Homage to My Blog

In an attempt to vent and de-stress, I started my blog about a week ago. Naturally, I shoved it down my friends’ throats in every possible way; bombarding them with text messages, bbm’s, emails, msn messenger, and so on. Some liked it and some were very indifferent about it  - of course I attributed this to their short attention spans, inability to read anything (including road signs), and their dedicated “online time” that is exclusive to browsing Facebook, Youtube, and/or playing online poker.

One thing that many of my friends said to me was, “don’t you think it’s too honest, hurtful, and personal?” (Why the drama?)

. . . Pause . . .

So, I decided to dedicate this blog to answering the above question once and for all.

First of all, I will tackle the matter of “Don’t you think it’s too honest?”
Answer: What the heck do you mean “too honest”?!
You are either an honest or a dishonest person, but of course in the society I am living in, I find myself obliged to slice up, break down, dissect, and analyze the 892 meanings to the word HONESTY.
To name a few:
The white lie: I am sorry people – a lie is a lie. The people to whom you are “white lying” to will eventually find out and create so much drama out of it in order to victimize themselves (that way, you will owe them your soul for life and you’ll never hear the end of it).
The delayed truth: Ah yes, ‘tis the truth that shalt cometh. You see, here, the truth is released in stages. Stage 1: you lie. Stage 2: you get caught, so you reveal 10% of the truth by supporting it with the 90% of stage 1’s lie. Stage 3: you get caught again (follow stage 2’s procedure) and this is when you are given the ultimatum: this is your last chance to tell the truth. Stage 4: your guilt pushes you to finally tell the overdue truth, so from this point on you will continue to release bits and pieces of the truth over long durations of time until it is finally out!
The pleasant truth: I’ll go ahead and give an example on this one: Buttercup returned to Lebanon after a year of living abroad, having gained 1 kilo for each day she was gone. You see, she was probably competing with planet earth as to who could actually have a larger radius. The truth: she had become FAT, as opposed to, the pleasant truth which was told to her by friends and family, “You have gained a bit of weight, but it suits you oh so much - you’re simply glowing!” Glowing? She’s not pregnant for frick’s sake, she’s just fat! Well, after Buttercup eventually lost all that weight and five sizes off her jeans, she entered a state of shock regarding how fat she was and couldn’t help but wonder why no one made it clear to her.
The hurtful truth: this in fact is the truth as it is - nothing more, nothing less. Sadly enough, the reason it is labeled “hurtful” is because people’s ears are so accustomed to hearing the same monotonous bullsh**, that when they do eventually hear something different, it cuts like a knife.

Now, to the issue of “Don’t you think it’s too hurtful?”
Answer: Frankly no – I think it’s quite funny. It is only hurtful to those involved in the embarrassing stories (with names changed to maintain discretion of course). I did get a phone call once from one of the involved people in a blog of mine, and although he seemed to be quite upset about it, we both greatly benefitted from this experience: He learnt never to behave in that ridiculous manner again because he’d be made fun of. As for me, I laughed about it for hours - and thus receiving a lot of positive energy from the universe. I for one have been criticized, insulted, and crushed by many people – it has only made a better and stronger person. As a result, I believe that indicating people's flaws and mistakes will greatly improve them (so let’s all work together to make the world a less annoying and brain dead place to live in).
Please note that I do not intentionally hurt or try to change anyone. When and if I do, it is for a greater cause – a higher purpose – because if I refrain from speaking my mind, that person will one day have children that exhibit those characteristics, and one day those children will have children of their own, and so on.

This brings me to the third dilemma, “Don’t you think it’s too personal?”
Answer: What is personal anymore these days? For instance, I know a circle of friends, the Queen Bees – they all share each others’ secrets carefully . . . with the rest of the world. Also, sharing your every step on Facebook is much more personal than blogging about funny experiences and your perspective about the world around you (although I’m guilty of both). Since we already have more than enough Facebookers, I truly wish there were more people out there who took 15 minutes a day to observe what’s going on around them, and then took another 15 minutes to reflect on what their thoughts about it are.

