note to self

You're feeling sorry for yourself again. Don't. If you feel sorry for yourself then people will feel sorry for you and you hate that, remember? You want people to admire you, not look at you like you're something broken. Stop thinking everyone sees you as a failure. They don't. And if they do, it's because you feel like a failure. But you aren't. You've done everything you've ever set out to achieve and that counts for something. Maybe for a lot. So don't be so dramatic. Stop looking around and comparing yourself to every single one of your friends and wonder how it is that you are the only one who can't get a relationship to stick, or a guy to fall in love with. I know what you're thinking: They're prettier. Thinner. They dress better. Maybe they're smarter or funnier or just luckier. I guess you don't have the best of luck. Don't cry. We've been through this. Lots of women are single at 30, it doesn't mean they wont get married or have kids, eventually. Remember what they told you. He'll come into your life when you least expect it. Or when the time is right. You won't find him, he'll find you. You'll find him when you're open to it. When you're ready. I know you think you're ready but clearly you're not. And stop feeling lonely. Embrace your freedom. One day you'll be a wife and mother and you'll long for your single days. But you don't believe that. You're scared. You're afraid you'll never know what it feels like, to be a mother.  You want to feel like all these other girls, who have men loving them and taking care of them, like that girl who sits next to you in your office whose husband brings her water because he's worried she forgets to drink. You're jealous that no one cares if you forget to drink. Stop. Close your eyes. Imagine he is there. He is walking towards you with a glass of water and a tender smile and you're feeling really lucky. Like you're not alone. Picture him sitting next you at the dinner table with all your friends. Feel him holding your hand and smile because now you're finally like everyone else. Open your eyes. Don't cry.

into the wild

It's a peculiar world out there, for those of us single gals and guys. I've been in the dating world in and out for the past fifteen years, and believe me when I tell you, the times are now different.

Forget the friend of a friend you might accidentally meet on a night out and hit it off. By thirty, you've met practically all of your friends' friends. And their new friends are all married couples, so of course there's no potential there.

Forget the seeing a cute guy sitting at the bar and asking him for a lighter to catch his attention. The last time I did that, it turned out I approached a total loser/creep/psycho who spent the rest of the night stalking me, sitting (alone) on the table next to ours staring at me for more than an hour, not taking no (many, many nos) for an answer.

Forget making eye contact with a complete stranger at ladies night (a trendy Dubai thing to do mid-week, where ladies can basically get very drunk for free), followed by the smile to invite him to talk to you. I fell completely under his charm for a good hour; until his friend told my friend that he is actually engaged and getting married in 6 months.

No, now it's all about the apps. How much you know of technology and how good you are at it. Flirting on social media, that's a thing. There's a wave on Instagram I recently experienced: one follows, you check out his pictures, maybe follow back. You get a like, you give a like. A person can look through your pictures and decide they like your personality (or at least, your Instapersonality) they may take the leap and send you a private message. You may even answer.

Then of course there are the actual dating apps. Or sex apps, still unclear who uses them for what. Apparently Tinder is now passé, kind of trashy. Happn is the newer, more classy version I hear. I'm yet to try it out, though I feel like I'm all app-ed out. I'm guessing the principle is the same. You basically get hundreds of guys putting their best pictures forward (the topless one, the petting a large animal one, the holding nephews and nieces one) or those who try to remain mysterious by only sharing a faraway picture so that you can't see much more than a silhouette... you swipe left and right (left a lot more than right) and strike up a conversation (as dry and textbook as they come) and you try your best to find some kind of connection even though the entire setup doesn't help you out at all --it's a lot of work and a lot of energy, for not much return. Sometimes they'll call you "baby" after a two sentence exchange and you wonder what on earth you've done wrong in your life to be in that position at that moment.

