Tag Archives: Respect

33 Things You Didn’t Know About Men

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I originally wrote and published this in March 2011. Much has changed since then; much hasn’t.. Enjoy!

1. Men don’t like snobs. And no, they don’t like snobby behavior either. Why? They interpret it as rejection and bad manners. Remember, there’s a big difference between having that sexy self-confidence and that turn-off, holier-than-thou attitude.

2. Men of quality will choose a neat and presentable girl over a good-looking girl any day. There’s no point in dating a Gisele look-alike if she’s dressed like a hooker. That being said, yes, your man will enjoy you being the biggest b**** in bed, but you better be a lady in public. Men take no pride in boasting a hooker look-alike girlfriend. For starters, his friends will either make fun of him or make jokes about banging her. That’s not flattering for either of you.

3. Stop worrying about your silly tick or your wide hips or split ends or small breasts; and most importantly stop bringing attention to them. When a man really likes you, he’ll ignore your trivial bad characteristics.
4. Never underestimate a man’s attention to detail. If you have Sasquatch toes, he’ll run away. If you have hairy arms, armpits or upper lip, he’ll run away. If you have crooked, homeless guy teeth, he’ll run away. If you have bad breath that smells like a bird flew into your mouth and died, he’ll run away. And although some women may tolerate some body odor on men, it doesn’t work the other way around. If you smell bad, your man will run away. Men love the sweet smell of a woman’s skin and hair so make sure you don’t smell like rotting onions that have been roasting under the sun for weeks!

5. Yes, women hate it when men compare them to their mothers; but oddly enough, a man is attracted to a woman that reminds him of his mother (think: Oedipus). So, if you feel his mom is an evil b****, it’s highly likely you’re an evil b**** as well. Embrace it instead of trying to pick at it. Why? Because men love their moms.

6. Keep in mind that:
Men cry too, they just don’t make a dramatic Shakespearean show out of it like women do.
A man can be infatuated by you for five minutes, then forget you for the remainder of his existence.
Men can go crazy over a woman’s smile.
When a man tells you he doesn’t understand you, it’s because you’re not thinking the way he is.
Whether he’s lazy or super hard-working, every man has dreams bigger than his ego. And we all know how big a man’s ego is, so don’t crap all over his dreams.
When a guy keeps teasing you, it means he’s into you. Not much has changed since kindergarten.  

7. Never underestimate or question a man’s ability or power. Whether he’s driving around trying to find that new restaurant, or trying to fix your phone or his TV set, never tell him: “you don’t know what you’re doing.” Instead, smile and be his co-pilot or partner in crime. Once again, mind the ego.

8. Men are self-conscious about their weight too. They don’t like having a beer belly or those extra love handles, so don’t squeeze them and say “oh how cute!!” No man wants to be your teddy bear, he wants to be your beast and rock your world. Again, with the ego.

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9. A man can flirt around with 54 girls per day, but right before he goes to bed he only thinks about that one girl he truly cares about; whether it’s a girl he broke up with 7 years ago or his current lover or his best friend’s girl. It all comes down to that.

10. You’re not playing smart by telling a man: “Umm, you know what?  . . .  never mind, forget about it.” You’re not being a tease; you’re being a stupid child. He will most likely jump to a conclusion so far from what you were actually thinking . . . then hell may break loose. Remember that thing about the ego?

11. Never talk about your ex-boyfriends. Men hate it. Their imaginations will run wild too. On that note, when you tell a man you’re friendly with your Ex; his mind registers it as: “my Ex and I still hook up every now and then.”

12. When a man asks to meet your parents, don’t stop him. You never know, just a few months down the line, you could be begging him to meet your parents – and he’ll be refusing . . . this sh** tends to happen. A lot.

13. No girl likes an emotionless man. The key here is moderation, so don’t keep trying to provoke your man in order to get a reaction out of him. If he’s provoked enough, you’ll be getting much more than a heated temper (and no girl likes that either).