After covering the honest, hurtful, and personal elements, I would like to emphasize on the THINK element in that question.
A couple of days ago, Mojo Pin told me that he feels lonely in his thoughts because he is unable to share them with anyone or to conform to the masses. I honestly felt bad for him but mostly, I felt bad for most of the people around me who are so happy being sheep; being told what they should like, eat, drink, wear, and say.
People’s thoughts should be different, and each person’s insight should be shared with others because a change in perspective from time to time is very healthy for us as individuals and for the world as a whole. If we all thought the same way, we would all still be living in caves without any electricity. Think about it.

For those of you (and you know who you are) who still understand the meaning of depth, individuality, and intellect, I would like you to repeat this prayer every night before you go to bed:

“I thank you God for giving me a brain. I am fully aware of how that used to be part of the package but is now unfortunately an added option that not everyone has the privilege of having.”

Ps. I do not care if my blogs are too long – they are not intended for people with ADHD.

"When we talk in company we lose our unique voice, and this leads us to make statements which in no way correspond to our real thoughts." Friedrich Nietzche

Rita in Wonderland

I grew up in Nigeria in a state called Port Harcourt, and yes, I lived close to a Port. I remember hearing the sound of the ships arriving and leaving each morning - It was magical. I also remember my beautiful school, my friends that came from different countries, and the unforgettable times we all had together. Despite those heartwarming memories, I simply will not go back to visit home for one reason: I don’t want to ruin the beautiful image I have in my head of my childhood in Nigeria.
When we are young, a hill looks like a mountain, an ant like a cockroach, a horse like a unicorn; everything has an intensified effect on us. Growing up pulls the magic right out of our lives, so why destroy the very little magical memories that we still have?
Adding to that magic were the cartoons and musicals I watched as a child:
The Wizard of Oz, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, The Sound of Music, Mary Poppins, Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, The Jungle Book, The 101 Dalmatians, and Alice in Wonderland, to name a few.
As much as I loved watching them, I never attempted seeing any of them again because I would rather remember them vaguely, as enchanting, than to remember them vividly, as lame.

Recently though, I did make an exception - Alice in Wonderland (2010). What was up with that?
This blog will probably stir up a lot of angry responses, but I am sorry - I just did not like the movie!
Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter gave brilliant performances, the costumes were magnificent, and the special effects were out of this world; so what was up with that peculiar/lame as frick story line? (Maybe it should’ve been called “Alice in Narnia” or “Alice of the Rings”.) If the Hollywood folk feel like making a movie of this sort, they should stick to concepts like Shrek or Finding Nemo, which are quite cute, funny, and original – as opposed to re-creating or sequel-ing a classic and failing miserably at it.

I should probably convey to you what kind of experience I had, watching this movie.
Tuesday, March 9: Teacher’s Day. Bambi and I, being two individuals with brains, decided it would be a great idea to watch Alice in Wonderland 3D at the 2:30 pm screening. The only problem we considered was traffic. With that in mind, I dressed very quickly, left out the mascara (since that would have taken an extra 10 minutes), and decided to just quickly apply some blush (succeeding in accidentally over blushing myself to ripe tomato mode). I drove over there as fast as I could, consequently getting insulted by bus, taxi, and trailer trash drivers at least 74 times before I reached.

I was so relieved to get there – the hustle was over and I was going to enjoy a lovely movie with Bambi.
As I walked through the mall and up the escalators to get to the movie theatre, something just didn’t feel right – it was like the silence before the storm, and my sixth sense picked up on an incoming disaster. Upon reaching the last escalator - there it was - at least 600 children screaming, running, throwing popcorn, defying gravity, breaking sound barriers! Where was I? Did I get zapped into Animal Planet, or was this a National Geographic special? I was terrified amongst the stampede of wild beasts – and where was Bambi? Was it safe to reach for my phone and call her? I stood there unable to act or move, but with one thought in my head, “Oh no Rita, it’s teacher’s day you full-fledged IDIOT.” As if it weren’t bad enough to be over blushed, I was also red with rage (try to imagine how pretty I looked). You see, I am not a “kid person” – I am more into dogs. One day, I’ll have kids of my own and I’ll love them – I’ll love my nephews, my nieces, my best friends’ kids, and all the related bla bla. In the meantime though, kids are like germs to me: I know they are everywhere, and I know they will eventually get to me, but I still try to avoid contact with them in every possible way.

