Broken-Hearted Boys

As summer is reaching its end, and goodbyes are inevitable, I realized that many couples I know are breaking up as well. Could it be seasonal bipolarity? Or a trend perhaps (let’s all get tattoos, get married, cry, break up, be gay)? Regardless of the reason, I am tired of seeing tears and hearing the following question, “WHY?!”

I know I’m not Dr. Phil or Oprah, but there are some very logical answers as to why you got dumped!
This week, it’s for the boys (and I am going to be very immature about this). I’m going to narrow it down to the three scenarios I’ve heard about the most.

Scenario Number 1: The Bollywood Indian Drama Queen
You are in a committed relationship; everything is fine (apparently). Suddenly, your sweetheart starts to act a bit emo (moodiness, blasts from the past, pathetic Hollywood movie behavior and speeches), she seems distant (comatose perhaps), she starts coming up with the silliest excuses to see you less, then boom – it’s over.

What she said: “I still love you but things seem to have changed. I am confused. I need some space. I need to discover who I really am and what I really want. I need to expand my horizons. I will always love you though. I just need some time. Blah.”
Her exit speech is the longest most pathetic thing you’ve ever heard, but you’re too hurt and shocked to process it properly.

What she meant: “I don’t love you anymore; I have feelings for someone else. I am suffocating with you. I want to go out, meet guys, go crazy, have sex, and live my life – but I want you to love me and wait for me forever like a gay loser (because I am a selfish b****).”

Your question is: “Why? Why oh why did she leave? If she still loves me, then whyyyyyy?”

Your question should be: “Why? Why oh why am I such a moron? When oh when will I become a man and move on with my life and show that b**** what she lost?”

The verdict: Instead of sulking and being supportive of her decision (like a faggot), tell her to stop yapping (because she is taking you for a fool). Tell her she lost you and your respect. Tell her to get the hell out of your face. Once you do this, you can regain some of the respect you’ve lost (because the girl is going to gossip about the break up to her friends, family, concierge, gardener, teddy bears, and toilet bowl), so at least now she can leave out the part of “Haram, he is so upset, I feel so bad for him.” Kick start your life again and forget about her.

Scenario Number 2: The Victimizing Victim
You are in a fresh relationship, and everything is going great. After a few dates, she changes completely. The sweet angel turns into Cruella de Vil; she is loud, rude, bossy, selfish, and horrifies/hates your friends. She seems to only be interested in the material aspect of the relationship, and when that is not provided, she grows distant and mysterious (or should I say, dishonest). When you complain to her that you are not her doormat, she spins the story around and blames you (or anyone or anything).

To continue reading, please follow this link:

http://www.beirutnightlife.com/lifestyle/cultural/la-wloo-broken-hearted-boys/

I am now writing a weekly column called "La Wlooo!!", which is a new section 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.

Dates From Hell Part II: The Loser, Loner, Wannabe-Ghetto Boy

As men are proudly patting each other’s backs for being players and “maniaks”, I am busy spending long hours on the phone with my girl friends, laughing and listening to their horror stories about the not so “maniak” guys. This is Dates from Hell, Part II (also based on facts).

The Loser, Loner, Wannabe-Ghetto Boy

Feeling lonelier than ever, Marsha decided to take a different approach to dating. This time, with Jimbo, a guy younger than her by 7 years, who faked having everything from an education and a job, to a social life and friends. In other words, he is the real life version of the 40-year-old virgin (except he’s much younger, much uglier, and way higher on the loser scale).

Fast forward to the end of their terrific (a.k.a. horrific) first date (possibly Jimbo’s first date ever), Marsha tells Jimbo that she’d rather not go with him to the beach the next day because she is at that time of the month.

Jimbo: “WHAT?!?! Are you insulting my intelligence?!”

Marsha: “No I am not. Just go with your friends . . .”

Jimbo interrupts her by covering his ears and,

Jimbo: “LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LAAAAA, I can’t hear youuuuu!”

Marsha blinks in awe as she holds back a chuckle.

Jimbo: “I don’t need to go with my friends, I don’t have or want any friends, I passed that stage already – you are my friend, Marsha, my best friend.”

Marsha is terrified at this point because she has finally realized the level of retardation she is dealing with.

Marsha: “Umm . . . ok, Jimbo, you’re going to drop me home now.”

Jimbo ignores her remark and drives her off to a distant remote area (possibly the ghetto where he was raised).

Jimbo: “Listen up YO, don’t you f*** with me now YO! I ain’t down with that, YO!

Marsha screams at the top of her lungs.
Jimbo finally drops her home.

Is it finally over? No.

