extraordinary dreams

This is a hard one to write. I told myself that in this post, I would open up more about myself than quote the Rats or use my friends' life dilemmas to make a few people laugh. It's the last post of the decade, and I want to end on something more personal.
Ten years ago like now, I was in Jordan with my entire family, welcoming the new decade in the Wadi Rum desert, near a bonfire and under a sky full of shooting stars. There was so much love and laughter that day that I thought we were going to have a really wonderful year, or ten. And let's just say it wasn't quite what I expected. Three divorces, five cancers, four deaths.
Now before came the doomed decade, I was the unstoppable kind: I thought of myself as the best writer at age 13, and wrote a book to prove it. I thought I was going to be one of the greatest actors of our times, and had started acting in plays, always as a leading character of course. There was nothing humble about me or my dreams, and I believed in them more than anything. I miss that about me. Because once reality started crashing in, I stopped dreaming. I was sixteen but thought of myself as an adult. I thought "now that I understand life (imagine the audacity) I have to prepare myself. No more silly dreams about winning oscars and making the best-seller lists. Let's go to AUB, do some practical degree about something I couldn't care less about, and lower our expectations." Wow. Really amazing philosophy of life I got there.
And every so often, I would wake up in the middle of night in cold sweats, terrified that all I was doing with my life was what everyone else was doing, and that all I was ever going to be is what everyone else was going to be. I was going to be ordinary. And that was the single thing I never  ever wanted to be.
But I was too scared of being disappointed. There are things I couldn't control, like the fact that my mother died before she saw any of her kids grow up. So in what I could control, I would make sure there would be no disappointment factor. I let all of my dreams go.
The truth is, I made a huge mistake. I thought I could manage my disappointments by lowering my expectations and that turned out to be the biggest disappointment of all. And it wasn't the lesson I was supposed to learn. Here's what I know now: Life is short. And it can take months of fighting a disease or a split second to take you away, and no one knows when.
In the last decade, I lost my faith in God and I said a prayer at the Vatican; I broke a heart, and I dated a guy who turned out to be gay; I lived in my very own apartment in New York City and somehow I'm right back where I started: sharing a bedroom with my younger sister and fighting with her about wearing my new shoes.
Now comes the next decade... And there won't be any shooting stars to make a wish to, but I want to dream again. And I don't know yet what those dreams are going to be, but the possibility of doing something extraordinary is enough.

letting go

"There are things that we don't want to happen but have to accept, things we don't want to know but have to learn, and people we can't live without but have to let go" (Author Unknown)

It's the last week of the year and it's a good time for change. This weekend, a lot of my friends had a down moment, inevitably linked to the emotions of the holidays, and there was a bit of loneliness to deal with. One waited for a Merry Xmas message that never came --even though she had no idea she was expecting it until she was actually expecting it. The other ran back to her ex after eight months of separation even though she truly knows she never wants to be with him again --Xmas made her doubt. A third found out her ex got engaged and even though it's been years since she's even seen him, she couldn't help but cry her eyes out all day. And I'll admit I cried more than a couple of times for a lot less reason than her over the last two days, including once for crashing my car (slightly) and at least three times because of my friend the Masochist.
And now it's over. It's Monday morning, and the resolutions are falling into place as we put the year, and the decade, in perspective. And before comes 2011, I think we better let go.
I don't know about the boys, but us girls, when it comes to stirring up the past and dragging it on forever, we're absolute professionals. We look back and reminisce and keep reliving moments that are gone, feeding a memory that has no more place in our lives and has nothing to do with the present. And we forget to live in the moment.
But we should have more confidence than that. Just because we lost something or someone, doesn't mean we are doomed to a life of loneliness. And just because we don't have a man in our lives, doesn't mean our lives are incomplete. Sometimes I feel like we live in a society where everything we talk about and all we live for is men, women, relationships, flings, one night stands, breakups, divorces, engagements, and the whole nine yards. I'm not one to talk, I write a blog about it, and I'm always surprised at how many topics I still haven't tackled. But it's too much. Everything all day long is about this one and only obsession. Ninety percent of conversations at all times have something to do with men and women dynamics. A friend told me a couple of weeks ago "women aren't my priority." And I thought, my God, how refreshing. I had never heard that before.
I guess loneliness is what we make it out to be. We can choose to feel like we are lonely --or look around and realize that we are lucky to be so fully surrounded. And most importantly, we should learn how to be one hundred percent good with ourselves first and foremost. That's my number one resolution.

xmas blues

The city is filled with lights and bumper to bumper traffic, holiday tunes are all over the radio, last minute gifts are being packed. And for some inexplicable reason, I'm getting the blues.
Not to be a grinch --but that wonderful joy that came with being a kid and waiting for Santa to come around on Christmas eve to distribute gifts and hear us sing "petit papa noel," it's gone now.
When we were children, Christmas was all about the presents. How many will be under the tree, did the letter to Santa arrive, am I getting everything I asked for?
Then as we get older, well, it's still about the presents. But it also becomes about family. You start to appreciate being around the people you love,  and although Christmas is just an excuse to get together, it has this sort of magical power that helps people mend tensions and brings everyone together. The airport is filled with people trying to get to their families after days of backed up flights and snowstorms, because everyone wants to get home before the turkey is out of the oven.
And as the years go by, it becomes about the people you miss. The faces that aren't around the table anymore, only around us, in picture frames. And although we miss them every day, somehow, on a day like Christmas, we miss them more.
And that's for the lucky ones. Others live through Christmas like they do on any other given day, in misery, without any food, in a refugee camp, or in a hospital. There are no presents and no families. No trees, no lights, no holiday tunes.
So here's a thought: for Christmas, say a prayer. For those we miss, and for those who miss out on everything.

In perspective

I'm going to allow myself to go off topic this once.
Today I don't feel like making some witty remark about how the Rats have an excel sheet comparing their penis size to their height in percentages (I saw it with my own two eyes), or how women all over the country are preparing for the arrival of a fresh shipment of males. Although it would be fun to tackle, today I want to put things in perspective.
Last night, my 16-year-old cousin arrived from Chicago. She has been there for the last ten weeks, in a rehabilitation center, working on regaining every function in her body. Three months ago she fell off her horse, broke a cervical vertebrae, and lost everything we take for granted every day, like the ability to move her fingers, her arms, sit up, stand up, move her toes, walk a step.
Now she can already stand up on her own, take steps with a walker, and regained almost all of her arms and hands' functions. And in a couple of months we all know she will be on her feet again, dancing away. It's a miracle. But what is even more of a miracle, is to look at this young girl's face and see her smile. From day one, stuck in intensive care with a tube down her throat for days, this little Princess gave us the most beautiful smile in the world. It's so full of positive energy, that you can feel her magical spirit all around, and it's contagious. There is no doubt in my mind that her attitude is what helped her defy the odds of spinal cord injury and fight for her right to stand up and walk again.
When I saw her yesterday after her 24 hours of flying, she looked more beautiful then ever. I thought of all the stupid, silly things I complain about every day, and I put them in perspective. Here I was standing in front of my 16-year-old cousin sitting in a wheel-chair, exhausted, but still looking happier than I've ever felt. Made me feel so small.
Some people say you have to stop and look around you from time to time, because there are always things happening, or people in your life teaching you things without you even realizing it. Yesterday I learnt that even though life can take away every function in your body, it can't take away your spirit.
And don't think it stops here. Even though she's been in Chicago working her ass off for the last two months, this cheeky little girl is back with dates lined up with two different guys.
We've got a lot to learn.