As Bambi arrived, she had already realized it was teacher’s day too, but she didn’t seem to be the least bit annoyed by it, and this infuriated me – I thought, I’ll throw her to the beasts, why not!
It took us 20 minutes to buy the movie tickets, during which I was demonstrating my utter anxiety by making offensive remarks accompanied by “ouft-ing” and “pffft-ing”. The guy selling us the tickets managed to pick up on my frustration and said “I am sorry Miss, genuinely sorry because of the crowd and the chaos, but as you know it is teacher’s day today. How may I help you?” Okay – so at this point I had to quit yapping because acts of politeness throw me off-guard (when someone in Lebanon is actually polite to you, you need to write, talk, dance, sing, and rejoice about it). We bought our tickets, said thank you (I got scolded at by Bambi because Ticket Boy was so nice to us – yes, even Bambi was still shaken by his politeness), and stood in line to enter Wonderland.

As I have come to learn, life is all about Yin and Yang -Ticket Boy’s politeness has to be balanced out with some form of utter rudeness. This is where the charming mothers come in:
Lebanese Mothers (most of which are USELESS) believe that they are God’s greatest gift to mankind, simply because they gave life to their magnificent children. I will call this genre of Lebanese Mothers, the La Classe Mothers of Uselessness (LCMU).
To be a member of the LCMU society, you have to have a rich husband who will pay for all your nonsense (especially the things you couldn’t buy for yourself prior to your marriage), you cannot have a job (yiiii, tfou! Working is for peasants), you should have a Filipino nanny (who will raise, feed, and love your kids while you’re too busy spending your husband’s money on the nothingness that makes you who you are), you have to have a nice body with a bit of a belly (which marks you as a mother, and thus giving you the right to be a b**** with a superiority complex), you also have to display the following: a Cartier/Chopard/Rolex watch that you will NEVER take off (you shouldn’t worry about your kids trying to snatch it off because you never play with them anyway ,or worry about injuring your husband’s head with it during sex, because let’s face it – sex only happens after he buys you a new car), a diamond wedding band that determines your social (not marital) status and you will never remove it either (you never do the dishes anyway, so what’s the point?), and a designer bag for your make up and mobile phone(s) (the Filipino will be carrying the bag that contains the antiseptic, wet wipes, feeding bottles, diapers, and everything else your kid might need).

Back to the original subject of when we were standing in line, waiting our turn to grab our 3D glasses and enter to Wonderland - the attack of the LCMU’s was unreal! They were SO rude, so hateful, pushing and shoving (do you not understand the concept of a line, b****?) so that their sacred little monkeys can enter before us to sprinkle popcorn and joy all over the floor and seats (to welcome us ofcourse). After all, they are more important than us simpletons, who aren’t worthy of breathing the same oxygen as their uncivilized noses. After the LCMU’s and their lovely children took Xanax pills and calmed down, we found our seats and started wiping all the spit and snot off the dirty, used 3D glasses that were given to us (antiseptic, PLEASE). At this point my mood was just ruined, but I thought to myself, “Rita, it’s all worth it; you’re going to watch Alice in Wonderland and re-live that childhood magic that you lost over the years”.

Thirty minutes into the movie I realized how wrong I was, and I was so ready to leave. Where was the magic? This wasn’t wonderland anymore; this was a full-on horror movie, a twisted version of Freddy’s Nightmares – I was biting my nails for frick’s sake (and surely a 7 year old would be having nightmares for a week after watching it – ugh, poor Filipinos)! During the entire duration of the movie, all I could think of was that poor little frog that was beheaded for eating the queen’s pie! Also, the sarcasm in the movie cannot be understood by children (but when kids do understand sarcasm, let’s not wonder where they’re getting their rudeness from), and their LCMU’s are probably too self-absorbed and brain dead to understand any of it either. It was just a total mess. Whenever something interesting finally happened in that slower than frick movie, I would hear a kid saying, “mama, mama, I need to pee”. Well of course you need to pee every 15 minutes, you moron – your “mama” just bought you a soda drink the size of your head and a box of popcorn the size of Texas! I was never allowed to eat junk food in those amounts.