14. When a girl says “no” to a guy, he usually interprets it as “try again later.” When a girl says “yes,” he interprets it as “I want you to f*** me.” There’s no such thing as being too hard to get, but there is such a thing as being too accessible. Men don’t like accessible girls, they enjoy the thrill of the chase and prefer a girl that’s a challenge; someone who’s been unattainable to the guys before him.

15. Although they will deny this, men are even bigger and worse gossipers than women. They have the power to spread a story across the face of the earth faster than a woman can put her shirt back on.

16. It’s smart thinking to test a guy before you can believe and trust him, but make sure that doesn’t go on for too long. Distrust on the longterm is interpreted as low self-esteem, and low self-esteem is a big turn off for any man.

17. When a man has had a rough day, he’d rather be left alone to lick his wounds (caveman style). If you’re privileged enough, he will share his problems with you. Don’t nag, don’t philosophize, don’t give advice and don’t breathe. Just listen to him and be there for him. Be quiet for once.

18. Although they may not show it, it’s super f***ing hard for a guy to move on and let go of his girlfriend after a breakup; especially if they’ve been together for over 2 years.

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19. During Courtship:
If a girl really makes a guy suffer, it would be tremendously hard for him to let go of her.
Men are willing to do anything to capture the attention of a girl they really like.

20. If your relationship is serious, it is more likely that the man loves you more than you love him; so even if a man tells you he loves you once every 34 months, there’s no need slit your wrists. It still means he loves you. Instead, try focusing on his actions, not his words.

21. Never dig into your man’s personal belongings without asking first. Whether it’s his phone, laptop, sock drawer or anything that’s his; if you’re looking to find something bad, you definitely will – and honey, your prying nose ain’t gonna like it. We all have a history. Accept that he does too and focus on other more important things, like why you’re such an insecure and nosy little b****.

That being said . . .

22. Don’t open Pandora’s Box unless you’re ready to face the consequences. Also, if you snoop around, don’t tell him or he’ll a) lose respect for you or b) begin snooping through your phone every single day just to spite you.

23. Men hate it when their woman is wearing too much make up. Men also hate it when a woman’s hair is full-on coiffed with half a bottle of hairspray squirted into it. Men like to run their fingers through your soft hair without requiring a wrench to pull their hand out of your head. They also like to play with your face and kiss your cheeks without hearing “eeeeek! you’re ruining my make up!” men interpret excess make up as a) a clown at a circus or b) hooker in a brothel.

24. Even if they don’t admit it, men do not appreciate it when they buy you a 2,000 dollar gift then receive a 200 dollar gift from you. That spells: G-O-L-D-D-I-G-G-E-R! It also says you’re an ungrateful person who believes she is entitled to receiving without giving back. If you can’t afford buying him something close to that value, don’t accept his gift in the first place.

25. When you want to “teach” your man something, do it in private. In public, they must appear to know everything. On that note, never try to emasculate your man in front of his friends or family; he will hate you for that. His friends will hate you for that. His family will hate you for that. They will all encourage him to leave you. Unless he’s completely whipped, he will most likely, eventually leave you.

26. If a man says “I’ll call you” and he doesn’t, it doesn’t mean he forgot, it doesn’t mean he lost your number, it doesn’t mean he had a family emergency, and it doesn’t mean he’s lying dead in the hospital. It means he simply didn’t want to call you. Why? Who cares! Next!

27. Always be direct with a man. Never use mixed signals. If you want to get what you want, don’t say “yes” when you mean “no” or “go ahead” when you mean “stay” or “I don’t mind” when you mean “don’t you dare.” Be a woman, damn it, not a silly little girl.

28. Every man is a pedophile to some degree. A man loves it when his woman acts like a baby and he loves her timidity, innocence and purity. Don’t mistake these characteristics for being “naïve, stupid, ignorant, weak and dependent” – men hate that.

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29. Men love a sexy, sultry, elegant woman who turns people’s heads when she walks into a room. Sometimes though, men prefer it if you wore no make up, a T-shirt with jeans and sneakers, and tied your hair in a ponytail. Simplicity is also nice.

