A Plague Of Pigs Among Us

It is very possible that I have exhausted the subject of civility regarding the “people” I am forced to come across every day of my existence, but it is justifiable considering the sad truth that these rude/discourteous/foul/loud/unmannerly/uncivil people exist by the millions and seem to be multiplying at an unstoppable pace . . . somewhat like the plague – which is what I ought to call them from now on. Yes, the Plague.

This plague that I speak of is the uncivilized caveman (or woman) that you inevitably run into in the parking lot, supermarket, petrol station, cinema, and sometimes even in the public toilets where their creepy behavior seems to interlock and strengthen with the disgusting odors they release from their cavities.
Being sick and sedated from heavy prescription medication for the past two weeks oddly made me only more aware of this medieval mode de vie and I wished that a manual for proper behavior existed; something titled “How Not to Live Like a Pig”, and after searching for such a book and not finding one, I am taking the liberty of writing down a few guidelines for some of the pigs out there who may one day consider transforming into human beings.

Note to Pigs: Common courtesy was created so that person A can interact with person B and person C (and etc.) without killing each other.

On that note, the concept of standing in line was created so that each person has his own rightful turn. There is no “wasta” in standing in line; and no, you may not barge through if you sound or look angrier than the rest. Your uncivilized, impatient being must simply wait it out until it’s your turn; your time and existence are in no way more valuable than the rest of the people lined up – you are not a semi-god. Also, to those of you who stink: SHOWER! We are not obliged to bask in the revolting odor of your stinking armpits. Let’s all fight against pollution.

When you are in such a hurry to enter an elevator, please let the people inside exit first. You are not paper thin and if your parents taught you any manners, you’d be aware of this pleasant gesture. And no, you may not allow the door to slam on a person’s face. Holding the door for someone is not like donating a kidney; it’s a very quick and simple procedure – try it.

Thank you for making a visit to the supermarket become like a visit to the underworld where I have to fight demons and zombies before I reach to the deodorant aisle. I understand it may be torment for you to choose the ideal box of cornflakes or shampoo, but it would be great if you parked your cart somewhere other than the middle of the passageway where you will inevitably create a “traffic jam” and of course begin a feud over who has the right of passage. To the next person who does this to me: I will not hesitate to smash a can of beans right into your face.

Lebanese mothers are the worst. I will allow myself to be chauvinistic and sexist by saying that you truly do belong at home and nowhere else. You must not be allowed to drive or shop or function outside your household. No one cares about your annoying baby’s fat cheeks, but if it’s crying for hours you better shut it up before someone else does. A crying, screaming child is not cute; it is frustrating. Keep it at home the next time you choose to venture into civilization. Dogs aren’t allowed into malls, yet they are ten times more bearable than screeching children . . . think about it. Also, your “baby on Board” bumper sticker does not justify you driving like a vision-impaired Sasquatch.

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I am currently writing a weekly column called "La Wlooo!!" on BeirutNightLife.com that provides a light mockery of the silly things happening around us every day.
Don't take it seriously, after all, it is simply a breath of fresh air – stating the obvious with a bit of humor and a change of perspective.

Lifestyles Of The "CLASSE" And The Cavemen

 I love Lebanon; always have, always will. As much as we complain about the silly behavior, lifestyles, and traditions of many Lebanese people, nothing will probably ever change. So, deep down I’m glad that we’re all so crazy and thankful that I have something different to laugh about every day. To those of you who don’t understand the concept of “sarcasm”, please stop reading here and spare yourselves from feeling offended over nothing. 

 How to be “CLASSE” a la Libanaise

Always remember, everything in Lebanon is about being classy or “CLASSE”. You should eat at classy restaurants, wear classy shoes, and even buy your mobile phone from Class and get ripped off or else it wouldn’t be the real deal.

You should always look angry while driving or walking (all three expression lines on your forehead must be visible). God forbid people see you with a smile on your face – they’d think you’re a peasant and “mish CLASSE”.

