When it counts

Last day of the year.

Here we go again, huh? New resolutions that never make it past the end of January, plans and projects we make because we don't want to waste the next 365 days, we don't want to look back and realize nothing changes year after year, and year after year it gets scarier because we're getting older and the years seem to be going by faster.

I know that feeling because I've felt it almost every New Year's for the last decade. But not this year. It's funny how we only seem to get perspective at the end of the year and get lost in our routine again within weeks. Yeah, we quit smoking and join the gym and we really think this time it's going to stick but it doesn't. I think it's because we make the wrong choices. We can't fix our lives by quitting smoking but we might be able to quit smoking if we fix our lives first. Last year I quit smoking for about a week. I think I also wanted to buy a bike and start cycling but somehow never got around to it. But I also said I wanted to "Find myself" --whatever that means. And in the last few months I have written numerous times about how my life was turned upside down just by "doing" things, every day, in stead of just talking about them. And I'm not the only one. I look at friends and see what they've accomplished this year, and I'm proud of them too. Friends who quit their perfectly comfortable well paid jobs to follow their dreams. Putting two season of a TV show on air within 6 months. Opening a bar. Publishing a book. Moving accross the world to start a new life. I see others around me, taking chances every day to do something different with their lives and it's inspiring. Even when it's just something like starting a blog like my friends Blushing and The Football Supernova. Sometimes small is big. Huge even.

I have had the most satsifying year of my life and it just makes me want to do more. It's not about quitting smoking, although we should... It's the feeling of doing something every day that you can be proud of. I'm proud of so many things right now I would sound very pretentious if I were to list them all! But I have never felt better. Right this moment, I'm sitting in my hotel room in Phuket, Thailand, and I can barely believe I am here. In the last few days I have seen more beauty than I have in a lifetime. Everything here reminds me of everything I have learnt this year, and how much more I want to learn. Recently I was once again painfully reminded at how short life is and how easily we can all slip out of this world. So I'm damn well going to make my time count.

I look at the breathtaking views of the beaches of Thailand and I take it all in. And then I snap a picture because that's the only thing we can keep, right? You're there one moment and then you're not. So I snap away at the beach and the sunset and my friends on motorcycles around Phuket. Weekends of shoots, we snap. Gala dinner raising hundreds of thousands of dollars for children, we snap. My cousin who was completely paralyzed from neck to toe last year, dancing the foxtrot like a beaty queen -we snap. My aunt's last birthday with her husband. My brother turning 18. Snap, snap, snap. The year went by so fast we barely had time to blink. Yet so much has changed we don't live in the same world anymore. The world I'm in right now has blue skies and turquoise water and most of my closest friends. I can't think of a better way to wrap up this year and start the new.

Make it count.

it's a wrap!

I can't believe it's that time of the year again.

The lights are shining on every street in the country --it's not just green and red anymore, now it's purple, blue, yellow and pink. The songs are overtaking every FM station I have a hard time listening to on a normal day. We did the tree at home like we do every year, my sister, my brother and me, with the cheesiest Christmas Carols in the background because it's our tradition and it reminds me that even though the years go by, we always find ourselves once a year to do this together. Christmas had different meanings for me in the course of my relatively short life and I am surprised to discover a whole new feeling this year.

When I was a child Christmas was about presents and Santa. For the last ten Christmases, it's been about missing loved ones. But suddenly I feel like I might have grasped a new meaning to what this holiday is about, at least for me.

I feel profoundly lucky. I was just thinking that on Sunday, driving down from Bikfaya where I had a 48hour shoot this weekend. We barely got any sleep, were up on our feet in the freezing cold since 5.30AM and were shooting all day with our heels digging in the mud and our fingers turning blue. Yet this weekend was magical. The energy of people coming together to create something fun, even if it's hard work, and to smile and laugh and freeze while doing it made me realize that the single goal I had set for myself this year, I've actually reached: I found passion.

I smiled as I had that thought, driving down in the fog without my eyeglasses and with smudges on my windshield, feeling completely blinded. I smiled because I realized I am not waiting for anything to happen to me anymore: it's around me, all the time, and I feel it. I wake up in the morning and I can't wait to get started with my day because I have so many things that I want to do and people that I want to see and I know that I am lucky to feel that way. It didn't used to be like that. It used to be: I believe that I will do something fulfilling one day, and in the mean time I was filling the gaps. Now the days and the weeks and the months are all converging in one giant bubble of time. I don't stop and do nothing anymore, and when I do, I actually appreciate every second of nothingness, making it a special activity in and of itself.  I've learned how to appreciate time.

When I was younger, 10 or 11, I didn't really have friends to hang out with in school. I was bit shy, I didn't know how to impose myself, so I would hide out in the school library during recess, always finding comfort in my books. Then things changed, and I met the group of people I have been friends with ever since. I've always felt lucky to have them, and I thought I didn't really need other friends. I never really made an effort being social --who needs a million acquaintances anyway? Turns out I was wrong to be so closed-up to people for so many years. This year, I met new people every week, made a dozen of new friends, each of them unique in his own way and all of them important. And I've learned that everyone I meet can bring something good to my life.

And as family goes, I've never felt closer to them. It's true, we've had another loss this year, this month actually. But Saturday morning, as my aunt enters her third week as a widow, she will still get up and make "Shorbet el Eid," stuff the turkey and set-up the table. The Christmas tree will still be lit and the presents will still come, and the magic of Christmas will have to find us despite the sadness. This is what this holiday is about for me now: last year, I had a thought for all those who passed. All those who are gone and are around us in the form of memories and pictures --and I can't believe that another face is now behind a glass frame. But this year, I'm having a thought for the living. Spending our energy on ourselves and on our loved ones who are right here in front of us, because that is the way to go on, stay strong, and make those above us proud.

So here's a Xmas thought, for the living: Go do a random act of kindness. Be spontaneous, do something big, something small, to someone you know or a perfect stranger.

Beirut RATsodies: Raw Emotion

It's been a while since we've had the perspective of a guy around here. Someone who actually volunteered, without me having to beg him to write a few wise words for this blog. And I'm glad he did this because it's something I have to admit I never thought about. Girls complaining about the lack of men in Beirut is the ultimate topic of conversation we've all overdosed on. Yet here's something to feed your thoughts on --or are we too good to let go and use raw emotion? I like the way you think SmartRat*. 
[The Four Rats take offense when I label someone a Rat when he isn't one of the core. For the purpose of this blog, they're gonna have to oversee this offense and readers, please make note that this is not the work of one of the core Rats. Thank you.]

Beirut RATSodies: Raw Emotion

The other night I was getting drunk with two friends. As usual, they were complaining about the scarcity of men in this town. Trying to stay a little chirpy and up their morale, I tried to convince them that there must be hope. I looked around the bar and pointed at a few guys. After this little exercise failed, I quickly noticed the girl’s range of guys to look at was substantially smaller than the males is saw. They literally scanned the whole place in 1.4 seconds, when it took me a good minute to figure out whether one of those guys had potential. First I thought it must be a girl thing (they know what they want, what they look for etc…) but then I quickly realized that they had actually left out the guys working in the bar, which constituted about 40% of the males present. So here’s one of my biggest concern with the girls in Lebanon: They calculate. A lot. There's no room for raw emotion. To them, a guy working in a bar would NEVER make the cut, so there’s no point in even going there. 