Casanovas, Batmans and Assholes

When I wrote about my first love at the beginning of the week, two of my friends wrote some 30 emails back and forth complaining about the fact that I don't write about them. They even came to the conclusion that they should create their own blog, but ended up fighting on who gets to be the main character. One wants to be Casanova, self described as the "great lover from the land of Arabia." The other wants to be Batman, a "successful, generous man, a sexual machine, and a great lover." And now they might both kill me.
The reason I bring it up, is because I was thinking of the kind of men women want. We've already established that in most cases, men love bitches. But I don't think there is an equivalent generality that applies for women. Women are so emotionally unstable (let's face it...) that we can like one type of guy one day and his exact opposite the next. Yesterday a guy told me "what is it about women and assholes?" For a minute I thought "yeah, what is it about women and assholes...?" but then I realized: actually, it's women and every type of man imaginable. You'll always find a girl who digs some type of a guy.
Let's start with Casanova, for example. Some women love his player type, the guy who hits on all the ladies --but makes them feel like they're different from the others, more special. The man can sweet talk his way into any girl's heart and make her think she is so much better than all the other hundreds of girls he's hit on before. And that lasts for about a night, until she wakes up the next morning and realizes she's just another number on the list.
Then there's the Batman kind. Looks good in formal clothes, makes a lot of money, spoils a girl rotten. He makes her feel protected --he is Batman after all. Or so he thinks. But it's all about what seems to be with this guy, not what actually is.
Some women like the jealous, possessive type. they complain about it all the time, but secretly adore the fact that their man is so in love with them that he goes insane if she even talks to another guy. Other women fall for the lost artist... the one who acts like no one really understands him, writes a poem that no one is allowed to read, or spends days locked up in a room to find inspiration... The girl's instinct is to become his muse, inspire the artist so he can never let her go.
There's also the i'm-not-over-my-childhood-trauma one, who hooks the girl when he finally "opens up" because she thinks he's never opened up like that to anyone before and that must mean she's special and now she's the only one in the world who can save him...
Even the nerdy one can get attention, if he has that slightly awkward I've never been with a girl but also the I'm too hot to be a nerd thing going for him. There will always be a girl who will want to unleash the sexy beast hiding in his nerdy shell.
And then there's the asshole. The one who acts all tough --but girls somehow manage to see his "sensitive side." And she feels special because she knows about that sensitive side that no one else can see. And she takes his assholic B.S. because when, once in a blue moon, when he decides to be nice, it feels so special she forgets all about everything else.
Basically, it's about what type of man will make a girl feel like she is special. Like she is different. Like he needs her. Types that take us girls to a different dimension, where we see ourselves as unique, and we can imagine the princess and castle happy ending we were always promised as little girls.
So I don't think the question is "what is about women and assholes?"
I think it's just "what is it about women?"

measured love

I remember my first love.

I was eight, he was nine. We didn't need to talk, communicate, or even pretend like we knew each other to be in love. At that time, you could just pick. Point to a boy in class and decide you were in love with him. And when I was eight, I picked out the boy I would decide to love for the next couple of years. He once sent me a Pepsi Can with a messenger during recess, who told me it was a "gift from someone." I only found out it was from him because his mom told my mom that her son bought me something at school. And I once made him a Valentine's card with paper glue and heart-shaped pasta. It was that cute. But from age 8 to age 11, we never actually spoke to each other. After that it was a little more okay to say hello when passing each other. Then we started having boy/girl parties and it was okay to expect the boy to ask you to dance... and maybe it would be a normal dance where you kind of move from side to side in front of each other, and maybe it would be a slow dance... and maybe the arms would be left at arms length, and maybe we would do the unthinkable and actually slow dance with our arms wrapped around each other. That was how we measured love. 

My first love ended up being my first slow dance, my first kiss, my first boyfriend --and my first heartbreaker. It's okay, I have forgiven him since then.

But after the simple times of no communication and arms-length slow dancing, things started to get a little more complicated. Boys and girls started "going out." The boy would ask the girl, "will you go out with me?" and it was decided that they would be a couple. You could've never spoken to the boy before in your life, but he could still ask you out and if you said yes the minute after you were considered his girlfriend. Maybe not very romantic, but actually very practical: the terms were very clear from start to finish, there was no grey area. Will you go out with me? Yes. I'm breaking up with you. Okay. All black and white, no confusion. Simpler times.

And now... Well, now we're at point where you can kiss someone without knowing their first name, have sex with someone you met twenty minutes ago, kiss and have sex on a regular basis without actually being a couple, or be a couple without actually kissing or having sex.

Kind of makes the "will you go out with me?" seem a lot more romantic. 

Some couples are married, live in the same house, have children together --but sleep in different rooms, only greet each other out of politeness, and become virtual strangers. There are no more Pepsi cans being delivered, or heart-shaped pasta carefully glued. Slow dancing is replaced by heat dancing, with bodies being rubbed against each other most likely under the influence of Vodka. People spend so much time trying to pick out someone who they are attracted to physically, intellectually, emotionally... and nine out of ten times, they get it wrong. 

The chances were better when we were eight and picked at random. Because my first love turned out to be one of the greatest men I know, one of my closest friends, and quite a catch. 

to know or not to know?

I had a debate with a couple of Rats yesterday which I thought I'd share here. I'll pass on how many times I begged for the conversation to change from "does masturbating before sleeping wake you up or help you sleep" and dive right into the slightly more interesting part.
The issue was whether or not we would rather know if our ex is seen with someone else, has someone else in their life, etc... It's actually an interesting question because I've seen many different schools of thought on the topic. Now my friend the Masochist immediately said he wants to know everything, all the grim little details, and he wants to hurt as much as he is supposed to. Why? Because he believes you can't get over someone unless you hit rock bottom. He would rather get rid of every possible bad feeling, so that there are no more surprises later on. I thought he had a point --if you like to make yourself suffer, which obviously, as his name indicates, he does.
Some think that finding out your ex is with someone else will make them realize whether or not they want them back. I had a friend who broke up with his girlfriend, was moving on and living his life just fine, until one day he found out that she's dating some dude. He went crazy. He literarily couldn't stop thinking about her anymore, decided he was ready to do anything to get her back, felt like he was willing to sacrifice all the things he never even thought of before. And it lasted about a month, until she was willing to give it another go and he suddenly didn't want to anymore --again. What happened? He didn't realize that the whole can't-sleep-can't-eat process he went through was just an ego-bruise. And this tends to happen when you're the one who leaves your partner, believing they love you more than anything, and turn around to see them moving on with someone else. It's not your heart that hurts at that moment --it's that arrogant ego of ours that just cannot believe she could move on from the Extraordinary Moi. But in the heat of the moment, it's confusing, it makes us act irrational, and usually makes us do something we end up regretting --like hurting the other person again and again.
Now I'm from the school of thought that says "what you don't know can't hurt you." It may seem weak and cowardly, but honestly, I don't want to be hurt --so I don't want to know. Caporal said he agreed with me, but we usually end up knowing sooner or later, so we might as well take the hit. I disagree. I would rather know later, when I'm a lot more emotionally stable to handle it. Some of us think we can avoid getting hurt by never dealing with it. Others believe taking the blow and feeling the pain will make it go once and for all. I guess it all depends on who we are.