30. Most men don’t mind if you’re short. They will mind if you’re fat though. When a man tells you that you just need to “work out at the gym,” that’s his polite way of telling you “you need to lose weight!” But – no man likes a scrawny, boney, semi-anorexic, breastless, butt-less, curve-less skeleton either.

31. When threatening to “unleash your inner b****” to a man, you are not intimidating him at all. Instead, he is a) disgusted, b) secretly laughing at you, or c) possibly not even listening to your empty threats and growling. On that note, a man hates a woman that loses her composure. Shouting and screaming is a big no-no. If you want to get your point across, think Al Pacino from the Godfather part I (not part III): calm and terrifying.

32. Men hate women’s drunken dramatic alter egos. Whether it’s aggressive, emotional, out of control, or plain weird, they just hate it. They especially hate it when they have to watch you vomit while holding your hair back – that’s your best friend’s job – at 16. At 26? Not so much . . .

33. Fact: Married men tend to have a longer life expectancy than single men, but married men are the ones more willing to die.



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In the Land of Lesbianon!


As we grow older, and as more of our friends get married, we naturally become more aware of how “alone” and “single” we are, and tend to settle for the next best thing just so we don’t get left behind. I for one am content with being single, so long as I’m not stuck in a half-ass relationship with a slob who thinks that wiping urine off his toilet seat is “effort.” On the other hand, several of my single lady friends (and acquaintances) cannot seem to stop complaining about men (or lack thereof) – and this entails the following deep and philosophical questions:

1.       Why do I always fall for assholes?

Because you’re an asshole – to yourself. When you genuinely love someone, you can’t allow yourself to hurt or mistreat them. Now apply that to yourself. If you genuinely love yourself, you can’t allow anyone to hurt you or mistreat you; in order for them to do that, they need your permission. By letting a jerk hold your beautiful heart with his dirty hands, you’re asking for it, sister!

Here’s a scenario for you: A jerk-off tells you that he doesn’t want a relationship, calls you at 2 AM after a night out, asks you to come over because he misses you; you go to his place, expecting a deep, long discussion — what on earth are you thinking? First of all, why pick up in the first place? Let him go booty call his mother. Second of all, the only deep, long thing you’ll be getting is his sausage. Yes, you’re the asshole, not him.

2.       What has happened to men these days?

What has happened to women these days? Where are the women that know what they want, have self-respect, and don’t settle for less than what they deserve? If you want a gentleman with old school manners, be a lady – you’ll definitely stand out in this new generation of vulgar skanks. I’m tired of women who go after men that are in relationships, or women that are so easy – thanks to you bitches, men now think they can have it all without having to make the slightest effort. Since boys will be boys, they think “Why settle for one baby mama when I got all dem hoes on my peen like glue?” (For the record, I don’t know any normal guy that talks like that, but if I ever meet one, I will punch him in the stomach.) Nevertheless, the message is still the same.

3.       Where are the men these days?

They’re everywhere – depending on what you’re looking for. If on the other hand you mean, where’s the generous billionaire who will love and honor me above anyone and anything, you simply must reset your priorities. Start by reading a book or something, because you’re clearly quite ignorant and haven’t a clue on what life is about outside your pretty little head.

And by the way…

This PSA is to all you women who call themselves “gangsta” and “heartbreaker” and talk like a female version of Snoop Dogg (or Lion or whatever his current name is): if ladies become extinct in 50 years, it’s because of white trash like you. You may not be a ho, but you most certainly look and act like one – and you know what they say, “if it talks like a duck and walks like a duck…,” well, you get the point. Stop complaining about “men these days” – you lost your right to be selective the day you started bragging about how “badass” you are. Go grow yourself a penis.