I know were in a more traditional part of the world, and it is important not to bring home a bum who’s life plans are to live under a bridge. But at that moment in the bar, I was looking at a bunch of hardworking guys, that might or might not have quite interesting characters, with no chance in hell of ever dating one of my friends. It struck me as sad. Not in the “oh the world is such a sad place where a working guy cant get an upper class girl.” It was sad in a way that was more like an obstruction to the natural attraction process. 

Here’s what I mean. In western society, the image of the good-looking barman, construction worker, truck driver or what not has quite a different lure to women than it does here. Over there a guy like that can be attractive to women. Over here, he’s just: quote “niakkk!”. Now I know this probably has some socio-economic reasons in this part of the world, and that not all the girls here are like that, that it really depends on the situation etc etc. But bottom line is the chance of the average girl getting with a bartender here is probably 87 times lower than anywhere else. That sucks, especially for the bartenders. 

What this creates, I think, is this: the driving force behind a girl engaging in such a way abroad is raw sexual attraction. I think its very healthy. You find much less of that here. Our girls have been so brainwashed with the image of an ideal guy that will make their family, friends and finally them happy, that expectations are really too high and more importantly they are really anticipated. No chance is given to anything that doesn’t match the standards. Most physical encounters are calculated and little is left to a surrender of the flesh. I'm not saying the girls should all start acting like hoes and jump on whatever’s in front of them. But a little more ease in this domain would be appropriate. And the little ease that’s out there shouldn’t all be directed at the “perfect match” guys. 

By the way, I can vow for that. Many girls perceive me as coming from a wealthy background. And its gotten me much further in this city than it has in any other.

Of course its better if you end up dating a presentable guy from down the block whose family kind of looks like yours so that everyone gets along and your social status is maintained or improved. But this shouldn’t and can’t be the decisive factor if your looking for something real. Because odds are, that prince charming is not going to come to you on a silver platter. I do think he might come to some on a cheaper platter and some girls will be lucky to get the silver ones. But they cant ALL be silver.

I think western cultures are much healthier than we are in that way. Couples have more reasonable relationships based on real attraction there. Here, I feel a lot of girls mainly go for the guy that makes everybody else happy. And god forbid he s a foreigner!

Whats up with that? Lebanese girls never giving a foreign guy a chance? Every time my foreign friends (descent guys that are usually quite successful with girls) come to town they complain about how girls are so unapproachable or after a one night stand the girls act like they’ve never met the guy. I'm sure my friends are fine with that, but something’s messed up here no?

there's no merit in loving if everything is easy

Some people say my family is cursed. They say we're "like the Keneddy's." That the series of tragedies never end. I guess I can see where they're coming from...  Two cancers, a rare illness called "Harada", a spinal cord injury, a heart attack, five deaths. And every time, we think that's it, this has got to be the last one, we can't possibly deal with any more. But apparently we can.

And so it has crossed my mind at some point too, that our family is indeed, peculiarly unlucky. Actually we were laughing about that on Friday night, the day my aunt buried her husband, and my cousins buried their father. 22 years before, on the very same day, my aunt walked down the aisle in a church in Paris and married the love of her life. This week, in stead of celebrating a love that was still very much alive, she wore a black dress and walked behind his casket in a cemetery.

That night, as we were gathered around her fireplace,surrounded by the pictures of all those we've lost, we all laughed. It might seem odd to still be laughing, on a day where you just buried someone you adored, but there is something about our family that goes beyond the pain we feel again and again. The entire time of the condoleances, my cousin was wearing a little paper boat clipped on her dress. "This one day, my father was crying," she said. "I didn't know what to do or how to stop his pain, so I clipped on this little paper boat on his shirt, and it made him laugh." We need the silly little things to make us smile, even in the worst of times.



What people don't know about our family is that we're actually one of the luckiest. The love that bonds us all so closely together only grows every time another tragedy hits. No one is left alone, not for a second. The other day, I was looking at my father's and my uncle's girlfriends, and I told them "What are you still doing here?" And my aunt joked: "Run! Run for your life!" Run for your life quite literately. But deep down we all know why they haven't run yet.




There is no merit in loving someone when everything is easy. When they are always perfect, and healthy, and kind, and full of qualities. Anyone can love if that's that. But when you go through the flaws, and the years and the pain, when you've seen the ugly, the poor, the sick... that's when you know you love someone all the way. My aunt said even if she knew she would lose her husband 22 years after she got married, she wouldn't have missed a minute of it, she wouldn't have exchanged him for anything. My father said the same thing about my mother. Even I look back and say that although the days when my ex-boyfriend was sick were the hardest, they were the days I loved him the most, and I can still admit that now.


This post is a tribute to Joe.

It's hard to put words together and do him justice, it's hard to write anything at all because none of us want to accept that he's gone. But there's no merit in loving someone if everything is easy.

the audacity of flirting

There's a game and we all know it. Some people claim they hate the game, don't play by the rules and don't respect the code but in the end, there is always some kind of conscious effort made to make sure you get what you want. It's like a chess game, when you think about it. You can have the first move but that doesn't necessarily mean that you will get the last. And along the way, every decision you make will count.


And so it goes with games of the heart. In the traditional sense of the game, men have the first move. But sometimes girls get bold. They see a guy they like and actually approach him. I've asked some guys about this and apparently they like it, as long as it balances out afterwards. I was having this conversation with two people I met last night, and the guy said "The girl can do the first move, and we like it, but after that it has to be our game." He told me the story of how he once got sent a drink over at a bar, from some girl in the back. Gorgeous girl, it turns out. And he liked the move, it came a surprise and it felt bold and confident. He sent over a drink too, then went to speak to her and had a nice chat. At the end of the night, when he asked for her number, she said no. When he saw her again, she gave him her number this time, but when he asked her out, she said no, twice. Somewhere along the way, there was a tipping point, and she went over it. In playing in the boys field and playing hard to get, there is that fine line between mysteriously attractive and annoyingly arrogant.



But I like the idea of a girl making the first move. When I was eleven years old I sent a Valentine's Day gift to a boy I had a crush on and I think that can be seen as pretty audacious. It was a heart shaped red cardboard with heart shaped pasta glued on it and it said "will you be my valentine?". And what did I get in return? Nothing. Not even the acknowledgement that I had sent anything at all. I know I was only eleven but seriously, this is the kind of rejection that sticks with you for a lifetime. I mean, yes, i only remembered this episode as I tried to find some kind of example of me making the first move, but I think the reason why it's the only example is because it must've been traumatizing. So I admire the girl who sends a drink to a guy she finds cute, and I respect the girl who isn't afraid of rejection, because they go for what they want and don't give the guy all the cards. Maybe I'll try it some day, soon, just to see how it feels. 



