As summer is just around the corner, I can’t help but find my attention drifting towards the two most talked about issues in Lebanon during this season: Sky Bar and beach bodies. I also find myself dreading the very idea of stepping out of my apartment knowing that I’ll be running into people that literally have nothing else to talk about until the month of September. I also know that attempting to open another subject would be social suicide; so I simply go along with every discussion and pray that I do not fall asleep.
Stress levels always increase during this time of year because the general public are all extremely worried and running about frantically to get a table on the opening night of Sky Bar, while the crème de la crème of the party goers simply make one phone call to reserve the designated table that they’ve been hogging for the past 3 years (because only the selected few shall enter the gates of heaven). It doesn’t stop here though, because everyone wants to know who will be performing – last one to find out is a rotten egg. It gets worse this year because the venue recently underwent refurbishment to ensure that it can accommodate for a zillion more people. Almost everyone I know seemed to be pretty excited about this, but personally I was rather scared! What in God’s name could be so exciting about being stepped on every 2.5 milliseconds, and seeing every face you know in Lebanon under the same roof (or should I say, sky)?
Bimbo Barbie must tackle her first Sky Bar dilemma: What will she wear?
She will spend one month prior to Sky Bar’s opening searching for the perfect dress. She will then match the perfect shoes and earrings with it. Naturally after all this hard work, she must ensure that not one inch of that outfit goes to waste – but not to worry, because with Sky Bar’s new décor, everyone will see her strutting her stuff (and for those who don’t see her at the venue, all details will be posted on Facebook the next day). Too bad Sky Bar doesn’t open in the winter; Bimbo Barbie could have flaunted her lovely fur coat as well – tsk tsk.
Now for the second Sky Bar dilemma: What table will she be seen on?
Mind you, Bimbo Barbie will suddenly love sworn enemies again just because she got a phone call from one of them, inviting her to drink and dance the night away on their table.
First rule of thumb: if you haven’t spoken to Bimbo Barbie in 15 years, you can call her up during Sky Bar season, invite her to your table, and she will come jogging all the way from her home.
Second rule of thumb: The better looking a girl is, the more invitations she’ll receive because who cares about brains in such a sexually charged environment? A table won’t be a success without its eye candy. In Bimbo Barbie’s case, all her friends already have their tables reserved months in advance, but she gradually climbs the social ladder and selects her Sky Bar group in terms of money and status (sadly enough in this case, those are judged by the car driven, and location of the table).
Macho Man arrives to Sky Bar - he’s got it all under control! The highlight of his night will be stepping out of his Porche/Ferrari/Range Rover/Maserati (nothing under one hundred thousand dollars, please) and pausing for a good 2 minutes as his torso is hanging halfway out of his car door so that every passing person can see the god that he is. He will eventually snap out of his narcissistic daze when he realizes that he’s holding up traffic and that the Valet is one step away from punching his lights out. He will then glide up the stairway to heaven, greet the bouncer as if it were his long lost brother, and secretly slip him a 100 dollar bill to ensure that he may continue slithering his way through the sweaty, dehydrated, and overheated crowd that will be waiting at the Sky Bar entrance every night that follows. As Macho Man reaches his table, he greets his “friends” - the Big Spenders - and begins ordering liters and liters of vodka and champagne - enough to intoxicate the entire population of South America - and will not stop drinking and staring at everyone else’s tables until the 12th of never, or at least until one of the Bimbo Barbies gives him an ounce of attention. This is okay by Macho Man though, because the important thing is for others to see how cool he is to have gotten so many Hotties on his table. Macho Man will brag all summer long about how he can get a table at Sky Bar by just snapping his fingers, and will continue to brag about how the bill at his table is at least 3000 dollars every night (not to mention that he is dirt poor and takes out loans to pay for this luxury that he cannot afford). Of course the summer season will end with Macho Man reviewing his balance at the bank with tears in his eyes, wondering where it all went and making an oath to never repeat it again. Nine months later, lo and behold – it’s not a bird, it’s not a plane, it’s Macho Man on the same table he was on the previous summer, with the same Big Spenders, the same drinking, same staring, same no dancing policy; the only thing that has changed is the group of Bimbo Barbies that decided to join (the previous ones have socially climbed to another group of Macho Men).
As we are now in the lovely month of June, I finally realized that instead of bothering to shape up at the gym, I’ve been busy trying every new restaurant in the country. I must say, my body is far from being perfect for my swimsuits. Sometimes though, I do wake up in the morning feeling quite slimmer; turns out my blood has been sucked dry by some evil mosquito. After I complained to several thousands of uninterested people about how out of shape I am, I accidentally noticed that almost every girl I know decided not to care about bikini season either. I also realized that orange is the new pink and that man is the new woman! All I’ve been hearing from men for the past 3 months is “I am on a diet, I need to go to the gym, I skipped my boxing class, look at my belly, I’ve gained a jeans size.”
Oh – My – God!
I still cannot believe that a few months ago I was partying with some friends and Mr. Muscle who I hadn’t seen in years started a 20 minute conversation (or should I say, monologue) with me about his waist size, shoulder width, and washboard abs. As uninterested as I was, he still went ahead and showed me photos of himself flexing half naked – I was deeply disturbed . . . deeply! I patiently waited for the first awkward silence to occur and I danced my way far away from him. Prior to that, I was seriously considering introducing him to my friend – instead, I called her the next day and we laughed for hours. Later on, I found out that Mr. Muscle and a few other Muscle heads were all bragging about how they each bought their very own pair of pink swimming trunks (which apparently indicates how secure they are of their masculinity - Ggrrr) and couldn’t wait to show them off at La Plage while sipping on rose wine and watching the Baywatch Bimbos strutting around in 10 inch heels, pornographic swimsuits, Moulin Rouge make up (still intact from the previous night), and snobby attitudes to disguise how desperate they actually are to find a man.
Summer is my favorite season of the year. I love the beach, I love the sun, I love the tourists and the energy they bring, I even love Sky Bar; but that’s all ruined for me and for many other people when we are bombarded with Macho Men, Muscle Heads, Bimbo Barbies, and Baywatch Bimbos that just insist on transforming every venue into a run way or some sort of elitist club. There really is nothing classy about this behavior. Whatever happened to Havaianas, chiringuitos, and banana boats? And whatever happened to the simple concept of going out with friends, having fun, meeting new people, and dancing the night away? I think what we need in this country is a complete change of attitude and perspective as we let the good times roll.
Set off your summer with a blast!
"Example has more followers than reason. We unconsciously imitate what pleases us, and approximate to the characters we most admire." Christian Nevell Bovee