If you’re a woman, you must walk around like you’re smelling sh** and make it clear to everyone around you that they are lucky to bask in your “CLASSE” existence.
If you’re married, spend your afternoons at the ABC mall as you enjoy limping walking around with high heels on your feet and a stick up your a**. Your Filipino slave maid must be racing after you, carrying all the bags while she watches over your two little monsters who do not have one polite bone in their body because their “CLASSE” mama forgot to do one little thing: be a good mama.
If you’re single, spend your afternoons searching for a “CLASSE” boyfriend according to his daddy’s dollars (doesn’t matter if it’s dirty money . . . money = “CLASSE”). Once you meet this “CLASSE” boyfriend, tell him that you are a virgin (even if you’re not) because only virgins are “CLASSE”. Your nails must always be manicured and your eyebrows always tweezed or the “CLASSE” boyfriend will leave you (yes those are very important criteria for being “CLASSE”).

If you’re a man, you should always have a nonchalant attitude and an expression on your face that says “I am a billionaire that rules the world. Come, worship me,” even if you’re the biggest loser/poser/fake, people will be impressed by your “CLASSE-ness”. If anyone defies you, you must shout “Bta3rif ana min bkoun?!” (ah yes, you’re that piece of bird crap that’s been stuck on my windshield for two days).
 You must have a table at a trendy “CLASSE” club every Saturday night and invite only “CLASSE” people to be seen with you. No table? No way! The manager is your friend and he’ll crap a table out for your royal highness.
 A cigar might help you look good too – don’t worry about your breath smelling like dirty socks or about the fact that you’re sucking on something shaped like a penis cylinder. . . just sayin’.
Explain to your girlfriend that she must act “CLASSE” when she’s with you in public; she must laugh in a very low voice, talk to only “CLASSE” people, and not say “Hi” to anyone unless they say “Hi” first.
In brief, all behavior must be planned, constipated, and rehearsed in front of your mirror at least 5 times before you kiss your bovine divine reflection and leave your house. 

To continue reading, please follow this link:

http://www.beirutnightlife.com/featured/la-wlooo-lifestyles-of-the-classe-and-the-cavemen

I am currently writing a weekly column called "La Wlooo!!" on BeirutNightLife.com that provides a light mockery of the silly things happening around us every day.
Don't take it seriously, after all, it is simply a breath of fresh air – stating the obvious with a bit of humor and a change of perspective.

Why I Hate Valentine's Day

 Whether I am single or in a relationship, Valentine’s Day has always proven to be a cheesy, corny, lovey-dovey, nauseating holiday for me. Call me dark and bitter – I don’t care, but V-Day has become – in my opinion – a “retail holiday” of no essential or valuable meaning whatsoever. I will never understand why people must wait for one specific day to express their love towards each other, or why a measly bouquet of roses that would normally cost 30 USD ends up costing 130 USD on V-Day – talk about price inflation! It may just seem like red roses, red hearts, red teddy bears, and chocolate in red wrappers to the majority of you; but I will take the liberty of sharing my point of view on this oh-so lamer than lame “hallmark holiday”.

Big Girls Like Big Bears: Let us all take a moment to reflect on the significance of an adult (and hopefully mature) woman owning an over-sized teddy bear. What-Is-The-Darn-Point?!
I once received a humongous teddy bear on V-Day and cringed at the idea of where I would place it. It serves no purpose whatsoever and has been sitting on the top of my closet, staring down at me for the past few years. Not only is it terrifying, but I had to carry it up several flights of stairs to get it into my home because it simply did not fit in the elevator. Not only did I have acute back pain for days, but I have cursed at every man who buys his woman a teddy bear (on any occasion) and have loathed women who love these useless gifts.
To all bear-loving over-grown females out there: You are not 5 years old anymore – grow up!
To all bear-giving men out there: Instead of paying 200 USD on a giant teddy bear, buy her something useful – like a pair of shoes (which she can at least fit into her bedroom).

Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue: A bouquet of roses is a lovely gesture indeed – and a timeless cliché that I am so sick of, to the extent that I’d like to vandalize every florist from here to Alaska. I would like to meet the person who decided that a red rose is the symbol of everlasting love (or whatever)! Here’s a thought: a red rose wilts and turns black after a few days – if you’d like that to symbolize your love, go ahead. A bouquet of red roses is also absolutely meaningless when it costs more than a dinner for two. A few years ago I received two bouquets of red roses on V-Day; one from an admirer and one from a stalker. As soon as I left the office, I gave one bouquet to my sister as it was her birthday, and gave the other to a homeless boy so that he may sell the roses to passersby. Now that’s how you can make a useless bouquet useful. Don’t get me wrong, I love receiving a bouquet of red roses (preferably not red . . .  and not roses) on any random day of the year – just not on V-Day when possibly every other woman in the world is receiving one.