4.       Are all the good men taken or gay?

Obviously, married men are always more appealing than single ones. Why? Because 1) that guy is perceived as someone with enough good qualities to get the girl (face it boys, this is the sad reality); and 2) we all want what we can’t have (rephrased: no one wants what everyone else can get). This in no way encourages you to be a home wrecking ho. There are many great guys left; gay and straight – enough for both the queens and princesses – but obsessively trying to find the last of the good ones by “doing/saying all the right things” won’t get you anywhere. It will just make you more hopeless and desperate. Instead, try searching for yourself. When you find the real “you,” maybe he will too (since he’s probably wondering where all the good women are as well).

5.        “WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME?!”

Why? Because you’re single? Maybe you should start by asking yourself why that’s such a bad thing, then help yourself to a serving of GET OVER IT!

Almost two months ago, I was depressed about celebrating my 28th birthday, simply because it meant turning a year older – nothing more, nothing less. A “bright” girl I know gave me a pat on the shoulder then said, “Don’t worry – my sister got married at 29, after we had all lost hope. You still have a chance.”


My jaw dropped all the way down to her IQ level. I simply blinked at her in complete disbelief and focused on the unbearable humidity, in an eager attempt to distract myself with the one thing more offensive that the words she was uttering.

6.       Who am I going to marry? Will I ever get married?

Well, last time I checked my crystal ball, it said something about you marrying … no, being a moron.

This has to be my least favorite question of the bunch. I guess the fact that I tend to talk and philosophize a lot makes it seem that I hold the answers to the universe. Make no mistake, I am indeed a genius – but if I possessed psychic powers, I’d focus my energy on finding the next Google or Apple or Oprah to invest in – maybe a Gooprah: the answer to all women’s relationship problems.

7.       Why are there so many hoes?

Although I tend to use the word “ho” a lot, I don’t like it much; but it’s a briefer, more convenient way of saying: stupid, insecure, self-hating, fugly bitch that should be kicked in the face for being such a pain to exist with on the same planet. Anyway, cheap guys go for cheap girls – so let’s thank these hoes for existing – they act as a filter for other women by indentifying garbage and helping us avoid dirtying our hands with it.

Sorry boys, the “car fax” doesn’t just work on girls. You’re going to be judged by the girls you’ve loved, fucked and fondled for years to come … and no, being a “pimp” and a “man-whore” is not sexy anymore. That’s so 2001.Get with the times!

8.       Why do men love bitches?

Men love a smart woman who loves herself enough not to take shit from anyone. At the same time, she is honest, respectful and loving – to herself and others. This bitch is a lady – the hoes mentioned above are another genre of last year’s horse manure, who have given up on love, life and themselves. Please do not mistake the two.

At the end of the day, men are looking for the same thing as women — we’re all looking for that spark, and whoever denies it is a child. We all want a good challenge and an equally fulfilling trophy at the end. That is what the “game” is about (this is directed at you fools who pollute my ears with “I’m a hustler; a player; a gangsta.” STFU, please. I no longer have the patience for this at my age.

9.       Should I become a lesbian?

If you feel like it, sure. With the 7 to 1 female to male ratio in Lebanon, you have much higher chances of meeting someone. Just stop reminding me about how you’d be much happier and better off being a “lesbo” unless you want me to shove your face in the next woman’s coochie. In dire need of better conversations here, please – NEXT!

10.   Should I date that loser that was stalking me last year? Maybe he’s a nice guy…

Once again, if you think being single is that much of a punishment that you have to date an annoying worm that is mildly less annoying than a monkey with fleas, then maybe you shouldn’t be in a relationship – ever! Because of desperation, I have lost countless girlfriends to men who they’d previously referred to as, “If he were the last man on earth, and the last sheep died, I’d make love to a tree.” Of course, being the way I am, I never ceased to remind them of how horrible their future husband is; thus being exiled from their lives because I’m “unsupportive.”  I’d like to take this opportunity to wish a couple of girls (you know who you are) the following: I hope you make it to your two-year anniversary. If you don’t, you can go fuck a log or a branch or something because I’m all out of I told you so.

In a nutshell, the cure to the chronic disease known as “Singlitis” is the following:

Be a ho. Catch a playa!

Yes, as if.