being your own, great self

After my last post, a lot of people asked me if I was going to stop writing the blog. It wasn't my intention to have you think that I don't want to write anymore until I "live something to write about." I was just trying to make a point that we're young, we don't know it all, and it's important to try new things, make mistakes, get up and try again.
Now that being said, I need to live up to my own expectations. Challenge myself to get up and try again, even if I'm scared. There is no hard and fast rule that will guarantee the path to happiness. And when it comes to relationships, as much as we may want to try to figure out the rules of the game, at the end of the day, it's a different game every time. You just have to play and learn as you go. But I think it's important to play your cards right, and not gamble your heart away. My friend told me something pretty wise a couple of days ago: "Two people can't be happy together if they're not happy with themselves first." Being with someone isn't about complying with their lives, their friends, their hobbies, their lifestyles. Every one of us needs to find their own path, and hold on to things that make us who we are. They say "opposites attract." I guess it's because two people who are completely different can find balance in how they complete each other.
Women tend to bend over backwards for the man they're with. They forget their own lives and dreams and hobbies, put them on hold like they don't matter, and start living a life that is not their own. And they do it even though it doesn't make them happy, because they think they want to make a relationship work no matter what.
In my last relationship, I lost myself. I forgot who I was and where I was going, I couldn't remember my goals, I didn't know what made me happy anymore. It's hard to admit, but it's only once I came out of it that I was able to realize how much of myself I lost. And I swore I would never let it happen again. If we lose ourselves along the way, then we're just living an illusion.
It's important to take a step back and realize how much we can be on our own. Not everything has to be an "us." A man cannot be the focus of our lives. We must be the focus of our own lives, and that's the only way it can truly work.
A friend of mine had a very hard relationship to get over. She tried to make it work, but in the end, she realized that what she needed would completely change the other person --and doesn't that defy the point? If you want the person you're with to change, or if you change for the person you're with, then you're only postponing the inevitable. The truth is, it's okay to disagree. It's okay to enjoy different things, and it's okay to do those things on your own. It's actually better, more interesting, and more realistic. Being a couple doesn't mean you have to become one and the same person. So I guess what I'm trying to say is, first learn to be yourself...  because only then can you be yourself with someone else.

stand up, and live

"How vain it is to sit down and write, when you have not stood up to live." Henry David Thoreau

Someone quoted this to me yesterday, and it made me pause.
Maybe it is vain of me to sit down twice a week and pretend like I can figure all this out, when I've barely lived a quarter of my life. When I started this blog, I wanted to give myself motivation to write. I always wanted to be a writer, but I can never seem to get passed page one. When I was younger, I could do it, easily... I wrote an entire novel when by the time I was 13, about a teenager with cancer. What did I know about cancer? Absolutely nothing. But I guess I was vain enough to write about it. And then I spent the next 10 years learning about it. When I re-read what I wrote, after actually getting to know cancer first hand, I realized how naive, innocent, unrealistic my writing was.
This is probably going to happen again ten years from now, when I re-read my blog posts. Although I am trying to stick to topics I have been through, tested, seen happen around me, it still feels like I haven't lived through enough to preach.
At this age, in this society, we've barely scrapped the surface of what pain is, and yet we already try to barricade ourselves. It's like when you first learn that putting your finger on fire will burn. You try not to do it again. So we try to protect our hearts, pretend like we can control our lives, hoping we'll keep the hurt away. But then we just end up over-thinking everything, letting fear consume us.
So what if we make mistakes along the way? That's how we'll end up learning. So what if we get hurt, scream, feel lonely, get depressed, break-up, cheat, get cheated on, hurt someone, get divorced, cry ourselves to sleep... that's all part of living, right? That's how you know you stood up to live --not hiding behind your words, letting others do the living, and living vicariously through them. If we never cry, we'd never laugh.

I want to be writer --but first, I need to live something to write about.

lover boy

I've been quite harsh on the boys lately. So I'm letting out my softer side. I'll admit, they are not all boobs and asses, not all the time anyway... And all of them, at one time or another, have been lover boys. That's the term I'm using to describe men when they let out the romantic in them. Actually that's the term they use, and I'm just borrowing it.
The Rats, however crude I've made them out to be, all have a lover boy side. They are often in total denial about it, but it's there. Winter is around the corner, and they all wish they had someone to curl up next to and watch DVDs on a rainy Sunday afternoon. And others are more forthcoming. They're not just lover boys, they're in love, and they like to show it. Have you noticed how some men become when they're in love? It doesn't matter anymore if their friends are all single and hopping around, they feel like the lucky ones. Because the feeling of being in love beats the one night stand every time. And when they're in love, they will do things for you, crazy things, big things, like flying 30,000 miles and showing up at your doorstep, in Paris, just because they missed you.
I watched a movie yesterday called "The Next Three Days." Russell Crowe will do anything to get his wife out of jail, including kill, risk life in prison, risk his life... OK, it's a movie, it doesn't happen in real life, blablabla. But in theory, we all would like to have a guy who would be willing --who feels strongly enough about us that he would at least consider doing these things for us. And why not? I see women everyday who go to great lengths for their men. They sacrifice careers and childhood dreams, move countries, change names, live in poverty. And in theory, these women would give their lives for the man they love. So it's only fair that we find someone who is willing to do the same. Who loves us, not just enough, but undeniably more than anything else.
I've seen it happen, so it exists. My parents were like that. My dad moved heaven and earth when my mother got sick, and when she died, he never let go. Ten years later, he still wears his wedding ring, and hers on a chain around his neck.
There's a lover boy in every man. And when you find the right one for you, the lover boy awakes.

What women want

Thanksgiving is not a Lebanese holiday by any means, but it's a good reason to get together and eat some delicious food. And it's a good excuse to remember the things we are thankful for. So on the last Thursday of November, there we were, Rats and Mice gathered. And needless to tell you, all the rats were thankful for two things: boobs in general, and their own cocks. I use the word crudely because that is the way it was used.
I was practically the only one with a cheesy i-am-thankful-for-my-friends line.
I spend all this time writing blogs about the dynamics between men and women in the 21st century, I have hours-long conversations with both girls and rats to figure out the secrets to a good relationship, I read some 14 books with titles like "make any man want you" or "men come from mars" or "sex is key" and all the while, I keep missing the point: if men seem like simple beings, with simple thoughts, and simple needs, it's because they are. And on any given day, the first thing that comes to their minds are boobs --and their own pair of jewels.
If the world was created by a man, it would be filled with women with massive racks and no brains to counteract. If the world was created by a woman, which I suspect it was, then boobs would be the distraction tool females use to manipulate their men --which I suspect they do. Maybe this was the answer I was looking for all along. After all, I did say last week that we need to be in sync with a man's head, heart, and balls. I guess I didn't immediately realize that the one tool that can make that happen was right in front of me all along.
But then again, no. As a woman I can't possibly accept that a decollete is my only instrument. And the fact is, it shouldn't always be about women trying to figure out what men want. What about what women want? What about the fact that even though men love bitches, and men love boobs, and men think with their balls, we women have needs that go unanswered. I wonder if men sit around and try to figure out what pleases a woman (a part from comparing the size of their penis). Men think flowers and jewelry (whether in diamond form or family jewels) are the answer to everything. They buy you a gift and suddenly everything should be forgotten and forgiven. Don't get me wrong, I love a good gift, but it doesn't mean anything to me.
So men, please, dig a little deeper. And try to show a woman you love her for more than just her boobs.

a bazaar of pleasures

We spend so much time analyzing our feelings, decrypting situations and over-thinking everything, that we tend to forget that many of life's pleasures have absolutely nothing to do with having a partner. While it's true that there will rarely be a top three pleasure list that doesn't involve the words "love" or "sex"  , the list has all kinds of other wonderful experiences that are sometimes better than love --and sex.