When I think about it, I guess the way we flirt all depends on the mood, on the time and place, and on what you want from him. You don't flirt the same way with someone you want to sleep with that same night, than with someone you want to live happily ever after with. You don't give off the same vibes and you don't say the same words, and your body language is definitely different. But one thing is for sure: you never know where that first move might lead you. The boy I sent the V-Day card to? He's been my best-friend for the last 15 years. So it's all good.

surprisingly nice and a little spooky

It was one of those days. I was PMSing big time, and every time someone at the office told me anything about anything, I burst into tears. My dad called me from China and told me he had a dream about me when I was 5 years old again and I started crying. I was in the middle of a meeting and I had to step out because my boss told me off and my eyes were watery. The kind of day where your hormones take a hold of you and you just let it flow.

Just to add to the lot, I've been on a diet for the past ten days and haven't had a carb in my system for that entire period, I've sprained my ankle, and I've developed a thorough ability to complain if you haven't noticed. Anyway, bad day.

But, bright spot in my day: my friend Wiserat had been wanting to introduce me to a guy for the last 3 months. He kept telling me about him, so cute, so perfect, I would love him, he would love me, blablabla. So I was excited because I was finally gonna get to meet this perfect man --for the simple reason that I never meet anyone new and that in itself was exciting. Anyway, feeling like crap, I decided to spoil myself a little and go shopping so I would feel better. Very bad idea since everything I tried on wouldn't even close. I ended buying a black dress that hides every shape in my body and was finally feeling better to go meet mystery man. Turns out he's super cute --when his tongue isn't down another girl's mouth.

It was just one of those days, I'm telling you.

And then, around 11pm, I drive home because my phone is dead and I need to charge it before I meet up with other friends. Ten minutes later, I come back and there is a paper underneath my windshield wiper. I take it out and it says: "Yas ur cute U write really well I love your blog ur a star Leo" Of course, at first I smiled, woohoo I have a fan! Then I got a little iffy --who is this person who knows where I live, knows what my car is, knows I write a blog, and manages to slip this within the ten minutes I was home? Stalker much? No offense if you're reading this because I mean it in the sweetest way possible, but there is a fine line between surprisingly nice and a little spooky. Sorry dude.

the rats' block

I miss my Rats.

Now they are all in committed, loving, happy relationships, I have nothing to write about anymore. Never knew how much I relied on them for information, but the truth is, every conversation with them use to spark something, make me want to write, give me inspiration, and now, it's just blah.

I mean don't get me wrong, I'm happy they're happy... But seriously Rats "in a relationship" lose all of their rattitude. Which just goes to show that everything I ever said about them is annulled the minute they fall in love. No more hunting, no more games, no more Cigar Sundays. And for me, no more stories. You might think I get enough of my own stories to write about, but the truth is, lately, I've been working so much I can't remember the last time I met someone --even if it was just for two seconds.

Now I go for drinks with the Rats and their respective significant others and I can't help but feel like the odd one out, always complaining that it impossible to find a decent guy in this forsaken city.  Now they say it's because I've been leaving the house in hoodies and converse and never bother to put an ounce of blush and I guess they have a point... But it's a vicious cycle: You start out by making an effort, you fix your hair and you dress up nicely and you go out with that "open" attitude because that's what everyone says right, it's not about looks they say, it's all in the attitude. "People will know if you're open to them or not. You always look so closed of course no one is going to approach you." What the f*** does that even mean? I kind of get it, but seriously, I don't know how to do it any other way. I'm not the kind of person who is overly sociable, I don't usually make an effort to talk to random people, and honestly, I don't want to pretend like I do. "Be yourself" isn't that at the core of it?

So then I decided to stop making an effort. It'll happen when it happens. I'll just make an effort with myself from now on, and to be honest, it works most days. My life is more fulfilling now then it ever was when I wasn't single.

Yet I would be lying if I said it doesn't get lonely. You can be as independent as you want, it's human nature to want to share your life with someone. Have someone who cares about you specifically, asks about you everyday, has you on their radar. One of my best friends is having a virtual relationship over BBM and it's been going on for the past four months. And there is no real potential because the guy lives in another country and they have no plans to change that and they don't even know what it is that is going between them, and every so often, she wonders if she should stop texting him. But we talked about it, I told her honestly: I think it's always good to have that someone that keeps your phone ringing. Sometimes I look at my phone and I realize that I'm not waiting for anyone to call, and that depresses the hell out of me. And it's a tad lonelier still when your Rats are in their own holes. Yesterday I asked them "don't you have anything to give me for my blog???"

"Write about how much you miss us."

when you've got the face on

There is a song from Arctic Monkeys, "Mardy Bum," that I find absolutely perfect in the sense that it describes the exact way we react when we're are pissed off at our boyfriends. And that exact feeling is the one reason I'm happy I'm not in a relationship right now.

Basically we all start off happy. We start off playful and full of humor and everything he does makes us smile. We find the way he chews so cute, and when he's late to pick us up we're just that much happier to see him because we missed him so much more when we were waiting for him that extra half hour, and when he goes off on a guy's night we're A-ok with it and we cheerfully go on a girl's night too. And then comes the point in the relationship when all these things that never got to us start getting to us. And we start putting "the face on." He takes one look at us and he knows he's in trouble again because we're in our corner pulling that silent disappointment face.

It's the face we get when he forgets to do something we asked, when we think he talked to that girl more than he talked to us the other night, when he says something out of place in front of other people, or when he's late to our date-night because he forgot about it even though we reminded him twenty times in the last week. And so we can't help but pull the silent treatment, waiting for him to realize he's done something wrong and apologize. He says he's sorry he was late, the traffic was a state and he can't be arsed to carry on in this debate that reoccurs and we get mad because he doesn't care and then he gets mad because we said that. And then instead of taking advantage of the time we have together, we spend an hour silent, another hour arguing, and finally, in the third hour, we make-up and make-out.

But then, slowly, you realize that we put on that face more than any other. It becomes who we are in this relationship and we don't like who we've become and they don't like who we've become and everything starts to change. The times when we'd laugh and joke around and cuddled in the kitchen are what we are striving to get back to, and we have a hard time accepting that we've entered this "comfort zone" and maybe he's taking us for granted and maybe we're taking him for granted and the more we fight it the harder it becomes to get back to that special place.

I did that a lot in my last relationship. I spent so much energy being upset I forgot to enjoy the present moment and soon enough it was hard to remember why we were still trying. It's a mistake, I think, to get caught up in those little things and let them ruin the "us" that was so happy to begin with. Maybe if we spend more energy smiling instead of frowning, then we'd be happier as a whole. Something I'd like to try my next time around.

Rhapsodian Guest Blogger: At least the illusion of it

 I have another Rhapsodian guest blogger this week. My friend Blushing gives us a glimpse into that feeling you get when there's a build-up for that first kiss... and it just really made me want to kiss someone! The type of kiss that makes you blush. 

At least the illusion of it
[follow Blushing on her blog  www.yupthisisit.wordpress.com]

For some reason, I’m incapable of kissing on the first date. Usually not on the second or third either. And I definitely can’t kiss someone I just met at a bar. I actually find this to be a rather boring feature about myself. And it’s not because I want to be a ‘good’ girl. It’s not because I want to play hard to get, or appear a certain way. I couldn’t care less about those things.