I love technology, I love moving forward, I love change – but let’s face it, in our ever-transforming world, it is nice to hold on to certain things that remain constant, authentic. Sometimes it’s just nice to go back to the basics, when things were simple and sweet. I know when I have kids one day, I am going to buy Alice in Wonderland (1951) on video, dust off my old VCR, and watch it with them. Now that’s magic! 


“There is a certain majesty in simplicity which is far above all the quaintness of wit.” Alexander Pope

Facebook Use or Facebook Abuse?

I consider myself to be a heavy facebook user:
I view my account 3 or 4 times a day because God forbid I am not up-to-date on every single pathetic incident happening in the lives of my 588 friends – 500 of which are absolutely useless to me (Hey! Don’t judge me for saying that because I am sure you have the same opinion regarding your friends’ list).

Furthermore, when I am interested in finding out something spicy about a certain person (whether he/she is my friend or not), I will dissect everything in their profile from photos, to friends, to all the wall posts I can read…and all the rest of the nonsense that I can feast my eyes on.
For instance, a couple of nights ago Bambi and I stayed up for hours “phone-facebooking” (the process of dissecting a person’s life with another party via facebook and phone simultaneously) and yes, three hours into the conversation we had found out everything we needed to know about our John Doe - including making jokes about his photos, poses, and nose.
Creepy isn’t it? I know you’ve done it too, and I know almost every facebook user has done it at least once (and at least one of these users has done it to you).
As disappointed as I am with my facebook obsession, I was even more surprised to discover that there are some people who have surpassed my madness by light-years!

Take this girl, Bimbo Barbie, who will literally update you 375 times about when and where she is traveling to weeks before she leaves. By the time she gets there, she will update you 43 times per day on what she’s doing and on how much she is enjoying her oh so NOT interesting activities.

“Bimbo Barbie is eating. Bimbo Barbie is shopping. Bimbo Barbie is taking a nap. Bimbo Barbie is yawning after her nap. Bimbo Barbie just broke a nail. Bimbo Barbie is missing Brain Dead Barbie. Bimbo Barbie is tired from updating her status every 2.5 milliseconds.” Well, you get the sad picture.

By the time Bimbo Barbie returns from her lovely trip, she goes ahead and uploads 6 albums, containing 100 photos each, documenting her every footstep – and by that I mean EVERY footstep (she pictures the shoes too, so that you can visualize the footsteps).  

Speaking of status updates, one of my personal favorites goes a little like this:

“Suzy sunshine is sssssoooooooooooooooo buuuusssyyyyyyyyyyyy – I don’t even have time to breathe!!!”

Seriously?

Pardon me, but isn’t that a little confusing? Suzy Sunshine is too busy to breathe and she clearly seems very cranky about it, but she still makes sure to take the time to log on facebook and update that status so that life can make sense again - Hats down to Suzy Sunshine.

I have also noticed that a number of girls like to buy new attire, take pictures, and upload them to facebook –christening the new wardrobe – that way, no outfit goes to waste. (?!?!?) I still cannot understand that concept, because if I meet someone for the first time, and I happen to be wearing the same shirt from my profile picture, I will die a thousand times when and if they add me on facebook. Don’t these girls want to wear those clothes again and again and again?

Most girls suffer from vanity (including myself), and this explains the amount of uploaded facebook photos, the posing, and the “I love myself” portraits. What I cannot tolerate though is men posing and uploading 836 “in love with myself” photos! Bambi could not believe the photos I showed her of a previous acquaintance of mine, Gaylord – water dripping down body, posing in Speedos, flexing the muscles, and so on.
To all men out there: Please, this is not cool! If I wanted to stare at a muscle-flexing naked man in all his chauvinistic glory, I would simply fly myself over to Florence and gaze upon Michelangelo’s David.

Oh yes, and good old Farmville – People please, enough Farmville photos, updates, and astonishment as to how you grew a field of tomatoes in two days. How bored are you? And what is the logic behind this annoyingly useless application? (Really, sarcasm aside, I’d love to know.)

This brings me to my final bafflement: The relationship status.
Nala is single.  Nala is in a relationship. Nala is single. Nala is in a relationship with Mufasa. Nala is single. Nala is in a relationship with Mufasa. Nala is single. Nala is in a relationship with Simba. Nala is in a relationship with Mufasa. Nala is single. Nala is engaged to Simba.