And then... then: There's the odd time when one of those many encounters materializes into an actual date. A real live date, a drink or a dinner, a face to face with a stranger usually subdued by one or four drinks, to help you through that awkward hour where you're trying to get to know a stranger. And it can be bad. Or even worse, it can be okay. He's nice enough that even though he took you to the completely wrong place, can't tell you an interesting story to save his life or make you feel anything but awkward politeness, you hang in there. And then you have to spend the next 3 weeks trying to politely, awkwardly, reject every other attempt he makes at asking you out again, until he finally gets the hint.

So the other night, I was talking about this to... my dad. Last person on earth I would ever talk to about my dating life. Because knowing my dad, he'll try to set me up with every eligible bachelor he comes across. And then I thought for a minute, that it might not be such a bad idea after all. I am, it seems, pretty old-school about the whole "how to meet someone" thing. And yes, I choose organically above technology any day. And having my father set me up is the one thing I haven't tried yet. So... I wonder how that will go.

the seventh wheel

I should've guessed that writing a blog about being single in my twenties wouldn't make me much of a relationship expert --but rather an expert at being single, at going on bad/weird/okay dates, and collecting stories for the ages. It's a good thing I'm writer, at least the stories have somewhere to go.

Which is basically why I find myself back here. To the blog that started a little over five years ago, just as a relationship was ending; like an ominous sign that I was about to lose a part of my life and I needed to reconnect with my words to survive it.

There's been a lot of ups and downs and trips sideways since then. Not just in love, but in life. And somewhere along the way, I turned thirty. And writing a blog about dating and relationships and life in your thirties is a little different. I no longer have a rat-pack of guys feeding me their latest conquests stories. Almost all the rats are married. Or engaged. The girls that used inspire me with broken hearts and awful dates are now talking wedding arrangements, house decor and baby feedings. But I'm not ready to write about any of those things.

Because I'm still stuck in another phase. The one where you're supposed to be a grownup, supposed to have your life together, a real apartment (but you have a really cute studio!), a boyfriend who is marriage material, money on the side... and you don't.

So I'm here, writing. What else am I gonna do? My words, they keep me company. They keep me from driving myself insane. When I write them down, it stops them from growing fangs in my brain. When I put them out there, I know that someone might relate.

You joke about being the Bridget Jones amongst your friends. You laugh about being the seventh wheel every Friday night at dinner because everyone else comes in pairs and you just come with a new hairdo. You smile when the one-hundredth person asks you if you've "met someone yet" when you go home for the holidays.

Until one day, the joke doesn't make you laugh, it makes you cry. You feel a little lonely in your world and you're tired of hiding behind your feelings, because they'll think you're being a drama queen. Or a martyr. God forbid you should actually admit that you're lonely sometimes. That being single isn't easy.

But it's not all drama. The truth is, I'm just having a bad day. A lot of the times, I'm happy I'm still free. That anything can happen, that my life could turn upside down and that the possibilities are endless. That age, despite how much society defines it, is just a number and if people think I still look 23, well then I must be.

unexpectedly unexpected

Being back from holidays is a very harsh reality check, especially when you spent the last 8 days in Paradise and you land back in Beirut. No offense Beirut lovers, I love this city most days of the year, but not today. Not when I just came back from blue skies and turquoise seas, deserted islands and elephant rides and white sand as far as the eyes can see.

I haven't been able to write anything since I got back because the mere idea of getting back into my "life" was depressing to me. Ever since I came back last week, I've tried to pretend that I was still away, hiding away from my usual hangouts, getting lectured by dad because he "hasn't seen me one second since I got back" and being passively present at work --physically but not mentally.

Now it's Monday and there are no more excuses. Everyone is back to reality by now and even though it sucks for a few days, I know that by next week, Thailand will be just a memory and life will be in the present again. The streets full of traffic at any hour of the day; The overcrowded bars, even though you'd think everyone got wasted enough the last two weeks of December, turns out they are even more crowded now; in the office where stacks of papers have piled up and you had promised yourself to put everything back in order in 2012; The bedroom where the new housekeeper (God Bless her, she's the sweetest person on earth but she doesn't understand a word I say) has decided to mix all your clothes with your sisters', as if sharing a room and fighting over who borrows what isn't enough; The to-do-list that you have to stop adding to, and start actually getting done. Did I mention all I've done since I got back is post pictures of Thailand on Facebook and play with my new iphone?