The thing is, I like a kiss to feel a certain way. This might make me a romantic, or a kid, or warrant a: ‘you’re such a girl!’. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I want to be in a 'relationship' before I kiss someone, nor is it that I want us to be hopelessly in love. It’s just that I want that feeling. I want my heart to pound even though I know it’s only hormones and chemicals. I want to loose my breath and feel weak in the knees just for a quick moment, even though if we were to get into a discussion you’d find that I probably don’t believe in love. I want even the hand-holding to feel special, discovering each other’s fingers, skin, and how they fit. And you can infer that all these things apply to sex as well.

Let’s think about that first kiss for a moment. Yeah you never get the first kiss back, bla bla bla. Scratch all that.  You can have plenty of amazing kisses with the same person, even for years and years. But back to the kissing a new date or stranger. If you’re hanging out with people you just met and one of them is drinking a bottle of water and you’re thirsty, would you just drink out of theirs? I’m not germaphobe or anything, but I prefer to know people a bit before I share bodily secretions with them. With my close friends, we share water bottles all the time. So I’m not gonna just suck face with some guy I just met who has smoky breath and sweaty palms (no offense to anyone). I have to feel I know the guy at least a bit, have a modicum of respect for him, and find him reasonably intelligent and interesting.

So it’s not love I need, but it is an illusion of something that looks a bit like a cousin of love. When I kiss someone, I want to feel we are both really enjoying it and kinda forgetting everything around us. When we stop kissing, I like to feel a bit surprised that there are still people around us, a bit like when you walk out of an early movie screening and are surprised it’s still daylight. Most of all, I just can’t look langouresement (no word in English good enough for this) into someone’s eyes and see nothing there.

Wonder-Woman vs. Cinderella

We're modern women you and I.

We have careers to manage, or jobs to turn into careers. We love to surpass ourselves, act like wonder-woman and have everything under control. We are independent you see, a trait we learnt to develop and appreciate after all the hard work our grandmothers and great-grandmothers put in to get us that level of freedom. We want a man in our life but we don't need him.  I know how to work out the cables behind the TV and I know how to call a mechanic when my car's battery decide to suddenly die at the worst possible moment and I also know how to manage my paycheck at the end of the month and contrary to what men believe, not spend it all on shopping. We like to be sexy as opposed to sweet, powerful as opposed needy.

We know how to do it all -but we don't really want to. Because deep down, inside each one of us is a little girl that watched Disney movies growing up and dreamt of being Cinderella, the Little Mermaid, or Snow White. Princesses in a fairytale, with a charming prince by their side. Because even if you do know how to work out the cables behind the TV, it's so nice to pretend that you don't and let your man deal with it while you're cozy underneath your covers. We like that we're able to pay for our own meals and buy our own jewlery and spoil ourselves, but we also enjoy it when men spoil us.

We try to live in this modern world that expects of us to be self sufficient but we also have this innate desire to be taken care of.

And it translates into the type of men we're attracted to. I think it's all Disney's fault. That's who I'm blaming it on anyway. Girls have high expectations because we grew up watching Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty and Snow White. They make it seem like princes are running around every corner. Take the Little Mermaid, who gets out of the water once, just once: the first guy she meets on dry land is a prince. Even in Beauty and The Beast, the freakin beast is a prince. And the girls who grew up on those Disneys end up looking for their own version of Prince Charming. The guy who is from a good family, who has enough money to ensure we can live comfortably but also take those five trips a year and go shopping every Saturday. A guy who is attentive but not clingy, tender but courageous, romantic but not cheesy.

And then there are the girls who are even more screwed up. The ones whose favorites cartoons were Robin Hood, Aladdin and Lady and the Tramp. Those who want the prince to come in the form of a street stud. Now the guy we dream about is not really from a good family, but he has made it despite everything and he did it all by himself. He doesn't have any money but when you're with him he makes you feel like you don't ever need anything  --and he would move heaven and earth to get you whatever you want.

Some girls want to be escorted in Limousines, dine in the best restaurants, vacation in Cannes and have their own Yacht. And some girls want to get lost backpacking through Europe, end up on an island living in tents for a month, having him catch a fish to fry for dinner. 

Other girls (God help us) --well, we want both.

growin' up

My brother is 18 years old today and this is for him.

When he was born, I was 8 and we had just moved back from Paris to Beirut. It was 1993, still a city covered in the rust of war. We lived at my grandmother's, my little sister and me, and my mom couldn't leave the house because she was nine months pregnant and if the electricity cut off she'd have to walk up three floors.We'd pick up the phone and we'd have to wait patiently for the line to come; the only milk available was powdered Nido and I couldn't even stand the smell of it; and the only thing on TV were the local channels and "Mini Studio" was the only watchable show.

I remember when my mom taught me how to change his diapers and how he peed on her while we were changing him. I remember when she let a flock of his hair grow long at the back of his head. I remember when he was four years old and we teased him on how he had a big penis and he ran all over the house screaming and crying that no, no, he didn't have a big penis. I remember him in his superman costume that he'd wear as pajamas. It was a time when we had a full house, and we'd wake up Sunday morning, my sister, my brother and me and prepare breakfast for our parents. There was still five of us back then, coffee for two, pancakes for all.

Everything is different now. It's like we're on another planet living in a different dimension. The world changed for this little boy when he was seven years old and he lost his mother, but watching him changes my perspective of the world everyday. When she was no longer around, I would put him to bed every night and tell him stories about her so that he would never forget. We'd talk about all sorts of things before he'd go to sleep and once he told me "sometimes my penis wakes up before me" --and I thought it was the cutest and funniest way anyone has ever put it. It was at that time that we came up with Papadopoulos together, an inside joke that only a few will get. When I left for New York, he was still a little boy. Over the phone I would hear his voice change and barely recognized him when he picked up, and every time I would visit, I'd find him taller, with little hair starting to grow on his face. By the time I came back he was a fully grown teenager. He'd receive dozens of texts a day from a dozen different girls, all crazy in love with him. He is that guy, you see, the ones all the girls are in love with.

And today he's almost a man. The world he was born into --it doesn't exist anymore. What we've learnt along the way is that nothing is predictable and anything can happen. But what always remains, throughout, is the love that you can only share with your siblings. And when your brother tells you you're "the woman of my life," you know you've done something right.

Rhapsodian guest blogger: Out of the Rathole

 For the first time on Beirut Rhapsodies, my guest blogger is a fellow Rhapsodian. Now let me put her in context for you: she's my one friend of whom I can truly say, without hesitating, is super happy in love right now. Which is why I think her advice is worthwhile. I mean, she's had her share of tears: she has cried more than anyone else I know over guys so she didn't always have it right... but she's on the other side of spectrum right now, and I thought it would be good for us to get a different perspective. 

The last couple of blogs have made me realize that my favorite Rhapsodian needs a helping hand…She has given up on love and I cannot bear seeing  this happening! So I’ve decided to share my 2-cents with her, and with all the girls out there who mumble, not too loud (so that it doesn’t come true!), but once too often, those absolutely atrocious and silly words: “’I’m gonna die alone”.