Dinner for two: When a man takes his lady out for dinner, it’s not because he wants to, it’s because she wants to. God forbid he doesn’t take her out for an overpriced, pretentious dinner during which they throw fake smiles and kisses to each other while they nibble on their heart-shaped potatoes.
Although I’m a fan of everything fine dining, during V-Day dinner I couldn’t help but notice how stuffy it felt – not only because of my pantyhose, high waste belt and skirt that were suffocating the life out of me, but also because of the people around us who were planning their every move to better fit into the lovey-dovey cliché around them. There were so many rose petals on our table that it looked like a cow had been butchered and was left to die on our table cloth. Every platter served to us contained something shaped like a heart. My boyfriend and I couldn’t stop laughing, and I realized that the only thing I liked about that cheesy, overpriced dinner is the man that I’m with and so next year I’m going to skip dining out and I am going to do something that’s a little more “us”.

http://www.beirutnightlife.com/featured/la-wlooo-why-i-hate-valentines-day/

I am currently writing a weekly column called "La Wlooo!!" on BeirutNightLife.com that provides a light mockery of the silly things happening around us every day.
Don't take it seriously, after all, it is simply a breath of fresh air – stating the obvious with a bit of humor and a change of perspective.

The Waz Waz Show

Clubbing in Lebanon never fails to impress both tourists and Lebanese people living in the country or abroad. From the streets of Gemmayze, Hamra, Monot, Jounieh, and Byblos, to the happening clubs all over Beirut. I have always loved partying and there’s nothing more I enjoy than getting all dressed up and spending the night dancing, but one concept I will never learn to love or understand is the “One Man Show” culture and all that comes with it.

Yuck.

 

I will be very immature about this in order to avenge my horrible Saturday night; as a result of spending three hours at a certain club . . . notorious for its “One Man Show” (and what a punishment that was). Let me start by saying that I merely existed for 3 hours as I stuffed my ears with rolled up tissue paper to avoid becoming deaf after the Godzilla’s lewd growling (a.k.a. the “One Man Show”) that so many people enjoy oh so much. Although all my brain cells had shut down as a self-defense mechanism, I mustered enough patience and energy to glance around me at what must have been a zoo or brothel. I could not believe what most people were wearing, I could not understand where/how they picked up their offensive dance moves, and I certainly could not understand how they were enjoying that repugnant music.

Yuck.

 

The clothes: Oh-My-God! Why? Why would a woman purposely want to look like a street prostitute? Even street prostitutes don’t like looking like street prostitutes. The men, oh the men, with their gold chains, hairy chests, and fake True Religion jeans – “1980’s pimp” style, gone bad.

The Fake: So many men and women were wearing fake clothes that my LV bag almost looked as though it was frowning. There are affordable labels everywhere, so if you can’t pay 400 USD for a pair of jeans, it’s fine; go and buy yourself a pair for 50 or 100 dollars. But no, these fakers prefer to spend that 50 USD on buying a fake pair of jeans because they care about the label more than their self-respect. Here’s a newsflash: fake jeans look fake from a mile away! Don’t think for a minute that people don’t notice – they’re probably just too polite to say anything. What about fake bags? Puh-lease! A garbage bag looks more expensive than the fake bags I see with certain girls. Point being, people that don’t wear designer labels aren’t going to know what you’re wearing – whether it’s real or fake, but people who are brand-conscious and actually own the real deal, are going to laugh at your desperate attempt to look stylish/fit in/be cool or whatever your pathetic excuse is.

To continue reading, please follow this link:

http://www.beirutnightlife.com/featured/la-wlooo-the-waz-waz-show/

I am currently writing a weekly column called "La Wlooo!!" on BeirutNightLife.com that provides a light mockery of the silly things happening around us every day.
Don't take it seriously, after all, it is simply a breath of fresh air – stating the obvious with a bit of humor and a change of perspective.