But sometimes in the midst of a nauseating routine, you find a glimpse of the good stuff --and what I mean by the good stuff is Sex. Turns out letting your guard down and just doing what you want to do sometimes takes you to better places. Let me explain --my friend Curls meets this guy over Xmas break: she doesn't live here, he doesn't live here, they've got nothing to lose. They find themselves attracted to each other and in that moment she knows all she wants from him is physical. She lets her guard down, doesn't play games, goes for what she wants and what happens? It actually clicks. I mention this because she is the queen of meeting new guys and it not working out. She is almost always looking for something serious, something meaningful, and she's a romantic one --but usually in stead of letting things flow as they should, she is prepared to settle for less. She meets a guy, realizes he fits the checklist, and holds onto him for dear life. Why? Because after years of getting run over by men you develop this phobia (and this is purely my own theory) that you may very well never find what you've always dreamed of and you settle for less. And if there is one thing I hate most in life it has to be just that. I almost fell for this too, not so long ago: met a guy, found him good-looking and charming and sweet and A-Perfect on every item on the list but you know what, at the end of our "date" I was disappointed. There he was: great on paper but no butterflies. Amazingly well-rounded but with nothing "special." No edge. Nothing out of the box. It was a perfectly well wrapped box with a pretty bow on top, and I'm sorry but that's not for me. And it's not for Curls either. Now the second she thought "I've got nothing to lose" suddenly she was herself. She broke down the barriers we put up to be our most attractive self, and put her cards on the table. I know, men like to chase. They don't want all your cards upfront. But it's all in the attitude. I spent all year listening to all kinds of advice from all kinds of people and it got me nowhere, until I met this guy randomly and I decided to have a one night stand --because that is exactly what I wanted-- and it turns out it was a damn good stand to take. It felt liberating to finally act the way I want, with no calculating and no over-thinking, just simply following my own wants and needs. 

So I think I finally may have figured it out. It's not the games and the number of calls and the bitch 101. It's whether you do what you want, or whether you do what you think he wants you to do. Simple as that. And here's the thing about doing what you want: it is so much more fun.

shifting the blame

So apparently men want women to know that as long as they are chill, easy-going and simple, the world is perfect and the ball is in their court. Which is great advice, truly. But in case the relationship fails, the woman gets dumped, or the man is driven to do the unthinkable, like cheat for example, well then, it must be the woman's fault... Because she wasn't chill enough. Or simple enough. Or cool enough. 


Men are Masters at Shifting the Blame. They all have PHDs in how to turn around every situation and always make it seem like it was the woman's fault, no matter how it starts. And I have proof. Rats and non-rats alike have admitted to me that they have the skills required to turn any fight into a losing battle for the lady. Even if she started it (which I'll admit, we usually do), and even if, and I quote, "even if she is completely right," they will always find a way to make her apologize without even knowing what for. Ever notice when you're so angry at your man and you start explaining yourself, when suddenly he cuts you off and gives you one argument after another, and you end up so confused you can't remember why you're fighting? Shifting the Blame Professionals, I'm telling you.

Just like the mouse wieseled it into his post. If women could just realize that men hate "the complaining, the stubbornness, lack of attention flip-out" and just not do it, then the world of relationships would be perfect. Hmmm. And women should just let men be themselves. And if the man acts like an asshole, cheats, leaves her with three kids and runs off to another side of the planet, she must be to blame... of course... because the ball is her court. "A man can only raise his standard to the point a woman allows him to.” (The wise words from Red in That 70s Show) Men are so good at doing that, it's frightening. At first glance, it seems flattering: means that if they do anything right, it's thanks to you... and if they do anything wrong, it's because of... you? 