So when you've got the blues, when you feel like nothing has any taste, color or scent anymore, I suggest you pack-up your bags, grab a friend or two, and fly out somewhere to rediscover the immensity of pleasures the world has to offer.

Over the weekend, I discovered the pleasures of Istanbul. I have to admit that before hopping on that plane last week, I was feeling down, blue, and overly anxious [especially about the part where I had to be on a plane...] but it was nothing 2mg of Lexotanil couldn't fix. After that, it was me piling up the pleasures one by one. Food, for one, is way up on my list of life's best pleasures, and in Istanbul, it did not disappoint! And it was nicely paired up with a lot, a lot, a lot of wine [which I never thought of as a "pleasure" but it turns out drinking alcohol really is]. Laughing with friends in a Turkish "Taksi" where he doesn't understand you and you don't understand him, where they drive even more crazily than in Beirut, and where even getting ripped off $200 ends up being a funny story.

Walking around in the Grand Bazaar, the colors of the Turkish Souk put rainbows in your eyes, and the scent of the Spice Market just make you feel like every sense you have is fully awaken. I felt alive for the first time in months, and the feeling didn't involve anyone but me.

The grand finale was an amazing massage that I wish could've lasted forever --because, I have to say, it felt better than sex. So after six days of pleasure dipping, I can safely say that happiness is there if you just look for it, and you just shouldn't always look for it in another person. Just let yourself rediscover that life is good.

"ma tete, mon coeur, et mes couilles"

Boys and girls alike were in agreement with the theory of my last blog post: know with your head, and with your heart.
But there was an interesting point made by one of my Rat friends, The Tenor, who reminded me that for men, there is one more element to consider: the penis. Actually, to be completely accurate, he said "the dick is always the winner, because if there was no dick, there would be no motivation." Now let's agree that there are exceptions to this rule... but consider the ramifications. While women have to maintain balance between their head and their heart, men have debates between their head, heart, and balls.
Actually, a French Artist known as "Grand Corps Malade" has a song called "ma tete, mon coeur et mes couilles (my head, my heart and my balls)" about this very phenomenon.
So I though I'd take a closer look. It seems to me, that unlike women, men find that it is easiest to control their hearts. Their heads and their balls however, now that's another story.
I for one, am already in over my head trying to rationalize my emotions. But men have compartments for their feelings. They can put things in boxes and label them, only opening them when they choose to. The rest of the time, they use their heads, they rationalize, and they can deal with pretty much anything that way. But when their balls get in the way... then neither their heads nor their hearts make a difference --unless they have tremendous willpower. I guess this is why men say they can cheat on you and still love you: their penis and their hearts don't have to be in agreement.
So I guess in order to be in complete sync with a man, you have to be in sync with his head, his heart, and most importantly, his balls. Piece of cake.

know with your heart, and with your head

When I started this blog, I went from the idea that by talking about things, we might be able to figure out how to make relationships work in the 21st century. If our parents are the divorce generation, what does that make us? More likely, or less likely, to follow in their foot-steps?

On the one hand, there seems to be more precaution. Couples talk through things before they take a big leap. They discuss stuff that could only matter if they end up getting hitched, so that they know if they're compatible on the long-run. With so many of us who watched their parents get ugly divorces, seen fathers cheat on mothers, or mothers abandoning the nest, it's only normal that our defenses awaken. Take my friend Ballerina, for example. She was dating a guy with who she got along great, but they had very different views for what their children's education and life would be like, and that led them to break up. Now life views can be formed by a number of things --education, nationalities, families, personality. My parents for example are from two different religions, but they shared the same principles --so it was never a problem. It just so happens that, for Ballerina, her guy was so particular about his life-principles, that she realized she would be unhappy on the long run. Even though it wasn't a problem while they were dating. So they could've stayed happy, gotten married, and let shit hit the fan... but they didn't. They took precautions.

Then again, I also have two of my closest friends, a boy and a girl, both 26, and each already with a divorce on their resume. They rushed into it, yes, but are they the exception, or the rule?
One big relationship question-mark, which we all would love to take precautions on, is cheating. Men (and many women, too) now try to get as much sex as they can, with as many different partners as they can, in a bid to be "satisfied" or, more accurately, "sheb3anine," before they get married. I wonder if that really works. Is getting a lot of it before committing less likely to make you want to cheat? Or the fact that you've enjoyed it so much make you want to do it more? 
I know a couple who were together since high school. They loved each other madly, everyone could tell they were the perfect match --soulmates if there is such a thing. After six years together, she decided to break-up and let him experience other women, because if he didn't, she was afraid this need would come up at a later stage, after they got married or had kids. And so he went, experienced, came back to her after a year, and they are now happily married.

Last week, a thirty-something woman with three kids under five told me the secret to happy marriage is to have your head and your heart in sync. "When I fell in love for the first time, I was 21," she said. "My head told me he was the perfect guy for me. Our parents loved each other, he was from a good family, and we got along great. But my heart told me it was too soon." The second time she fell in love, her heart told her it was the most amazing, most passionate relationship... but her head told her she could never really be with this guy on the long run. "The third time was the charm. I knew with my heart and my head that he was the one."
You might argue, she's still young... and hasn't reached the ten-year marriage bang just yet. But I hope she's right. For all our sake's.

screw the odds

The Lebanese dating scene has become quiet the bordello since I've been single around here. Two-years and a half in a relationship, and before that, two years and a half in New York, and before that, two years in another relationship, so basically, I haven't really seen what's out there in my own two eyes in over seven years. Enough time for a new generation (those who used to be 12 and are now 19) to flood the bars of Gemmayzeh with their perfect bodies, fashion victim wardrobes and out-of-a-commercial looking hair. But the real shocker is how unbelievably easy all these girls have become. There are no more taboos and nothing is too much or too fast. Girls will be in a guy's bed by the night's end. And men know this now. The whole seduction game is mostly out of the window, and guys decide what they're in mood to order: "Tonight, I don't feel like working too hard, I just need to empty my balls" [I guarantee you, I've heard this before, but I will not attribute the quote]. So they find an easy looking twenty-year-old who giggles at everything they say, and they know they're all set. Sometimes though, they order the more complicated, and ultimately more satisfying fuck. A girl who seems easy but at the end of the night walks out with a cheeky look on her face, making him wait another couple of nights. All the while bringing the Lebanese guy's ego through the roof. My friend Lord-of-the-Rings said the other day "There are no women we can't have... Just women who take longer to get."
Wow. And here I thought we women had the power to mystify men and make them run in circles around us.
I wonder what happened to make women so available, and take everything out of the seduction ritual --which is actually the best part of any relationship. Maybe it's the fact that there are five women to one man in Lebanon, and go figure how many of them are normal, aren't taken, or gay. At some point, all single girls and all single guys have all slept with one another by some kind of transitivity equation. And then comes the Xmas season, and a new shipment of fresh flesh and blood is delivered --and you better hurry, because you've only got about two weeks to go through the merchandise. The pool of choice is getting so small, that my friend Drunk Rat who comes to visit from Dubai every couple of weeks, found himself watching two girls making-out on a Sunday at 10pm. Again, odds are in the men's favor --they obviously love it.
But screw the odds. The amount of girls remaining that are good-for-keeps can be counted on my ten fingers, and the odds to that are probably one to a million.