PS. I will resort to physical violence and (I repeat) punch the next person who talks like that in front of me. I support good diction – and no, that doesn’t mean “dick friction” as so crudely entered in UrbanDictionary.com by this new generation of morons!


Seriously though, it all comes down to this:

If you want a man to respect you, respect yourself first. If you want a man to love you, love yourself first. If you want something, be clear about it and act clearly upon that. If you want a gentleman, be a LADY first!

Or, become a lesbian.

So, since I’m such a wise preacher, why am I single? Because I’m a pedophile that likes molesting little boys.


Let’s just say my last boyfriend raised the bar for everyone else out there. He was a reminder that Prince Charming does exist; that perfect man that each of us is looking for, he really is out there. But in order to be able to give and receive so much happiness without letting it scare you half to death, you have to be ready for it. I was able to find that, but I wasn’t ready and neither was he. This is why I am currently focused on improving myself; because to get the best I can get, I need to be the best I can be first. Next time around, I will be ready; but in the meantime, I won’t be wasting my time complaining, feeling sorry for myself or settling for Mr. Mediocre. As Carrie Bradshaw (SJP) once said, I “refuse to settle for anything less than butterflies.”


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The Office Whoreo


Disclaimer: This is neither educational nor motivational. It will add no value to your life; just like the three “working girls” I’m about to describe in a minute.

After an eight-month hiatus from blogging and four failed password attempts while signing into WordPress, I find myself unable to suppress my thoughts about the one topic I was never interested in writing about before: workplace politics.

Instead, I used to encourage my readers to be independent, career-building, goal-oriented members of society. One day, I decided to take my own brilliant advice and get a full-time job. This ranks pretty high up on my list of “Biggest Mistakes I’ve Ever Made. . . EVER!” Not only was I happier before that, but I was more successful in the sense that I was doing something I enjoyed and interacting with people I liked.

When working as a freelancer from the comfort of my own home, I never really have to deal with functioning in an office environment. I have my clients, call my own shots and am as free as a bird. And although I’d already caught a glimpse of the unmatched Lebanese professionalism a few times (and no, I do not mean that as a compliment), I would have never predicted what was in store for me within a workplace.

As an educated person with manners, I was still in shock months into my – then – new job because of the “people” I had to deal with on a daily basis. Now don’t get me wrong; I worked with many fantastic people who I’d even become friends with, but then you have the unavoidable “I’ve come to ruin your day” folk that would make even Buddha hostile.
I guess I should have sensed it from week one, when Ms. Whoreo walked into my office in a skin-tight shirt and no trousers. As I stared at what could have been her secret garden, she stuck two large pieces of bubble gum in her mouth and proceeded with her enlightening questions, “You’re the new girl right? Who brought you here?”

I wasn’t really sure what she meant, but I explained to her that my credentials got me the job. For the first and last time since I (unfortunately) met her, she paused her camel-like chewing and stared at me emptily as though I’d just told her that her shirt is too long. Unable to remain in a vertical position for too long, she plopped herself down on a chair beside me, stretching out her bare cellulite-covered legs as she showed me the color on her toe nails – a blinding fluorescent shade of urine, capable of lighting up the state of Texas . . . during a blackout . . . on a moonless night. Forcing myself to smile (versus throwing her out of my office), I explained to her that I was very busy. Oozing with charm, Whoreo yawned loud enough for the whales of the South Pacific Ocean to migrate here believing it is mating season in the Mediterranean Sea. “Hahaha – busy doing what? It’s Friday! I’m so bored I could fall asleep,” she retorted so intelligently as she furiously chewed her gum. She even proceeded to mock my English, repeating “eeerrrr” and “yo, yo” and “yeah man” after every syllable I uttered, making me want to apologize to her for being able to speak more than one language fluently. I knew then and there that I’d fallen in-hate with this creature, but I was intrigued.
How did she manage to find a job that didn’t involve pole-dancing? She clearly had no qualifications where her mouth wasn’t involved, and she couldn’t have possibly completed high school. After asking around about her, I found out she secures a certain lowly and irrelevant job position, but has more immunity than a board member. When/if present at her desk, she answered calls with a mouthful of food or gum, strenuously signed on received packages, and welcomed visitors with open arms (and legs).