By no means am I claiming to be wise enough to become a love doctor, nor am I a Vietnam veteran to claim years of experience, but I did have enough bad experiences with a wide spectrum of rats to be able to tell from a distance if one is a plague- carrier or a pure-breed worth taming. Here is a sample of bad experiences that I’m sure are as cliché as it gets but enriching nonetheless:

So there was the first love, that endless relationship I wonder how it ever lasted so long. He was my college sweetheart. He was anything you would want in a guy when you’re 17…but after 5 years, all I wanted was freedom.  The stars must have misunderstood what I meant by freedom, because what I cashed-in instead was an egocentric brat who occasionally cheated and frequently lied and who owned the only phone ever created (I guess it was a prototype) that vanishes  and reappears at the owner’s convenience, meaning he could not always answer my texts and could never call me back.  The phone was designed in such a way that one could only text back should one need a booty call. Of course I was crazy about him because when he wasn’t busy touching his Blackberry or other girls, he would tell me the most wonderful words  that I would foolishly believe. One day he told me it was over by using the infamous “it’s not you it’s me” line, and he hurt me so much that my tears could have filled the Atlantic, back and forth 8 times… Then there was the guy whom I was never good enough for, and who destroyed what was left of my ego: “you’ve put on 300g, I’ve noticed them around your elbow”. Then came the possessive-obsessive-paranoid guy who was jealous of his own shadow…and a few other mice here and there (yes, not even qualified to be called rats) but I won’t dwell more on them…

And then the revelation. The decision. Yes this wonderful resolution we all take after a nauseous succession of plague-carrying rats: NO MORE BOYS I AM GOING TO FOCUS ON ME.

And so I did. Of course I cried sometimes, I missed the attention and the drama that came along with the boyfriends. But I used that time to finally get to know myself. I read more, I spent more time with the girls, reconnected with old friends, did Yoga, ran a marathon, worked harder, bought cooking books, started loving those extra 300g around my elbow, and slowly but surely regained my self confidence. I was finally happy.

 And one day, when I expected it the least, the most amazing charming loving kind funny cultured gentle, did I mention amazing… man came out from a hidden rathole and straight into my heart, and I hope to stay forever.  Today, when I ask myself what good wind brought him my way, I realize there were just a few things that I unconsciously had changed in my behavior that made me more attractive to that better breed of rats. So here are my 2-cents, or 8:

1)     Stop looking: a girl who is constantly hunting is a turn-off. Genuinely enjoy your single self, and one day, when you’re in your sweat pants with the almighty pimple on your left cheek,  thinking you’re looking your worst but actually looking your absolute best natural self,   he will find you.

2)    Know yourself: know what makes you happy and what you will never compromise on, and let no one stop you from getting it: If you need your yoga or your cooking or your time with the girls, make sure you get it.

3)    Know your flaws and make him love you for them: If you are the type that has 5-minute- a-month PMS bitchiness (give or take a few minutes) he should be manly enough to accept it and to love you for it. You’re never going to change, so find a man mature enough to love you “for better or for worse”.

4)    If they want, they can: so if they don’t…they don’t want. Simple equation. Read it 5 times and make it your new 1+1=2. If he wants to be with you, the things he would be willing to do for you would surprise you. So unless you see that type of behavior, don’t waste your time…

5)    Do no settle for less: and that means settle only for MORE. More attention, more care more respect. You were dad’s little princess remember? Now you have to be Rat’s little princess. Let him treat you the way you would treat him, and better, or nothing.

6)    Don’t be a nag: the weeping willow only goes one way: down. When you think nothing could go worse in your life, just switch on the news and put things in perspective. Be grateful for what you have, and someone will be grateful to have you.

7)    Forget the games: when the right guy comes along, you won’t need those “don’t text him back before 109 minutes” rules. If he wants to play, give him an X-box and bid him farewell and tell your little brother you have a pal to spare.

8)    Last but not least: Believe in yourself. You will NOT die alone. Keep this in mind: if Sarah Palin found someone to marry her once, so will you…

the goal is to bring him home tonight

This is about the other girl. Not the one that I always rat about, who gets tugged around and played with and endures the calamities that come with dating men. This is about the girl that sees a guy from across the room, and with one look she already knows that he's going to be hers. Because the truth is, when a woman confidently sets her mind to something nothing can stop her.

Now don't get me wrong: this can be the same girl. I've seen it. I've been it. You can be the victim at one time and you can hold the reigns at another --it all depends on the situation and the guy and the timing. A couple of nights ago I was having a drink with a friend and she says to me "the goal is to bring him home tonight." I smiled. There I was having a girlie drink with one of my girlfriends and in stead of analyzing what this new crush of hers said or did, she just wanted to go through the motions and establish a plan that would get him into her bed. I loved it.

My other friend (whose nickname sets off alarms so I'm keeping it anonymous) usually meets a guy and plans the wedding ceremony within the same hour. But lately the balance seems to have tipped her way. He's the one talking about "us" for the next three years while she is still trying to remember his last name. She finds herself on a guy's bed and he's the one who doesn't want to go any further... yet.

Or this other girl who met this guy who is really insisting on trying out a long distance relationship.  Or my friend who is having trouble in her relationship because he thinks she is not making enough effort. Or my other friend who is feeling bad because she is using a guy for sex and moral support even though she knows he is in love with her and she doesn't see it going it anywhere. Sounds like I'm confusing my pronouns.

And then there's me. I'm an open book, literarily, just read the blog and you'll know what I'm thinking, what I've been through, when I'm depressed and when I'm happy. But even I can have the bring-him-home-tonight attitude sometimes. Think some guy can make me feel like shit for no reason and then come back and pretend like nothing happened? Not this time. If there's anything I learnt this year, it's to put myself first. Wise-rat told me: "You need to find a guy who will treat you like a princess." And there will be no settling for less.

when the good stuff comes out

I know I spend a lot of time nit-picking on relationship imbalances, blaming guys for all sorts of devilish attitudes and sometimes it seems like I'm portraying women as victims. The truth is I only talk about themes that appear in my life or in my friends' lives, and it so happens that these are the stories I get. But this week I got a lot of time to look at everything from a different perspective, and I saw something in men that I hadn't seen in a long time.

I was at a wedding in Larnaca on Saturday, the only one I've been to this summer, and it was the sort of wedding where everything was about their love and nothing else. It was so simple --no fluff, no fuss, no one cared about the flower center piece or a big light show or fireworks or whatever it is they do at weddings. Yet there was nothing simple about the way these two felt about each other, how happy they were, and how happy we were to be really sharing this moment. There were 100 guests, so it was intimate, you see. When we danced, the entire party was on the dance floor. The bride was beautiful because of the sheer glow in her eyes and the groom looked at her adoringly and it made us all believe in love. Not one person was sitting there criticizing the dress or the decoration or the choice of entertainment. No one cared and everyone had a wonderful time. A genuine moment, if you know what I mean.

Now in the same week, two of my girls met guys that for once had a very genuine, very healthy approach to flirting. And their first reactions, both of them, was surprise. A guy who actually calls when he says he will, really? A guy who actually stays when you refuse to "go back to his place"? A guy who compliments you for being interesting and fun and "amazing" and is actually listening to the things you say? We kind of forgot they existed. And at first, it's almost boring --because we're not used to liking a guy that doesn't shift our emotions seventy times per minute. But then we realize what it is: the no fluff, no fuss, simple "getting to know each other," when the goal is not to have sex tonight. It still happens, we just forgot.