Now I agree with a few things the mouse said: a woman who knows how to entice a man will turn any Rat, any player, any man out there into a lover boy, and he will be happy to be. But remember that it is all relative. If you're writing in the context of being super-happy-in-love, you are just not in the same mind-frame as a broken-hearted-singleton or a newly-single-and-enjoying-it, or even a married-divorced-and-blase perspective. 

A lot of the time, the woman is to blame. Yes, we can be annoying, stubborn, complaining girlfriends, and those are flaws men have also, by the way. And if women should let men be themselves, men should let women be themselves as well. And that includes jealous outbreaks, bursting-out in tears for no reason, the notorious PMS, and putting on those couple of winter kilos. 

I'm not trying to say that women are the eternal victims of some evil male scheme. But for once, it would be nice to see a man accept responsibility for his actions, and not shift the blame. Admit that she complained because he really exaggerated. Admit that he left her, not because she wasn't easy-going and simple and cool, but because he got bored. Admit that just because she's wrong, doesn't mean he's right.

lonesome cowboy

The other day I was in a car with three guys, who were, obviously, discussing women. And one of them is a forty-something single guy, who said his episodes with women were like Lucky Luke adventures: at the end of every story, he goes off onto the next, alone.

It's a funny thing about men. Now don't get me wrong, I love men, and all my closest friends are guys. But Rats and non-Rats alike, too many of them have this relationship phobia. What is it about commitment that makes them freak out so much? Some of the guys I know are commitment kings, always in a relationship, very comfortable in admitting that life is more fun when you have someone to share it with.

But the majority are just not like that, and they're the ones I'm gonna talk about, because they're the ones we deal with as single women. Actually, we deal with it even as women in relationships, when our boyfriends make us feel like they're doing this major sacrifice by committing to us, and that we should be grateful.

Hmm. Well apparently there's this new trend going on with guys who openly tell you, right upfront, that they are "assholes." I find it very odd, when you are flirting with a girl, trying to get some... to immediately say: "By the way, you should know, I'm an asshole." Wow. Exemplary. Now the guy thinks he has a free pass for being an asshole, because he told you so. You've been warned. So if he doesn't call, doesn't make an effort, doesn't take you out for dinner or never sees you again, at least he was honest. Who can put a price on that?

What's funny is that they probably think that by giving you that line straight up, they're being honorable. They actually believe it frees them of any guilt. When I spoke about this with the Rats, they all praised guys who are "so transparent." An ex-boyfriend of mine also told me that whenever he had flings with girls, he would tell them honestly that he wasn't looking for anything, that this was purely physical, making him feel like he was doing the right thing. So basically, if you say you're an asshole, then you can no longer be considered an asshole, because a real asshole would never actually say it. Blows your mind, doesn't it?

And then us girls are left with two choices: either consciously accept the asshole, or reject the asshole, and wait until the next one comes along --with or without the honest touch. Fine. Fair play. But I think, in my oh-so-clever-mind and after years of listening to Rats' tales, that these guys are just cowards. The idea of relationships freaks them out, and some get over it after the age of thirty five, and others, like my uncle the Legend, stay that way forever. Newsflash guys: not every girl you make out with wants to take you home to mom and get you to put a ring on her finger. That's just a rumor. Most just want to have a good time, like you, and if you really clicked, try and see how it goes. But with the asshole line, you've just wrecked it for good.

Now I love the exception to the rule. When Mr. Asshole meets Ms. Bitch, and suddenly the line becomes: "I'm usually such an asshole with every girl I meet, but you are sooo different from all these girls." And there can be the start of the greatest love story, where the player is turned into a one-woman man, and everyone is astonished at how this girl was able to tame him. And she feels proud that with her extraordinary womanly skills, she lured him into the commitment he was so phobic about. And it's good while it lasts. Until the Lucky Luke inside him wakes up some odd-years later, and wants to get back on that horse.

So my question is, lonesome cowboy... where do you think you're going to end up?