Ahem, don’t mean to burst any bubbles, but no one CARES who Nala is dating, loving, hating, or breaking up with. Single people don’t care or desire to know when others are in relationships or even better, getting engaged! And happy couples definitely do not need the evil eye of the angry bitter single people casting curses on their happy and gay lives. Let’s chill a smidgen with all of that, okay?

Maybe it’s just me, but isn’t that just a wee bit too much information people are putting out there?

Take real life for example (remember what that is? It involves sunshine, people, with real hands and feet - and yes, they speak. It involves blue skies, starry nights, little birdies - and yes they chirp), if you met someone new, you would want to preserve some air of mystery - you know - to make yourself seem more intriguing, more interesting. You simply cannot meet Fernando or Paola and spill your guts out from day one, because they would go running for the hills.

“The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious.” Albert Einstein

From Dating to Darting

 

For many people in Lebanon who are searching for “The One”, the term dating is not so popular or should I say, understood. You are either single or in a relationship.

On the other hand, I, among many others, prefer dating first before deciding on whether or not to be “officially involved with the person in the eyes of the general public.” This process prevents you from being labeled as a jumper: “someone who jumps from one relationship to the next”, as Genius once told me after one of my break ups.

Sadly enough, the dating game has turned into a darting game for me, where I constantly find myself unable to resist darting out of the door the very minute my “Date” starts eating, talking, or trying to woo me. As excruciating as it is though, dating is still an essential stage to determine who is worthy of holding your hand, or who is remaining a name on your phone book.

My top three dates from hell (from the ones I recall) are as follows:

Once I was on a double date (that’s how hesitant I was) with Kung Fu Panda, and he was eating so fast and so furiously that he broke into a sweat! I could swear that I saw his neck pulsating and about to explode. I offered him some napkins and asked him to take a break before he chokes himself to death. The other couple could not resist laughing, and he could not resist devouring the last of his food. As disgusted as I was, I decided to finish dinner, simply for the sake of being polite – it was the correct thing to do after all, right? WRONG! After quite a few glasses of wine, he decided to make a detour instead of dropping me home to go up to a certain Monastery and pray! (Forgive me God) but what was he thinking?! As I stood there in shock, smoking my cigarette and trying not to crack up laughing, He gave me an evil stare that said “you are a horrible person and you are going straight to hell.” Yes, I was the one being judged after that wonderful evening.

During another splendid evening, I was having dinner with Jock Strap when he asked me to pick the wine. As I knew more about wine than he did, I began to browse through the wine list until I found the perfect bottle. To our dismay, the waiter informed us that the wine was unavailable and suggested another wine that should be to our liking. As I disagreed, Jock Strap insisted on trying that ridiculously over priced bottle because “his lady deserves the best”. To my lack of surprise, the wine was terrible. I continued my meal with a Coca Cola light, and did not even attempt to insult my taste buds with that sickening acid-like red liquid. On the other hand, Jock Strap made sure to finish the bottle down to the last drop while trying to convince me to drink it up as well – I resisted all attempts.
As the bill arrived, he pulled out his mobile phone and began calculating each and every item thoroughly and after a good 3 minutes of painstaking investigation, he uttered these lovely words, “you just had to order the most expensive bottle of wine on the menu now, didn’t you? Didn’t you? – Ha Ha Ha”. I was baffled, shocked, and horrified. I insisted on paying the bill and reminded him that it was his decision to order the wine in question, to which he responded, “I would never let a lady pay!” and there you have it!