In an attempt to locate the fax machine, I found myself at Whoreo’s desk. To my surprise, she was chatting with yet another Whoreo who goes by the same name! Whoreo II actually managed to use her one “skill” to climb the career ladder; although I’m sure even her own mother knew, since the third grade, that her little Whoreo of love is better off as a stripper. Thirty years later, she does in fact look like a stripper, wearing a long, see-through sweater that matches the color of her nipples, no trousers – of course – and knee high patent leather boots. I couldn’t help but stare at her hair, wondering what color it was supposed to be (I don’t think cat vomit qualifies as a shade). Also, was it a perm-gone-bad, had she just gotten laid, or did she forget to brush those tresses for twelve weeks? Whoreo II caught me staring at her bed hair and gave me a dirty look followed by a very sexual sound, which turned out to be her voice forming a sentence, “Can I help you?” As I unwillingly looked at her sarcastic facial expression, I wanted to tell her that I’m not too fond of massages with happy endings, but instead I turned over to the less of the two evils, and asked Whoreo I to fax something over for me. She held a finger up at me, gesturing for me to wait. She was surprisingly overwhelmed with work; there was an excruciatingly focused expression on her face as she rested her D-cups on her desk, held the telephone with her left hand and jotted down notes with the right. “We’ve placed a large order to this address countless times before,” she snapped at the person on the other side of the call. She then took the document I wanted to fax and condescendingly said, “Look at me doing five things at once. Anything else I can do for you?” Maybe I had misjudged her, maybe she really was a hardworking, multitasking savior of planet earth. Maybe she was just a very bad dresser that didn’t know trousers existed. Maybe . . . My thoughts were interrupted with her bellowing into the receiver, “No, no, no! We want three chicken sandwiches, three hamburgers and four boxes of fries! Pfffft!” This time I couldn’t hide my shock. As she bent over just enough for me to catch a glimpse of her uterus, I snatched my document back, forced myself to say thank you and stormed off.

Whoreo III, who also goes by the same freaking name, was constantly hounding every male employee in the company. Her failed attempts at flirtation were possibly because she looked like an electrocuted hamster that reeked of desperation. Not only did she hate me for no reason, but her and her gang of juvenile dimwits had the loudest voices, most sordid fashion sense, and were BFFs with queen vagina, Whoreo I. Funny enough, this clique of Slutology grads thought everyone envied them. Whoreo II actually pranced around repeatedly bragging about all her haters, and how everyone in the company was jealous of her.

HA-HA-HA . . . No.

No one hates you, Whoreo II. We just all deeply and utterly dislike you because you’re a slut. You look like one, talk like one and act like one; and frankly, your arrogant, pompous attitude doesn’t match your white trash appearance – not one bit – or the fact that you’re uneducated, untalented and rude. The reason we don’t talk to you is because we don’t want to be associated with the office skank. It’s as simple as that.

So why care, you may ask. Ladies and gentlemen, I am pissed off because there is a hierarchy based on common logic that’s been twisted and remolded into something very ugly. The likes of Whoreo I, for example, need to understand that they are at the bottom of the corporate food chain. It is simply unacceptable for a vagina-baring homewrecker to give orders to higher-ranking employees (whose work is actually vital to the company) and get away with it; this is workplace politics.

In today’s work environment, it disappoints me to see such a trend where capable people with excellent credentials sit jobless at home, while such sasquatches get paid to disrespect their coworkers, chew gum and gossip all day.

If Whoreo I, II or III ever read this, I’d like to say two things:

  1. Somewhere, there are three trees wasting their time supplying each of you with oxygen. Apologize to them.
  2. Wear trousers for God’s sake!

As for all the employers out there who are content with such staff, I’d like to congratulate them on hiring the only three living creatures, who when combined, possess the IQ of a table. Here’s to growing your business!