 At a common friend’s wedding, Marsha arrives wearing a stunning dress, the venue is magical (like a Cinderella setting), and all that’s missing is the prince – that’s where Mr. Jimbo pops in. Marsha manages to drink herself into oblivion; Jimbo senses this and runs over to her to continue mentally harassing her. He introduces her to all his family as his girlfriend and future wife. At this point Marsha is brain-dead from intoxication and is susceptible to everything happening around her, including dancing with the butt monkey. Jimbo manages to steal the limelight and the first dance from the newly-weds, and halfway through the spot lit dancing, Jimbo begins to twirl Marsha. She truly enjoys this until she realizes that all the wedding guests are gawking at her butt cheeks, so she angrily asks Jimbo to put her down.

To continue reading, please follow this link:

http://www.beirutnightlife.com/news/la-wlooo-dates-from-hell-part-ii-the-loser-loner-wannabe-ghetto-boy/

 

I am now writing a weekly column called "La Wlooo!!", which is a new section 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 Peter Pan Syndrome

Ever since I started maturing into the young lady that I am (the Duchess of York), I’ve heard peasant-like talk as such, “Hurry; find a man before your train leaves the station at 28 – women age before men.” “Your market is high now. After 28, men will lose their interest in you and go for younger women.” (Yeah, younger women who are still in their mothers’ wombs)

I tend to feel like women are a piece of art; observed (for long hours), studied, critiqued, sometimes appreciated, and many times not understood. A piece of art is still an object though, and I am sure that many women out there are tired of feeling like objects, cut us some slack, please!

I would like to change the perspective a little on this matter, and discuss the “train leaving a man’s station” – post 33 (since men age so gracefully, and mature so . . . so slowly).

I have a few male friends (post-33) who are good looking, have great personalities, with proper backgrounds, fine jobs, and are still unmarried. Their lifestyles consist of hitting the bars and clubs several nights a week, engaging in one night stands, and driving fast cars (a. to boost their childish egos, and b. to pick up Ms. One-Night-Stand #623). As a result, they are almost always tired for work, they are almost never taken seriously, and they simply cannot act their age.

Face it guys, if you’re a few years away from 40, it is not sexy at all to be out getting drunk every night with 20 year old bimbos who can’t spell the word “pedophile”.

It is not cool that you’re getting your first grey hairs and are still waking up with a hangover (when that happens again, please look at your reflection in the mirror – your starting-to-wrinkle face, your puffy eyes – and apprehend how pathetic you look).

It is not cool that all your entourage is at least 7 years younger than you because all friends your age have families, careers, and lifestyles that fit their maturity level.

As if all that weren’t bad enough, most of these guys are still living with their parents. How is that even logical? And can you fathom the idea that Mr. Mid-Life will bed Ms. One-Night-Stand, while his parents listen in horror in the next room? Ooh . . . Sexy!

To continue reading, please follow this link:

http://www.beirutnightlife.com/news/la-wlooo-the-peter-pan-syndrome/

I am now writing a weekly column called "La Wlooo!!", which is a new section 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.

Summer Daze: Are You Part of the CRAZE?

 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 12^th 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

And Then Man "Evolved" Into Ape

It starts with Harry meeting Sally. Sally is not very interested at first but figures, “what the heck have I got to lose?” (Well Sally, you are in for a lovely surprise). Harry detects that he is more interested than Sally so he tries his best to woo her by calling every day, talking to her on the phone for hours, picking her up, taking her out to nice dinners, taking care of the bill, introducing her to his circle of friends, family members, doing those little sweet gestures that would melt any girl’s heart, and then blah. 

By blah, I mean everything else that follows when Harry’s mask comes off. As Lana Turner once said, “A gentleman is simply a patient wolf”. Every man will pretend to be the perfect guy until he a) gets bored, b) gets what he wants (and this could range from sex, to falling in love, to getting it up his ass), or c) gets COMFORTABLE. Once Harry secures Sally’s interest and realizes that she is just as interested as he is (or maybe more), he will start to act comfortable (and by comfortable, I mean he will transform into a complete disgusting and inconsiderate slob/pig/primate). In this blog entry, I would like to emphasize on the signs of comfort – To state a few:

Harry starts calling less: apparently now, he has more work, less time, and has to sleep earlier – he will even give Sally the “my phone bill was too high last month”. (Umm, why wasn’t this a problem before?) My advice to Harry here is, maintain the same frequency from the beginning because Sally’s ears are never pleased to hear that a phone bill is more important than calling her. Further into the relationship, Sally requires more attention from Harry, not less (you morons).

Harry tells Sally to meet him instead of going to pick her up: is petrol the issue now? Not quite. He just can’t be bothered because he is not aiming to please anymore – he knows that silly Sally will get into her car and drive all the way to see his sorry ass. What Harry doesn’t know, is that Sally now prefers driving down in her car so that she can leave whenever she starts feeling like castrating or beheading hairy Harry.