Another horror story involved a colleague who I got reacquainted with. Tiny Tim picked me up in a very big car, and upon stepping out of it, I lost him. He was short to the extent that I could have probably rested my elbow at the top of his head. I was fresh out of a relationship and still in love/heartbroken so I made it clear to Tiny Tim that I am just interested in making new friends (he would have to be at least 1 meter taller to qualify for a potential boyfriend). During dinner, he started glaring at my watch and then said something that he must have thought was super smart, “That watch is from your Ex, isn’t it?” I told him it is, thinking nothing more of the subject.
Into the evening it seemed like he had something new and enlightening to say, so I asked him why he was turning purple and that was when he exploded. “How could you still be wearing a watch from your ex-boyfriend? Who do you think I am? I will not allow my woman to insult me like this. If I am important to you, you will throw it away now and I will buy you a new and very expensive one instead”, he blurted. Clearly I could not and did not react. I simply asked him to order the bill – anything I would further say or do would be of no significance because the psycho was apparently already convinced that we were soon to be engaged.
His final words to me as he was driving me home were, “WHY?! WHY DON’T YOU LOVE ME? I am rich, good looking, and every girl I know would die to be with me!” I cried with laughter that night.

I have learnt that in the matters of the heart, taking things slowly and living each stage at a time will always provide better chances at succeeding.
Everyone is weird, and we each have a unique weirdness about us. Some weirdness is cute, even magnetic, but letting it all out too soon is just too much to digest. Self Control and Spontaneity both used in the right amounts result in magic - Every once in a while, we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, and “we fall into mutual weirdness”, and it makes all the bad experiences worth it.

“Slow but steady wins the race.” Aesop

Blackberry was Better as a Fruit

Up until a couple of months ago, I was involved in a long distance relationship that sky rocketed my phone bills. I juggled between skyping, direct calling, and texting, but that still didn’t help. During that time, the world as I knew it was about to change: *Drum roll* MTC, one of two mobile phone operators in Lebanon, was on the verge of introducing the Blackberry service to the Lebanese market. I generally tend to pick up on trends (or I like to believe that I do), but in this case I was quite reluctant. RedBerry, who was one of the first to purchase a Blackberry in Lebanon and activate its service (for a ridiculous price) urged me to do the same since my long distance boyfriend at the time, Couscous, had a blackberry of his own. “You will save a ton on phone bills and your life will never be the same again”, she said. I was intrigued.

My curiosity then took me on a journey of research and discovery; I called up a few of my friends who had also got bitten by the blackberry bug – their testimonials were as follows:

“There’s no habibi without a BB”, said the Big Friendly Giant.

“If you don’t have a blackberry, you’re just not cool – soon, EVERYONE is going to have it. MTC is cooler than Alfa. The blackberry bold is cooler than the blackberry curve. Come to chocolate tonight . . . .bla. . .”, said Insomniac.

“What is your BB Pin?” said 34 random friends.

After 4 months of deep thought, I decided it was time to buy a blackberry.

I informed Couscous - he was thrilled.

Since my phone line was operated by Alfa, I had to buy another phone number that was operated by MTC in order to activate the service (bear in mind that I had had my Alfa phone line for 10 years and had given my number out to over 600 people). Nothing would stand in my way! In less than 6 hours, I had bought a new MTC phone number, decided I didn’t like it anymore, bought yet another MTC phone number, decided I liked it, registered my new number, activated the service, and bought my very own Blackberry curve (I decided the curve was cooler than the bold). Life was great……until my next phone bill arrived and I realized that activating the service had in no way contributed to decreasing it, but at that point it was too late – I was already bitten by the blackberry bug.

Initially, the whole purpose of buying that phone was to communicate more efficiently with Cousous, but the result was as follows:

Couscous and I started talking less on the phone (once a day became once every 4 days), the frequency of our arguments increased from once every two weeks to once a day, my BB contacts rapidly increased from 6 to 86, and my table manners, conversational skills, and eye contact slowly and steadily diminished. Couscous and I eventually had an argument where he said, “I wish you never bought a blackberry.”

Eventually Alfa activated the BB service after my previous phone number was already dead and gone.

Eventually Couscous and I broke up. (Blackberry was not solely responsible for this).

Will that be a reason for me to deactivate my service? NO. I cannot be disconnected from my Facebook account, my 90 BB contacts, my MSN contacts, the World Wide Web, the news updates, and my e-mail accounts. (Xanax, please?)

I have learnt one lesson though: Being up in someone’s face all the time is just plain creepy. No matter how far we get sucked into technology and its perks, we should never forget some of the basic things it may deprive us of: privacy, physical HUMAN contact, and social interaction (to say the least).

“Use, do not abuse; neither abstinence nor excess ever renders man happy.” Voltaire