Even the Rats... they haven't been quoted much lately because, guess what: almost every one of them is in a relationship, and to be honest, they are all amazingly good boyfriends --as far as I can tell. Even though they can be the biggest Rats when they are single, they all have a loverboy side to them and they enjoy it. And it's all wonderful, but it doesn't make for great blog material because who wants to hear about perfect happiness in Lalaland?

So I had a good week, so full of love that I decided I couldn't be cynical and I was just going to mention the good stuff. Maybe it's not the stuff that make a good blog, but it's the stuff that make the good life.

not in my vocabulary

Men are strange. They are able to make decisions sometimes that us girls don't understand, like cut you out of their lives, just like that. Women think and over-think everything. We need to tell the story a hundred different times to a dozen different friends and get everyone's opinion on it to be able to analyze the situation better. We need to give ourselves a reason, to understand what's going on in order to accept it and move on. It takes a lot of energy and a lot of heartache and in the end, we never really know what they were thinking, how the male brain works, why they act the way they do. Mars and Venus. And when you ask a guy for advice, for him to break it down for you, he usually comes up with the simplest answer --something us women never understand.

What do you mean he just decided to stop talking to me? Why didn't he warn me first? Why didn't he say he's just not interested in seeing me anymore? Why didn't he explain? But everything was going fine, he just did this out of the blue! Apparently out-of-the-blue is common in the male brain. They get a tilt, make a decision, and don't go back on it. Simple and clean cut. I wish I was a man.

But I'm not.

A guy friend of mine told me a story today. He was dating this girl, everything was going well, but one day as they were chilling on the beach, she told him something that immediately switched him off. He got up and left. The girl went after him, called him crying begged him to come back so they could talk about it. He said ok. But when he hung up the phone, he made a quick decision. He put his phone on silent and drove home. The next time they spoke was a year later. To him, there were no reasons to justify his behavior. There was nothing to talk about. He made a decision and that was that.

A few days ago, a friend of mine was chatting (whatsapp style) with this guy she's been seeing. He initiated the conversation and they were talking about random things like what they did during the day. And then she asks him if he wants to meet up for a drink --and he stopped answering. She calls him hours later, to see if everything is ok, and he doesn't answer and he doesn't call back. When I told guys about this, no one seemed surprised. It happens, apparently. They've all done it before. It seems they don't believe any justification is needed when they decide things are over, even when that decision is made out of the blue, in the middle of a conversation.

Another girl I know was dating a guy for four years. She traveled for a month,  only to wake up one day and see pictures of him on Facebook with another girl. She goes crazy (obviously) and tries to confront him but he doesn't answer for days. Then he finally calls her back and tells her that he didn't know how to say it before, but he fell in love with someone else and that's that. She just needs to deal with it, he said. And the more I talk about this with guys, the more I realize there is nothing to talk about. As a girl my immediate reaction is to try to understand this behavior, analyze this pattern, figure out this attitude. But there's nothing more to it than a simple switch that turns on and off. I just wish I was a man. But I'm not.

one year of rhapsodies

Last year like today I wrote my first blog post, venting out my frustrations over 21st century relationships and how hard they were becoming. This is how started my year of rhapsodies. Three weeks after the first post, my boyfriend told me he realized that he would probably be happier without me. How ironic for me who was trying to "solve" the enigma of serious relationships, not realizing that if my relationship was going sour it was probably time to breakup. I'm glad he noticed though. Because otherwise I wouldn't have had the wonderful amazing life changing year that I did have from that moment on. Yes I started by crying every tear in my body, analyzed and over-analyzed every second of the previous six months to understand what I did wrong, how I could've saved it, blaming myself for letting him take me for granted, for not loosing weight, for getting too comfortable, until I finally realized that it wasn't just me who didn't make him happy anymore, that I too had been miserable for months. And that realization saved me. So I stopped with the blame game and finally moved on to the next level which was to focus on myself and what I wanted, for me. Yes I had a pile a self-help books before that and the pile tripled over the course of the next few months, because that's what I do, I read books and they make me feel like I'm going to change my life. The good news is, it worked.

I started the blog, friends began to read and share it, debate it around drinks, Rats inspired me to wiesel them in, I was motivated to write again --something I hadn't done in years. Then there was the Breakup, the depression phase, the best-friend moving to Canada, the constant hammering of the Rats for their help on how to get over it, the hours on the phone with Classy who was going through the same thing, the going through about seven dozen used and confused boxes of tissues. Went to Yoga class, took Italian lessons, traveled to Istanbul with friends. Fell in love with a city full of life and history and beauty and rhythm, realized the world was a lot bigger than me and that the possibilities were endless, started smiling again, had the best massage on the face of the earth and it felt better than sex. Reconnected with my childhood friend Rebellious, whom I hadn't seen a lot in the last few years, enjoyed going out again, enjoyed drinking, enjoyed my friends' company more. Wrote a blog-post about my parents which got 900 views. Liked a guy, flirted, kissed him, felt good to be in the "beginning" phase again. Liked other guys, enjoyed being hit on, piled up stories that the Rats laughed about and fed my blog. Went skiing for the first time in four years. Organized a cooking competition that lasted all winter, came in last place but had lots of fun getting there. Made a new friend, a girl, which is very unlikely of me. Asked a friend if I could act in her new TV series [Beirut, I love you] just for the fun of it, spent a day on set, fell in love with everyone, wanted to come back, started helping with anything and everything, spent every weekend on set and many evenings brainstorming scripts, did the makeup, helped with anything I could, made some amazing new friends, felt like I was 19 again, drank beers on the street sitting on the hood of a car, kissed a guy who fell, got obsessed with the shoots, was passionate again. Realized my oldest dream had come true. Marked the ten-year anniversary of my mother's death. Saw my ex for the first time since we broke-up, realized that I wasn't angry anymore and that I didn't miss him even though it was awkward and weird but how could it not be. Turned 26 in Los Angeles, walked into the Kodak Theater where the Oscars take place, went to Vegas and then San Francisco with my best friend, ate the best brunch in the world --felt like I cheated on New York. Took part in the 48hr film project in Beirut and won Best Film, felt like we had just won Cannes, smiled from ear to ear jumped up and down was overly excited. Saw my ex kiss his new girlfriend felt like throwing up in my mouth a litte but then finally felt free. Had the most overwhelming kiss of my life. Read 17 books, took an acting class, jumped from a rock 3 meters high into the sea, went camping, saw the Cedars, got a tattoo, acted a main part in a short film, discovered "The Healing Code" (everyone should read it by the way), cried of laughter until my abs were killing me and I almost couldn't breathe and got the best compliment of my life from a gay friend of mine who said to me: "Women like you make me wish I was straight."

Nothing about this year was as expected. Three-hundred and sixty-five days ago, I lived in a safe routine that I didn't realize was killing every ounce of creativity and passion I had. When writing scripts, we always look for a "catalyst," something that pushes the protagonist forward. This blog was my catalyst. I thought it would help me write a book --and I still hope it will. But now I know that I needed this time to really discover myself, and this is what got the ball rolling. This year I felt alive.