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The Daily Rant: The Car-Fingering Proboscis Monkey

Proboscis Monkey (aka Long Lost Twin Brother of the Car-Fingerer)

So it seems this is the week of gym adventures for me – and frankly what happened last night is even more retarded that Gym Booger John. Yes people, I encountered an even bigger douchebag!

My gym closes at 11 pm, and when I’m overworked (which is every day of my f***ing existence) I tend to go a bit late and leave when it’s dark outside – this is not a call to all rapists! Stay away from me or I’ll f***ing kill you.
Anyway, I finished my workout at 11 pm sharp and headed to my car which was parked outside (instead of the gym’s underground parking).

Before I continue, you must understand the following:

  1. I have a ridiculous fear of underground parking spaces because I believe that’s where rapists dwell — there and in dark alleyways. So, I like to keep my car parked in the most public place possible; thus allowing the entire universe to hear my piercing scream incase a dirty rapist tries to f*** with me.
  2. Dirty scumbag rapists scare the sh** out of me.
  3. Speaking of sh**, all inhabitants of planet Lebanon must already know that two days ago, the sky had diarrhea. My car is 56 levels above filthy because it rained “mud” or something. As the Lebanese say, “Shattit wahhel.” This can only mean one thing: I’m not a neglectful, dirty, disgusting person! The reason my car’s so filthy is because it was defecated on – immensely.

Back to my story . . . so I left the gym at 11 pm, and as I was walking to my car in the dark, I saw a guy fingering my car – literally! I couldn’t properly see or understand what this sick bastard was doing, but the first thought that came to my mind was: bastard’s trying to steal my headlights!
I then noticed he had a weird smile on his face, so my next thought was: a**hole’s masturbating!
I couldn’t understand why he’d be standing in front of my car masturbating so I walked towards him, ready to kick him in the face. I kept my eye on his rape pickle and noticed it’s still in his pants.
Phew! He was not masturbating.
WTF was he doing then?!

The a**hole was WRITING on my car – with his FINGER!

Since I was still approaching him, I yelled, “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!”
He was so determined to finish what he was writing, then began walking away with a SMILE on his ugly face.
He finally said, “Sorry, I’m SORRY,” and scurried away like a rat . . . with that douchebag smile still on his face.


No, no, no, NO!

This is unacceptable! I cannot believe I managed to catch a car-fingerer red-handed, at the gym, at 11 pm, AND he was smiling about it. No . . . I do not accept this.

I walked over to the lid of my car engine, and guess what the proboscis monkey wrote?
“Aghssilni Arjouk!” (translation: Wash me, I beg you!)

True Story

No! My car is certainly not suffering! My car loves me and is not begging me to be washed. I have the happiest car in the world. But now, it’s been fingered by a car perv and is displaying an upsetting message that I would have wiped off, expect my car’s so f***ing filthy I could not imagine touching it, not even with seven layers of tissue paper.
So, you ugly car fingerer, if you’re out there, you’ll be happy to know that I’m taking my car to the car wash today, a**hole, which is something I do every week (or two). I hope someone literally sh**s all over your face car, so that you feel as violated as I do because of your proboscis monkey fingers!

People, I am pissed. Not because I was called on my obviously filthy car, but because I am very protective of what’s mine and I do not like people touching what’s mine without my goddamn permission . . . because it’s mine!
He saw me walking towards my car, why couldn’t he have just run away like a typical coward or simply said, “Miss, could you please wash your f***ing car? It’s filthy!” But nooo, he just had to get down and dirty with my car as-I-watched!
No . . . no.

Have a finger-lickin’ good day!

PS. I don’t encourage swearing or the use of profane language (Hi Dad), nor do I practice it in the real world . . . I just apply it in my rants because it makes me sound so badass — which I’m not (but i will kick rapist butt on any given day). Also, please subscribe to my blog. Thank you!