for love of the game

There is a wonderful feeling that takes over the human mind and releases a flood of excitement, a sense of thrill, and pumps adrenaline.
For some, the thrill is to climb the highest peak in the world. It's the game of choice of one of own national heroes. It's dangerous, it's tiring, it demands years of training, you might see dead bodies along the way... but once you reach that peak, I'm sure there is nothing like it. Which is why climbers consciously leave their families, loved ones, friends, all the while knowing the dangers they face --for love of the thrill.
Others love speed car-racing; wrestling; skiing; sky-diving... the list is as long as the dictionary for extreme-sports. Then come in the less extreme games, which still carry a great surge of thrill. Sports are an amazing way to channel this rush of adrenaline that one becomes addicted to. And more often than not, men are more likely to be the addicts. It's in their "hunter" nature. Remember hunters and gatherers? Yes, exactly. While some women are hunters, and some men are gatherers, most are not.
Those who are not lucky enough to be Michael Schumacher or Maxime Chaaya, many a times live vicariously through them --but obviously miss out on 90% of the thrill. Still, it's why so many of our men are sports addicted fans and nothing will take them away from the game.
But these men need to fill the other 90% of their adrenaline needs. Even those who are Tiger Woods and Wayne Rooney, no matter how much thrill they get out of the game, at some point, it's going to be lower than what they were used to, and they will need to fill the gap. And that gap usually comes in the form of sexual libido. 
For most men and women, the ultimate game is sexual. It's the pursuit of ego boosters, a reinforcement of self-confidence, the need to feel like we are still young, still alive, still capable of creating that powerful and amazing rush of feelings.
Men get turned on by the chase, the hunt. They want to pursue, fail, and try again, and even if they don't succeed, they still get the thrill. For women, we get turned on by the pursuit, the attention, the feeling that we have them just where we want them. It's perfect. It's complementary. It's probably why we were created that way. Hunters and gatherers. Each player enjoys a different part of the game. And like in any game, you can't win them all.

quarter-life crisis

Somewhere in our twenties, we get stuck in this seemingly perpetual transitional phase that makes you want to change everything you know.
When we're fresh off high school, we have one goal: to be free. We crave the university experience, moving to a new country, living alone, getting our driver's license, becoming an adult in the eyes of the law. It's a rush of adrenaline combined with the complete confusion of "what the hell am I going to do with my life?" but it doesn't really matter because we're young and free and everything is going to work out.
When we finish our first degree, we are looking forward to a new kind of experience: paid work. We're excited to get into the realm of the job we always dreamed of, and whatever it is, we think the experience is going to be great. For the first time in our lives, we are making our own money, feeling independent, and really experiencing what it's like to work.
Great. Until we wake up one morning, realize we're 24, 25 or 26, and everything comes crashing down. We're still stuck with the job that was supposed to be our first, and lead on to more exciting prospects. For the most part, we are not who we thought we'd be at this stage of our lives. Remember in high school when we talked about our 10 year reunion, and thought we'd all be super successful or married with babies, or something... Well, my ten year reunion is coming up, and to tell you the truth, me and my high-school friends --we're still almost exactly the same. We still hang out with the same people, laugh at the same jokes, and maybe just handle our alcohol a little better.
I woke up at 25 and thought: really? is this who I'm going to be for the rest of my life? Where did my dreams go? You're suddenly hit with the frightening reality of life: we don't all turn out to be millionaires at 25 (who knew???) and we don't all have our dream job, prince charming on one arm and a Luis-Vuitton bag on the other [not that this was my dream]. Actually, my dream was to become a Hollywood actress, and be the first Lebanese girl to walk the red carpet and win, not one, but two Oscars. When I was 14, no one and nothing could take my focus away. I was going to be one of the best actresses that ever lived, and I was going to show everyone that I could do it. Needless to say, I am not spending my Saturday nights at a pool party with Jennifer Aniston.
So now what? I'm 25 and terrified that this is it, that my life will pretty much be this way from now until the day I die.  A lot of us quit our jobs; one of my best friends just immigrated to Montreal; others decided to go for their MBA and left for other countries. Here we are, still looking for change, for an experience that will enthrall us, pull us up and down and sideways until we're dizzy with excitement. We're still  too young to be stuck in a routine, in a dead-end job, in a boring life.
And it's the same with love. We wake up one morning and think "is this it?" and we're terrified because it's not what we thought it would be. Relationships are hard, and they take work, and they're unfortunately not so exciting everyday. Reality is disappointing, and we don't want to settle for less then our dreams.
And so we make change happen. We quit, we move, we break-up, we take a chance. We'll do anything to make sure we don't end up like our parents, that we live exciting lives, and that we pave the way to great experiences, until we finally let go for a while... and wait for a mid-life crisis.

my boys

There's a famous part in When Harry Met Sally at the very beginning, when Meg Ryan and Billy Chrystal spend about ten minutes arguing on whether or not men and women can really be just friends, and Harry says it's impossible because there's always the sexual tension from at least one of the two.
Well, I'm a strong believer in male/female friendships. Although I think it's very hard to develop such a platonic friendship in your twenties or beyond, I do think that when you stroke the friendship early on, and passed the sexual tension mambo jambo in your early teens, then that friendship can last forever.
Proof is, my boys. There are a lot of advantages to having male friends. One of them, obvious, is it's a lot easier to analyze a man with a male perspective helping you there. The other, also obvious, is that boys are more fun on any given day.
For me, each of my boys gives me something I need, altogether providing me with life essentials, with the exception of passionate love and sex [although some might argue friends with benefits can work, but more on that in the next post].
I'll admit they throw in the occasional "will you flash me?" or "can we please just sleep together" but it's all innocent jibberish. I've come to appreciate them even more recently, as one of my two close girlfriends left the country, and the boys are all I have left.
One cooks for me, appears whenever I need him, always has answers to questions like "where can I buy an anything ?" and jumps at every occasion to be adventurous. One takes me for beers, listens to me rant endlessly, and puts me in my place when needed. He takes the time to give me good advice, and is the perfect companion for a lazy Sunday watching 25 episodes of Seinfeld. One is the perfect gentlemen, always making me feel protected and princess like. He compliments me, and is always there for me, even when he has to call overseas and listen to me be girl-like for an hour. He's my rational-go-to-friend. One makes me feel loved, always checking on me when he feels I'm in need, and tries very hard to make me feel better. And another is my own personal clown, a funny personae who will make me laugh no matter what.
I write this post, unlike any other, with absolutely no agenda. I just wanted to say thank you to the men in my life who I know will always be there. And when shit hits the fan, I'm very grateful I have them in my life. Men and women can be friends. And they can be the best.