So thanks. To everyone who played a part in this snowball effect of amazingly random events. And to all of you who have been reading Beirut Rhapsodies, inspiring and motivating me.

there are no love stories like in the movies

I have a friend who still believes in love like in the movies. She dreams of passion that would last through decades, that would survive routine and babies and boredom and age, that would awaken sparkles in her eyes even ten, twenty, fifty years down the line. She believes in the happily ever after and she doesn't want to settle for less. Afterall, she's seen it happen. In "The Notebook."

Now last week, I acted in a short film. And it was a love story --like in the movies. I met the actor who I had to fall in love with at 7am Sunday morning and by Sunday afternoon he was proposing on a beach with the sunset in the background. And the truth is when we were acting it out we kept laughing at how weird the whole situation was and how we felt like in a Mexican TV Series, but on screen it just looks like we're happy in love. I saw the footage and it looked so amazing that even I believed it for a second. And the entire film is condensed quick-shots of the evolution of a love that is born, grows, flickers and dies. It travels through time, skips through the boring parts, only shows the audience what they want to see. Think about all the moments of love you've had in you life. If you just edit them and add some amazing soundtrack and tie everything together, you've got your own film.

But there are no love stories like in the movies. In real life, love stories are only felt in glimpses, in moments captured in a sort of capsule that only last in our memories. Love is not perfect. It is not gentle, it is not kind, it is not forgiving. Love is a mess of passionate turns that leave you hanging on the edge of a cliff. It's a roller-coaster that goes up and down and sideways turns your life around and scares the shit out of you all the while giving you the greatest rush of your life.  

This year that I spent out of love was the best way for me to finally understand it. I recognize it now better than ever, and I've learned to appreciate it as what it is: discontinued and rough around the edges. Many a times, it doesn't come inside a wrapped-up package with a pretty bow. And I had a glimpse of it, I think. There's someone was in my life for years and every time I saw him my heart skipped a beat, but it was never good timing for us. And the truth is, I know deep down that if we had gone for it and tried being together, I wouldn't have been happy. But when I was with him for a glimpse of time, I know we had something special. If we had turned this glimpse into a relationship, then I'm afraid it would've spoiled it. So I chose to keep it special: Even now, I can close my eyes and always smile when I think of him, and I just appreciate it for what it is: a love story that could've been. 

yoyos vs frenchies

This is the new Beirut. In the olden days it was all about religious differences and whatnot. Today it's all about language. Forget Arabic, because even though it's our common link we just throw in some words whenever we need to make complete sentences.

On the one hand, you've got the Yoyos. They're the ones who went to IC or ACS, wore baggy trousers with pockets hanging down to their knees and played with that small ball thing that you pass around from one foot to the other. Then you've got the Frenchies. They're the Lycee-Jamhour-LouiseWegman crowd who had a wannabe yoyo phase back in the 90s when it was fashionable to let your boxers appear below your trousers.

Yoyos walk into AUB and LAU like they own the place, while the Frenchies are still trying to figure out what the hell "credits" mean and why the grades are over a 100. They're more Gemmayzeh than Hamra, and they go sit with their laptops at Balima, while their English counterparts prefer Cafe De Prague.

Yoyos are Rap and RnB bitches and ho's type of music, always bearing a too-cool-for-school attitude. Frenchies go to French Night every Wednesday because where else can they ever get to sing Gilbert Montagnier without looking ridiculously lame? Yoyos are loud, Frenchies are uptight. And when around each other, both groups have an odd sense of competition towards one another that makes you wonder if it really only is a language thing.

Of course, you've also got the ones who refuse to be branded as either, and who attempt to bring everyone together. They meet at "neutral" places like Torino and Dany's [and Skybar because everybody knows that's Lebanon's ultimate point of agreement].  They date from the opposite "clan" (because let's face it, meeting new and different people is getting pretty scarce), they mix their friends together, and then English tramps French because Frenchies speak both languages and Yoyos do not. And Arabic is spoken as a second language. Lebanese identity crisis at its best.

that something special

I took a trip outside Beirut this weekend. I drove two hours north and then west up the mountain all the way to Bcharreh, a village right below the Cedars. I am embarrassed to say that in 26 years, this was the first time I saw our national emblem. But everything I discovered on that little trip reminded me that our country is so much bigger and richer than the streets of Gemmayzeh and Hamra.

From the Kadisha valley to the river walking in the woods picking wild berries and grapes, to the highest peak of the Middle-East where we stared into the vastness and watched the sun set. There's the cedar tree seed which you break to get the sap on your fingers and breathe in the smell of cedars. There's the purple flower which girls used to wear as earrings, and the fresh water source that's freezing cold. And the villagers that are so friendly and considerate even the chef making me a sandwich made me one with less bread then the boys'...  And then, there was that view. Late afternoon, in the month of August, all the clouds gather in the crevice and if you just drive a few minutes up the mountain, then you find yourself way above the clouds, the sun shining and the sky clear blue. It was the most beautiful sight I have ever laid eyes on. And it felt like I was in heaven, looking down at the earth from above the clouds.

I guess sometimes you don't have to go that far to find that something special. Now I'm going to make it my mission to discover all these beautiful places in Lebanon that I've heard about and never bothered to visit, always postponing or waiting for the right occasion. But then you go and you wonder why on earth you waited this long to do it. Maybe it's a cliche thing to say, but after views like that you can only be in a cheesy cliche mood. And from time to time, that's a good thing.

[Beirut RATsodies] The Manception List: Keys to a man's mind

Keeping on with the promise to bring Rat perspective to the blog, today my dear friend is giving us ladies the "keys to a man's mind." The keys to men like him anyway. And the truth is, he's one of those coveted men that grab the attention of all the girls in the room. And with the scarcity of available guys out there, I guess if you find the right one, you should know how to play your cards right.

Dear Rhapsodies followers,

I am a Rat. More specifically, the one whom this blog’s writer gracefully baptized as “Wise Rat”. Don’t really know if there’s any actual wisdom or if our dear host is so desperate that she can find it in a Rat, but whatever it is, I’ll try to pass it on here while trying to be as gentle as I can and not offend any of you non-rats for I am a guest today...

The Rhapsodies have covered a lot of different and diverse topics, some accurate, some useless, some fun, some completely biased, but the one common and constant trait is the appalling lack of knowledge of the man’s mind. Therefore, instead of picking one topic, I will kindly contribute with one the greatest sacrifices I believe to be: The Self Help Book approach. While truly despising the “How to get over him in 3 weeks” family of “literary” works, I’ll be listing some simple Dos and Donts that will give you the key set of the male’s mind. Ladies, I proudly give you: THE MANCEPTION LIST (to be kept in your purses at all times).

DOS:

1.     Humor

Nothing is more appealing than a funny girl. NOT a party girl, but an actual funny girl. That’s the one we would consider spending the rest of our lives with. Laugh about things with him and laugh at him. Great humor is raw intelligence; men who are scared of smart chicks will accept it under the form of humor. My personal perfect ideal fantasy is a Mila Kunis meets Dave Chappelle.