Harry starts burping and farting in front of Sally: This is a complete NO-NO!!!  Although Sally is a burper herself and enjoys it, most girls DON’T. This brings me to FARTING; I am sure no girl on the planet will tolerate that, not even silly Sally.
For example, Jockstrap eventually started releasing gas in front of me and was certain that I should be honored to bask in the ambiance of his farts because I was one of the chosen few that he could be himself around (please do NOT be yourself in this case) – no girl is looking to date a Homer Simpson.
Sadly enough, Harry does think that Sally should be flattered when he does this because it means he is comfortable (Congratulations Sally, Harry is now a pig). Ok Harry, this may come as a shock to you, but horrible odors have never been and will never be flattering to Sally’s ego, you idiot. The boys may find this charming, but Sally is a girl – if you are aiming to charm men, please switch to dating them instead and make the world a better place.

Harry prefers staying in with Sally: Instead of taking Sally out to dinner and a movie, Harry prefers staying in to scratch his balls and ass, order food, and watch some boring as frick DVD. His way of saying it would be, “I feel like cuddling up on the couch with you tonight – no people around, just you and I” - Remember that anything with a penis cannot be this honest or gay. Sally personally loves staying in and renting a DVD and ordering food, but unfortunately, this scenario has only gone in one direction for Sally: Harry falls asleep, snoring, while watching the movie as Sally plays Sudoku, wishing that she were at the beach with someone that looks like Gerard Butler.
Harry complains about how Sally stopped fixing herself up for him when they reached a certain level of comfort. Well, Sally doesn’t exactly enjoy walking around in 7 inch heels all the time, wearing mascara, blush, and tight clothes – if Harry wants Sally to dress up, he should make sure there is an occasion that makes it worthwhile!

Harry’s actions don’t support his words: Harry probably watches too many movies so he learns a lot of lines and thus, says the sweetest words - yet he does the stupidest, most awful things (how comfortable/lazy has Harry become?). It’s very simple: Sally should never listen to a single word Harry says, she should pay attention to what he does instead. Men used to wage wars, invade countries, and cross oceans to win a woman’s heart – all we’re left with now are Pansies who think that a bouquet of roses and three cheesy words “I love you” would suffice (excuse me while I vomit).

Harry becomes the king of pathetic excuses: for every stupid thing he does, there’s an even stupider excuse for why he did it. Mind you, Harry is either genuinely stupid, or he is faking his stupidity because he believes that in fact, Sally is.
For example, I once called Couscous and he didn’t call back until half a day later. At that point I had semi-lost my mind and was sure that he was cheating. His excuse was, “if I called my mother and she didn’t pick up, I wouldn’t think she’s cheating, would I? Would I?!” (SERIOUSLY?!?!)

Okay now boys, there is one thing you must understand: if you want your woman to continue being a lady around you (and not become your mother) you must not turn into a child, and you must NEVER compare her to your mother. No woman enjoys babysitting and NO woman enjoys mama’s boys or Man-ginas (a man with a vagina).

After Harry has transformed into the infant that is himself, there’s no turning back unless he realizes that Sally has lost all her love and respect for him. Sally has unfortunately come to realize at this point of her life that the minute she starts respecting a man, he stops respecting her – and the moment she truly starts to love him, he will stop loving her.

T.I.I.R.D. and I decided to take things slow. According to me (and anyone with a brain), that involves taking baby steps in every aspect: whether it’s emotional or physical. After a couple of months of “dating” T.I.I.R.D., the phone calls kept decreasing, and whenever he called he would say the cheesiest, corniest, most sexual things (this is a very big Turn-off boys!) and I realized that he wanted to take everything slow except the physical part. (Here’s a word of advice boys, stimulate a girl’s mind before you start groping her with your crazy hands!). Naturally, I was so appalled and so I decided to have a little discussion with him to inform him that I’ll be staying away from his crazy hands from now on. His rebuttal was, “we are not on the same level and I cannot be one-dimensional”. If there are any retards that can translate that for me, I’d be very grateful because no guy is allowed to say something that stupid. After hearing that, I felt like I was 13 again in the play ground while my boyfriend’s best friend is trying to break up with me on his behalf. Mind you, T.I.I.R.D. is a genuinely good guy – so imagine my shock and disappointment. (What is this world coming to?!)

When I was younger, my relationships were a lot more successful than they are now simply because I didn’t care and had no respect for any guy I know. At some point, I decided that it’s disrespectful to treat men like dirt, so I started respecting the man I’m with and focused on giving and not only receiving. That backfired because I forgot one major fact: men love to suffer –they love bitches, whether they want to admit it or not. I have always made fun of the younger generation of girls that I know, but as King Kong once told me, these are the girls that are doing it right - they are beautiful, selfish, materialistic, superficial, and ungrateful. The biggest proof I have is that all the good girls I know are single and all the bitches are either in relationships, engaged, or married.
Whatever happened to being a lady and getting a gentleman versus being a bitch and getting an asshole?  . . . . (?!?!?!?!)
So, why do men love bitches? Simply because they’re dogs (or wish they were).

“As long as you know men are like children, you know everything!” Coco Chanel