to bitch or not to bitch

Men love Bitches. It's a known fact that resulted in countless books, blogs, tv-shows and movies, all giving us prime examples as to why men love bitches, and how women can learn to be bitches.
The truth is, I think it's completely true and makes perfect sense. Men love the chase, they are hunters, and they just want what they can't have (or think they can't have). And I know this because countless men, including some of the Rats whom you all know a little by now, have admitted this to me. When you meet a guy, you never want to be as easy as 123. You want to make him sweat it out, make him think you're not interested. Later, when you're in the relationship, you never want your man to know he has you right where he wants you, or take you for granted. He'll think of you as he does his mother --and THAT you really don't want. So always keep that little mystery, always keep him at an arms length, don't bend forwards and backwards to please him, etc., etc., etc...
Sounds like a pretty straightforward plan. But the truth is, if it doesn't come naturally to you (to be a bit of a bitch) then it's just exhausting. From the second you meet a guy until forever, you have to remember not to let go. Which is, if you can do it, actually a good thing, because that way you always retain your sense of self, independence and a life that doesn't necessarily include him.
One of my friends got hooked on a girl simply because she showed a little interest --and then none. For months he pursued her, no matter how many times she feigned indifference. My friend Camel on the other hand was really into this girl for a few weeks --but then she started calling too much, being too available, and suddenly the chemistry vanished for him. She couldn't understand what went wrong: he seemed so into her. And she continued to pursue him for months, which obviously drove him away even further. I can go on and on about a zillion examples of the sort. And you might thing it's an age thing, but it's not. My uncle, who's almost 60 and is known as the Legend with guys from my generation, told me a story the other day that made me want to pull my hair out: he took this girl out for a drink at Capitol, and on the way up they met with two of her guy friends. While he stopped at a table to say hello to some friends, his girl was off to the bar with the two guys. "I wasn't going to let her lead me on with any games," he told me. "She came in with me, she should stay with me. But since she wanted to play, I dove right in." Indeed he did. He went off and had another woman (a much younger friend) join the others at the bar. And when they were about to go to another club, he took them both. Oh, and as if that isn't enough, he calls her the next day and asked what she was doing. She said "nothing." How did he interpret that? "When she says nothing, that means she's just sitting there, waiting for me to call her. Well, I'm never calling her again." And that's that. A 60-year-old, attractive, fun, social man, and he still gets to play the field. He's is the incarnation of all male instincts put together, and look at how fast he dismissed her. Because she said she was doing "nothing."
And if you think that type of behavior develops only after decades of experience, you're wrong. My 17 year-old brother is not any better. He's a good looking boy and he knows it. Girls are throwing themselves on him left right and center, and he takes advantage of it. But the only time he's interested, is when the girl seems not to be. And although they usually hold the fort for about  a minute, as soon as he gets her, has her, and feels like the chase is over, he comes and tells me "I want to leave her. I don't know what happened I was so into her. Now I'm just... not."
So... I don't know whether to tell you to bitch or not to bitch. I don't want to tell you anything actually, I think we all try whatever works for us. But I do think we spend way too much time analyzing what men want, what men need, what keeps a man from cheating, blablabla... But when we get the simple, straightforward answer of just be a bitch, we don't try it. We say just "want to be ourselves" and we're just too caring and it's just our personality, and we like open up and give him our all... well, don't give him your all until he gives you his all, and be yourself... just be your bitchy self.

anatomically speaking*

*Men, beware, you will not like this post.

I was talking to my friend Classy about how it seems that selflessness is engraved in our DNA, or even our XX chromosomes. The very anatomy of women defines us as caring, sensitive beings that are inclined to give rather than receive. Of course, and I say this from the start, there are exceptions and anomalies to my theory.
To say that God created us equal is complete BS. He created us completely unfairly and unevenly. Some of us are beautiful, some are butt-ugly, some are skinny, some are fat, and far beyond physical aspects, some have serious malformations, others are genetically predisposed to cancer, are autistic, deaf, blind... the unfairness of it all goes beyond anyone's imagination.  And at the core of it all, the main inequality is gender.
Men and women are not equal, anatomically speaking. And God clearly designed us not to be equal. I guess he wanted us to "complete" each other. At first glance, it looks like men were created to give, and women to receive. I mean, men are built stronger, which is why they are the "provider," and they were given the power to thrust... women on the other hand, well, they receive... if you know what I mean. But this was just the cover-up: Women were created to be maternal. And that says it all. Because while men can have children in every country and not even know about it, women will always know if they have a child. Which means, anatomically speaking, that we women are not allowed to be selfish. We are designed to give, take care of, be maternal. We have to carry a child and share our body whether we like it or not. I'm not gonna sit here and go through the usual "we have to go through childbirth, we get our period every month" complaints, although they're TRUE... but think about it! We get milk in our breasts that is necessary for the baby to grow. We are bound to our babies, and we have to give them our bodies and our nutrients, and that's just the way nature is. Just like in the animal world, at our core, a female's instinct, and a female's anatomy is to care for. And while men can be caring or not, choose to stick around or not, they at least have the choice. They are allowed to be selfish.

out with the girls

It was like any other Wednesday night with the girls, except that for the first time in a long time, four of us found ourselves recently single [yes, I too am recently single and no, I will not talk about it].
Downing wine and Mojitos and whatever else came our way, we each gave advice to one another like in a twisted domino game, each knowing exactly what the other should do, but barely willing to accept that same advice for ourselves.
The thing about breakups is that they are never perfect. Unlike the harmony with which you start a relationship, the end seems disentangled and all over the place. Obviously I'm not suggesting it should be pleasant, but wouldn't it be great if it was as easy to get in than to get out?
My friend Glams had six months of pure passion: he swept her off her feet, did everything in his power to make her feel like she was the queen of the world, until she finally let go of her defenses and gave in, enjoying the feeling. Then something changed. The honeymoon phase slipped out.  What was supposed to turn into phase-two of the relationship, where a sort of routine takes form and concessions are made, actually turned into the terminal phase. Why? Because her man did not want phase-two. He loved euphoric, passionate, crazy-in-love-part-one, but isn't ready to adapt to the pattern of the real relationship. When efforts become required to keep things going, he checks out.
My other friend, Classy, had a different story. She left her man because she just didn't feel like they were right for each other --not in the now anyway. And he, as the complete opposite of Glams' man, is willing to make every effort to make it work.
But here's the thing: no effort, or too much effort? Trop, ou trop peu, gate le jeu. There is no middle in these stories. The one who thinks a relationship can and should work with no efforts whatsoever, or it's just not supposed to work. Or the other who thinks he can change everything about himself to fit into the image his girl wants. And the same goes for girls. Extremes can't possibly work. Because even if Classy had let him make every effort and become who she wants him to be, then at some point in time, the guy will eventually go back to his true self --you can't change who you are. And then he would be very frustrated for having pretended to be someone else for so long. In both cases, it doesn't work.
It's funny how we never get to watch phase-two in movies... maybe it's because it's the boring part? We get to watch the first phase, the last phase, but never the part when the relationships needs a little effort, a little compromise, a little routine. When we watched Disney movies as kids, the princess always married the prince in phase one... and they lived happily after. My question is: how?