2.     Be Real

That’s universal, come on. No pun intended, but you tend to over think things, which clouds your judgment, behavior or in some cases your entire persona. That’s a time bomb.  Typical scenario: She acts different in the early stages > he gets comfy > she goes back to her true self > he’s disappointed, > he leaves > she’s left asking herself who and what to hate for that. Major DON’T.

3.     Chivalry

Own up to your modern woman status along with the traditional touch. It’s a beautiful balance. I call it modern chivalry for chicas: OFFER to pay (but don’t actually do it), be concerned when he’s ill and get him some bullshit medicine. My personal favorite: A girl who holds the door for me once in a while (I stress on the occasional element). Man up ladies.

4.     Be Anal

 The anus, The Glory Hole, The Sweet Eye, The Great Gatsby, The Velvet Ring.  Use it and let it inspire you. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not pushing for systematic sodomy, but more of a symbol to keep things in bed adventurous, spiced up and simply open minded to new experiences. “Open” being the key word here...

5.     Get some Boxes

The fact is that men are more of rational creatures and women emotional. With the good and bad included in both, these two traits tend to clash. By that I mean that men actually have the ability to compartmentalize things and women are more global in their approach. Imagine boxes versus a giant messy purse. Men can organize their lives in a number of boxes: work, friends, relationships, family...etc. If one of those goes sour, it won’t affect the rest, whereas women, while being much more sharp emotionally and with higher sensibility will possibly collapse in tears at a red light if the day at work was stressful and a Counting Crows song came up on the radio which will remind them of that prick who didn’t call last week.  Bottom line: Try to get your boxes right.

DONTS

1.     Victimize

We’re all victims of something at some point. Let’s all try not to linger over rejection, disappointment or debilitating egos people.

2.     Change Anyone (you or him)

You are not the one who will tame a player, or get a “badass” to become a family man. This is the recipe for disaster. If he’s lazy, drinks a lot, not very outgoing or not interested in modern art, either accept those as his traits or run away, just don’t hang on to the fantasy of a “better version him”

3.     Be Anal

As opposed to your lovely waxed organ (see the point above under “Be Anal”), try to read your man and not unleash all hell on him when you could save millions of lives in terms of troubles. E.g: while getting ready to go out: Him:“Babe are you done? We need to leave soon”. Her: Cold look. Silent treatment all night. Bring up “That” ex during pillow talk at the end of the night.

4.     Hand Jobs

This is NOT your place. The hand job exercise is a male sanctuary. Angle, shapes, body structures are all a part of this male only puzzle. It’s not a wooden stick, nor a pet, so please don’t be over zealous when attempting it. Plus, it always shows how bored you guys are when you’re at it.  

5.     Settle for less

I’ll finish on a high note and empower you ladies. Most of the ear raping complaints I get from you come from the fact a lot settle for some douche bag or loser, which you don’t really want in the first place. Know what you want, see the red flags, don’t compromise and you can throw this whole list away. Being alone ain’t all that bad and can save us all some time and money on “I need to talk coffees and lunches“ and this entire blog in the process.

Hope this helps,

Wise rat.

punched in the face with happiness

A few months ago I was sitting around the dinner table with friends and someone was telling the story about going to a Scottish whiskey tasting where they serve whiskey that's unavailable on the market, small productions serving rare spirits, etc. And one of the Whiskey he tasted had the most fascinating name: "punched in the face with happiness."

Now there is something about that phrase that I find absolutely perfect. It pins down that one specific kind of happiness --the one that is so good you know it's going to hurt. In their case, they are obviously referring to the happiness of tasting delicious Whiskey and enjoying getting drunk on it until you wake up the next morning with a hangover.  The Rats get punched with that happiness all the time.

I see it as that bittersweet effect the best things in the world tend to have. Even silly superficial things like buying a dress that makes you look gorgeous and feeling the sting on your credit card for the next three months; or planning the night of your wedding for a year, having the perfect night, then waking up the next morning and realize that it went by just as fast as any other night of the year; eating a fondant au chocolat and then weighing yourself; or going on a trip you've been counting down to for 178 days and having it be over in less then ten.

And of course, there are the other things --those that bring you happiness down to very core of your being and the punch is just so much harder to recover from. Having perfect sex but for some reason he never call you again. Meeting the man of your dreams only to find out that he is married and is going back to his wife. Having the best mother in the world then have her taken away by cancer.

But you wouldn't take it back. For that moment of happiness, we're ready to take the punch for it. Those who protect themselves from the pain never get to feel that joy. But the rest of us, we know it's worth it.

A look, a kiss, a smile. It's here for a moment. And then it's not.

technology killed romance

I was looking through the boxes underneath my bed: old shoe boxes, about six or seven of them, filled with letters and pictures. Hundreds of handwritten letters from that time before the internet existed. You know, that time mobile phones were the new revolution and we all begged our parents to get us one and it was this large, chunky, heavy Nokia which we could have never imagined would become the technology hub it is today. There was no Google and no BBM. If you wanted to reach someone, you had to call them at home, not too early and not too late, otherwise their parents might get angry. And when the other person would pick up the phone, they wouldn't know it was you instantly because there was no such thing as caller ID and you just had to spend that awkward minute explaining who you are.

Now you can find someone you've met once in a random bar and whose last name you can't remember just by searching on Facebook and guessing by your "friends in common." In stead of going back to that bar every night for a week trying to see her again, or chasing down friends to figure out who the mystery girl is and magically end up by getting her phone number, or her address or something --you just poke her. Or you can send an "inbox" message: now that is what I would call romance in the 21st century.

I have all kinds of letters in those old boxes. And they are dusty and I can barely make out the handwriting, but every word I read makes me smile. There is something so precious about the time it took for each of these letters to be written. By hand. When was the last time you wrote anything by hand, except maybe a grocery list, or your signature on your credit card receipts. With a letter you could play with colors and spray perfume on it and pick a nice envelope. Now there's email. You write a few sentences with words that don't contain all their letters because we live in a world where if you can gain half a millisecond by typing "r" in stead of "are" then you do it. No one even addresses it to you anymore, there is no "dear" anything it's like your email to: is enough. The signature at the end is automatic so you don't bother with that either. You just get straight to the point. Forget the time where post-its could be spread around the house with little Xs and Os --my mom use to leave them on the bathroom mirror for my dad to see them when he woke up, and it was never just "don't forget to buy some toothpaste," there would be a whole seductive energy around it that would make him smile instead of seeing as a chore. Now you'd barely get an sms: toothpaste plz.

And there was a time where even an sms could be romantic, you know, when they first started. We used to "save" the special ones and read them over and over again. A guy would send you a text message that he spent an hour writing, putting in all his feelings because it's easier to write it than to say it. And there we would sit around with my friends and compare our romantic messages one after the other. Now there's BBM. It's like you're on a chat-room 24/7. Of course you've got the heart emoticon and the hug emoticon and the kiss emoticon but that just means that they are finding new ways for us to write less and less.

I guess what I'm trying to say is --technology killed romance. And if we don't try to revive it, we're gonna forget it even existed. So I'm just gonna throw this out there: write a letter to someone you love and make them feel that special excitement of receiving it, and opening it, and discovering the words line after line and then keeping it safe somewhere for years to come. Not in a folder with a blue label in their gmail inbox.