo of the cheeseburger that was left in a car for 7 years, it didn’t rot”/ “Every can of Pepsi has 10 tablespoons of sugar in it”/ “Ew, mayonnaise.” You go to Chili’s and order the following: bottomless tortilla chips & salsa, fried chicken crispers, and a cherry Coke. But you hardly touch the fries or the corn. Molten Cake anyone?

HEALTH.

You should go to the gym. You end up ordering takeout or smoking a cigarillo on your balcony even though they make you feel like a tool. You also bought a pack of Turkish-labeled Adicto muffins and, as you sit on your balcony imitating the Godfather and figuring out what constitutes “inhaling”, you get a notification on your phone for the latest anti-cancer event that you checked “attending” for. It’s in 44 minutes, puff puff.

BIRTHDAYS.

You buy a birthday present for someone when you’re still acquaintances and you’ve been invited to their party so you won’t dare go empty-handed. However, it takes you a minimum of 4 months to buy gifts for your close friends…if you buy them anything at all. Real love is not about gifts. That, and you can admit to them that you’re broke.

TWO-FACED.

Gerard Butler played 300’s King Leonidas…and the Phantom of the Opera. (Sidenote: I would learn to play the piano just so I could furiously play the theme song. Some kids used to air guitar, I air pianoed) – That’s like Vin Diesel playing Riddick and a Peter Panda dancing undercover nanny…wait a second…or the same location that once had La Adelita on it’s taquito-selling walls is now a knefeh-selling Hallab & Sons. Ah, how things can have so many identities.

STAYING IN.

You decide to stay in on a Saturday night to work on a project, finish an assignment, study…you know, be an adult about life. You end up in the forbidden valleys of YouTube listening to genres of music you never knew existed, reading comments written by people who are high off dry-erase markers, and Facebook leap frogging* until 2 am. You have so many windows and tabs open that you forget what you were supposed to be doing but when the guilt rushes in, you’re like “if I went out, I’d have wasted money on a mediocre outing only to come home with no work done. At least now my paper has…a title.”

*Facebook leap frogging: you jump from one friend’s profile to another and another and another…

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Beatrix Potter Cupcakes

 

When being unproductive, one thing I like to do, other than blogging, is bake. A friend once told me that most female bloggers end up writing a post entirely dedicated to cake. Yes, Raja O, I’m talking to you. Well, here’s my post dedicated to cupcakes…and Beatrix Potter.



Selfridges, April 2012

My last visit to London allowed me to get Easter decorations on the cheap (they were £2 at Selfridges, seriously), including a set of Peter Rabbit cupcake decorations. Who is Peter Rabbit? Although he is not as interesting as Roger Rabbit and his voluptuous I-would-go-gay-for-a-cartoon-character wife, Peter Rabbit was a staple in my childhood along with Runaway Bunny, Goodnight Moon (I liked bunnies, okay), and Angelina Ballerina. Sorry, no L’eleve Decobu for me. 


The Tale of Peter Rabbit, written by Helen Beatrix Potter, a British author and illustrator. She was a fan of fairy tales, rhymes and riddles. It is said that she drew her own versions for classics like Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, and Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. She kept a journal in a code that she made up and she was interested in natural history – especially mycology, the study of FUNGI.

It is a shame that Ms. Potter was played by Renee Zellweger in the movie “Ms.Potter”. I haven’t seen it but that’s because I always imagined her being more of a Maggie Smith (younger Potter as Emma Thompson) and I refuse to let Hollywood ruin that. I hate when they do that; taking away our dreamed-up appearances of fictitious characters and real life authors. Kirsten Stewart as Snow White? The girl who is supposed to be more beautiful than the evil queen played by…CHARLIZE THERON? Good one, Hollywood. Yes, “Finding Neverland” was good but that could be because it’s not hard to imagine Johnny Depp writing Peter Pan. I’ll think about “Ms.Potter.” Even the truth is heartbreaking, I mean Steven King cannot be this man:

Source

Although he does have the Seuss factor*, this guy who could easily be selling you Christmas trees seems too normal to be thinking of pigs-blood flavored prom queens.

Anyway, something beautiful happened to prove my theory: Emma Thompson wrote The Further Tale of Peter Rabbit to celebrate the 110th anniversary of The Tale of Peter Rabbit. Told you so. 

*Seuss factor: having features that could classify the individual as a lost Dr. Suess character existing in our realm.