Cheat-Sheet (part two): the open relationship

By definition, the open relationship defies all odds. To me, "relationship" means closed. Two people, a couple, man and women, man and man or woman and woman. But here comes the 21st century and everyone is trying to figure how the hell to keep that relationship working, defying the odds, being the ones who make it through and finally grow old together. That's what we all say right, "I want to have a family and a spouse, because who the hell wants to grow old alone."
I agree, I don't want to grow old alone, there's nothing scarier. But what about the now? We can't all design the 30 to 40 years we have on when we turn eighty --if that day even comes. So how about not basing a relationship with the goal of growing old, and live in the present. Because if you take out the future in the equation, a lot of things might change.
Now the open relationship is quiet the fascinating concept. A couple decides to officially accept that the other person can and will sleep with others. They usually have rules like "always use condoms" and "don't ever introduce us." They go about their day, come home at night and kiss each other, always expecting that just a few hours earlier someone else was kissing them. Officially, what this couple is doing is accepting that humans cannot be monogamous, and try to take sex out of the love equation. They try to minimize its power, all the while admitting that sex is so important that they must agree to have it with other people. The open relationship is a way to avoid deceit, a way to avoid feeling cheated and betrayed. But does it really work, forever? What if one person is always hopping around from one sexual partner to another, while the other is just pretending to do the same? Day in and day out, do they really love each other more or better because they're able to have sex to their heart's content?
But like my friend Caporal says, there's the "official" open-relationship, and the "unofficial" one. When I said, in my previous post, that I could theoretically accept my boyfriend having sex with someone else as long as it is a one-night-stand and I nor anyone else ever finds out about it, it could be considered as an "unofficial" open relationship. I'll admit, I have no idea which one is better, more respectful, which one actually works in the long run. Maybe we're all fooling ourselves. Maybe none of this works --they're just tools to prolong the inevitable.
But to me, it's all in what we know. I really believe that Ignorance is bliss.

Cheat-Sheet: were we meant to be monogamous? (part one)

Monogamy. The question that is the key to ninety-five percent of relationships has actually been here for centuries: can we really, truly be monogamous? Were we meant to?
In Ancient Rome, wives used to send slaves in for their husbands to have sex with --they would only be offended if their husbands had sex with women of their own rank. At the time of Alexander the Great, men slept with other men, other women, had orgies --nothing was considered too much. And in Tudor England (16th Century), King Henry had mistresses and bastard children right left and center.
Today, we're a lot more taboo, conservative, and monogamous. I could never imagine myself sending my husband a prostitute just because I don't feel like having sex right now. Imagine that!
But the way sexuality used to be does give us a moment of reflection here. Maybe they had it right and we have it wrong. Not that I want my man to sleep with hundreds of women and come back to me at night... But maybe, if we all accepted that the concept of monogamy cannot exist realistically, then we'd all suffer a lot less.
What's funny though, is that I never really heard of women sleeping around with hundreds of men and it being okay with the husbands...
Nowadays, people try all kinds of modern relationships to try and curb monogamy, and "make it" as a couple. Open relationships, swingers, threesomes, and I'm sure a dozen other ways I've never even heard of. And it might work out for some of them. But I believe most of us women aren't wired to be "just fine" with having the person we love being with other women. And I definitely don't think men would be "just fine" with their wives sleeping around. 

When I was 13 years-old, my mother told me something that really shocked me. She said her friends wondered how she could live with my father traveling for such long periods of time --wasn't she afraid he was cheating? She said, as long as she didn't feel like he was any different with her, then she wouldn't go looking for the problem. In other words, what she doesn't know can't hurt her.
I didn't get it then, but I get it now.
At the time, I remember thinking "is she crazy?" My mom was a very strong, independent and rational person, so I couldn't fathom how she could possibly accept the possibility of being cheated on. But now I know.
The reality is, boys will be boys. And it might be cliche as hell, but it's also true, and we're all better off being realistic about our expectations from the beginning. 
In my book, if he plays by my rules, I can handle it. But there are rules, even when cheating.
My top priority is respect. If my man cheats on me, I don't want to know. For the very simple reason that even if I will want to forgive, I will never forget. The image of him cheating will keep replaying in my mind, over and over again, and it will never be the same. And I don't want anyone else to know either. Because if his friends know, they will loose all respect for me, and forever look at me with a smirk, or worse, pity. And if the girl in question knows me or anyone I know, she will feel above me. Like she shares a secret with my own boyfriend. And that is just more disgusting to me than any sexual act.  I actually don't know how women who were publicly humiliated by their husbands can actually move passed it and forgive. Hillary, Sienna, I really don't get you. I'm more likely to be in the Elin Woods, Sandra Bullock, Jennifer Aniston camp. But I wonder what would've happened if these couples weren't famous, and their love lives were kept private. If the whole world knows your man cheated on you, that's the kind of the disrespect you can't forget --that being the understatement of the century.
But I do believe a man can love you and still cheat. But if he does love you, he will not want anyone to feel above you in any way. That kind of cheating obviously excludes anything more than a one-night-stand. If my man is in-love or has an actual relationship with someone else, then yes, I want to know and I want to get out PRONTO. 

lost in translation

The last post spurred a myriad of reactions from the Rats, which I thought I'd share --for the sake of being fair to everyone's point of view. 

If I told you that Saturday night, after six drinks and about five-hundreds shots, 4 Rats plus one cheered "To Beirut Rhapsodies," would you believe me?

The truth is, they love knowing what we think because they believe we are complicated creatures who over-think everything, and they cannot understand our thought-process. Like my friend Caporal told me, men say what they think, and women hear what they want. 

I'll admit that women tend to analyze words and gesture sometimes to obsessive lengths, which many times create a misunderstanding that could've been avoided --if only we were able to turn off our minds! I always have arguments with my man until he manages to convince me that what he said was just what he said. Yes, it is true that we women say yes when we really mean no, say we're okay when we're really not okay, and get very upset when men cannot detect the real answer behind our fake answer. It's the way we are. Wiseman actually explained it best: "The main difference between men and women is that men are Rational and women are Emotional. If women understand that, then their relationship will be great." 

Told you he was wise.

About Guys' Night Out, the Tenor told me he felt like my post described him one hundred percent right, while Wise and Cap assured me that they never felt the need to put boys night in the schedule --but that time with the boys is precious.

But the number one question I got was: does your boyfriend read your blog? Hah. Well, the truth is, he can barely read 5 lines without falling asleep, so I thought I was pretty safe. That was before I realized that guys are reading this blog almost as much as girls, and definitely have a lot more to say about it. After he got several mentions of it by friends talking about his "guys' night out" he called me and said he wants to read my blog immediately! So there I sat next to him while he went through the four posts... actually surprised that he read all of them! 

And his reaction was... "very cool."

language barriers and guys' night out

It's Thursday. Thursday is my boyfriend's favorite night of the week, because it's guys night out --whatever that means. To him, it basically means a night-without-my-girlfriend-and-I-don't-have-to-justify-it. To me, it says: my boyfriend needs to set in the ground rules of our relationship (if there is such a thing) that there should be a night where he gets to get drunk with the guys (a part I'm willing to admit is necessary for the sanity of the male species) and a night where he doesn't have to worry about his girlfriend (the part that confuses me). Correct me if I'm wrong, but girlfriends aren't supposed to be the thing you worry about and need to schedule a night away from... Although in man-language, Thursday nights are about spending quality time with friends, in my language, it also means trouble. For the sake of defining "guys night out" for the greater good of 21st relationships, let's try and talk about this.
I for one, love girls' night out --but I don't feel the need to mark it down in the calendar for months and years to come. I enjoy spending time with my friends without my man because it's nice to have your own life and space. Which is why I completely understand the concept of guy's night out.
Here's where I get lost: my boyfriend will have guys night out no matter what, even if he's dead tired, and even if his friends don't want to be out. He will stubbornly get drunk, go home at no less than 2.30 in the morning, and never ask me to join him. Because it's Thursday, and in order for him to keep feeling good about his youth and his manhood, he needs to this (my words, not his).
Other guys, I've noticed, do guys night out almost every night --just after they finished the first part of the evening with their girlfriends. We may naively think that they do this just to go out and flirt (maybe cheat) but the truth is, more than 90% of the time, they don't do that. They just get really really drunk, between guys, and sometimes end-up with really fantastically-plausible stories the next morning. I know this because I have a bunch of Rat friends with all kinds of stories that will make you wonder why men dare to ever get drunk at all.
A friend of mine used to feel like when she didn't come out with her boyfriend, she could detect a sound of happiness coming from him --a sort of "I love you but I'm so happy I get to spend the night being an idiot with my friends rather than with you." And her man did love her. He just loved feeling like he was one was the guys more. And eventually, she decided it would better if she let him be one of the guys 24/7. She left.
I'm not trying to minimize the importance that men and women both need their space and time with their own friends --because really, in a long term relationship, you can't expect to always do everything together. That would be almost unhealthy. But guys, at least agree not to make your girlfriend feel like spending the night without them is like winning a first class trip to Vegas.

Good point, Wiseman

After my first two posts last week, I received a lot of comments --from guys. Of course, the fact that this blog is meant for girls only makes them more curious about reading it. But what's more, is that they want to give their opinion...
So here we were, sitting around beers, vodka and Mojitos, debating my Beirut Rhapsodies.

"Just the title, Boys gone BAD, Girls gone Mad, makes you just another girl ranting about how men are always the bad guy. Why do we always have to be the bad guy in the story?"

Well, my friend the Wiseman, made a very good point. Although he was completely wrong about my intentions, he made me realize what the problem was: us girls, we say things, think things, interpret things, analyze things, and a lot of the times, the mens' team sees it in a completely different way. When I said boys gone bad I really didn't mean to put the focus on how guys are always bad. After all, I did also say girls gone mad, and I really wouldn't like to imply that girls are always mad (although I'm pretty sure guys think we are).
So maybe what we need here is a conversation... Not just the girls night-out rantings and interpretations of how we can salvage relationships for Humankind. But actually consider the guys' point of view in this --then maybe we'll actually get somewhere. And I'm sure my guy friends, known from here on out as the Rats, will have plenty to say.

boys gone bad, girls gone mad

Now it's a whole new ball game. Things are complicated even before there is any talk of marriage! Because we are human, most of us fall in love. And that tends to happen somewhere in our mid-twenties, where relationships that last more than a couple of dates usually turn into "something serious." And that "something serious" needs a definition of its own. Take me for example: I'm 25, been a relationship for 2 years, with a guy who's 26. Now here's the thing: we love each other, we know we're the right fit, we can imagine spending the rest of our lives together... but here's the other thing: we're too young. Mid-twenties is now too young. My great-grandmother got married at 16 and had five kids by the time she was my age. Can I ever consider a remotely close scenario?
Twenty-five and thinking of marriage gives me knots in my stomach. My boyfriend says he wishes we met at 29, so he could be spending this time "enjoying" his youth and all the hot women that come his way. Doesn't sound like something you should tell your girlfriend? True, but what's also true, is that... it's true. That's how men think: "I love you, but I'm a man and we have animal instincts, you couldn't possibly understand." The result usually goes something like that: boys gone bad, girls gone mad, breakups inevitable. Or you can do what I do, which is try to figure out the concept of the 21st century relationship.
When my grandparents [yes, back to them] started dating, they were married six months later --while still in the lovey-dovey phase. Then its the honeymoon period; followed by the joy of pregnancy, the excitement of the first born, the efforts focused on changing diapers and getting him to burp; right until it's time for a second bun in the oven. There was no time for boring. No time for routine.
Now relationships sometimes lasts six or seven years before anything alters the routine. And there you find yourself stuck somewhere in limbo. You are with someone, but does that mean that you can talk about "us" like it's a done deal? Should you be considering career choices and geographical ambitions according to his? Or is that going to freak him out? The problem is, there is no guidebook.
And that's not even considering how much effort you have to do to keep your relationship not only working, but fun, passionate, spicy, years and years after the initial lovey-dovey phase. It's just hard to do when you don't get the help of engagements, weddings, honeymoons, pregnancies, babies, and the etc. You're so comfortable in that little "something serious" couple of yours that eyes can wonder, minds can wonder, and let's face it, it's not like it was the first few months.

Remembering how to write, love and be happy

When I was younger I could write pages and pages without ever blinking. Without second-guessing myself, without turning on the auto-critic. I just did the writing. And the point here is to go back to those roots, or at least try to. I'm trying to write a novel. It's been in the works, cooking up its way through in that little head of mine. And this blog is supposed to help me get back in touch with my inner creativity, that little genius writer that once lived inside me and which I haven't heard from in ages.
This is supposed to start me off, let me write down my inspirations, and let them find their way back to me. Beirut Rhapsodies is a novel. It's the story about women in their twenties, struggling to find their balance between the love they want and the love they have. I am a twenties girl in Beirut, and I am struggling. All my four and a half girlfriends are struggling, and so are all of their friends. And I know it's the same on other continents, because I've been there, and I have friends there too.
Relationships in the 21st century are no longer what they used to be, and we need someone to redefine the term. Our parents' generation is the divorce generation. They're those who were twenty in the 70s, who created the whole concept of rebelling against the system, the peace and love era, the feminists, the hippies. Peace and love led to divorce in the masses, because what they didn't realize when they were fighting for all those [wonderful] things, is that they were forever changing the concepts that defined modern society: marriage and family. Because wives no longer have to keep up with their husband's crap just because standing by your man is the right thing to do --which means no one sticks around anymore. And both men and women expect more from each other than they used to. My grandmother didn't expect my grandfather to love her passionately for sixty years. She expected a father figure for her children, financial support, and company. And she hoped for friendship and respect. My grandfather didn't expect my grandma to look like a bombshell all the way through her fifties, but now, when women like Demi Moore looks the way she does in a bikini, the pressure is on. It was easier to keep the marriage contract --let's just call it what it is-- and it was easier to uphold both ends of the deal.