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Lebanon: Racism at its Finest

prejudice racism bias e1318240227708 La Wlooo!!!....Lebanon: Racism at its Finest


For the first decade and a half of my life, I grew up among different cultures and religions. Being exposed to people from of all colors, backgrounds, beliefs and nationalities came as something normal to me. I was not prejudiced; I made no stereotypes, no judgments and had no preferences. I then moved to Lebanon where I lived, studied and worked for the second decade of my life. This is where I slowly and unconsciously started becoming biased and narrow-minded like the majority of the peasants around me who segmented people not only according to their religion, but also according to their nationality, color, financial status, and dress code.

If I am not mistaken, I heard a very appalling story about the Indian ambassador’s wife being snubbed off by an arrogant saleswoman in one of Lebanon’s ‘renowned’ clothing outlets. There was also this other story about a dark-skinned ambassador’s wife who was asked to get out of the swimming pool because she was thought to be a maid.

A couple of Lebanese commercials shocked me as well. One featured a Srilankan ‘maid’ endorsing a call center (or something of the sort) as she spoke in her Arab-lankan accent since it’s so typical to find “the help” lined up at call centers to call their families back home. It was shamelessly broadcasted on practically every radio station. It took me a while to absorb the claptrap I was listening to.
One more commercial was about yet another Srilankan ‘maid’ giving her testimonial about a certain washing detergent (manufactured by a – startlingly – renowned company). This was aired on almost all local TV channels. Racism much?

I wasn’t sure if the creative directors behind these two commercials were trying to be funny or are just downrightly narrow-minded. They were both an epic fail, just like “Rass el Aabed” whose name had to be changed to “Tarboush” because the manufacturers finally learned what racism means after decades of being offensive. It’s never too late . . . one day we may even stop calling metal sponges “seef el aabed”.

I only notice how silly I’ve become when I leave Lebanon for a few days of vacation – something that I must do every few months to sustain my good sense. I arrived to Dubai a few days ago, and being amidst a hundred different nationalities, I found myself stereotyping each and everyone as I made childish jokes about them. Two days into this, I was sickened by myself. I realized I was never like this till I moved to Lebanon and started listening to people’s opinions on communities from different backgrounds.

Disclaimer: the following material is highly offensive and based only on stereotypes made by uneducated people. It does not represent the truth or my views. It represents the distorted ‘truth’. If you still wish to rain on me with insults, please refer to the comment box below. Thank you.  

Indians: Apart from being good at head-bobbing, they are either housemaids or taxi drivers. They eat curry all day and dance all night (while bobbing their heads of course). People find it amusing and cool to impersonate them. They have sex as much as they eat curry.
They are often mistaken for the one nationality that they dislike: Pakistanis.

Pakistanis: (See: Indians, except for the sex part) – they are also often mistaken for the one nationality that they dislike: Indians.

Filipinos: People also love impersonating them: “wegetabless”, “peepty pipe dalaz”, and many more while stretching their eyes to create an Asian look. They are perceived as the best choice for housekeepers as well since they are very clean, maternal and not black.

Russians: All females are mail order brides, strippers or prostitutes. They are frowned upon by Lebanese women and viewed as the “competition”. They are the home wreckers of our society and are all after one thing: money. All males are either drug dealers, members of the mafia or useless, jobless wife beaters.

Saudis: The men are all perverted, rich, horny (possibly bisexual, possibly pedophile) and all after one thing: sex. The women: no comment (I don’t want to be put in jail), but if you have a notion of what I meant to write here, consider yourself biased.

Ethiopians: Women are either maids or prostitutes carrying HIV. They clean houses by day and seduce taxi and moped drivers by night.

Americans: Perceived as overweight, wealthy, stupid, privileged and blond*. Let’s not forget cheap and stingy. They will one day take over the world if the Chinese don’t beat them at it.

Europeans: Perceived as sexy (because of their accents), blond*, white, borderline albino and let’s not forget cheap and stingy (contrary to the ‘oh so generous’ Lebanese man). Let’s not forget that they are thought to have poor hygiene.

English: Blond*, cold, unemotional beer drinkers. They are perceived to be the best at doing business.

*Please note that people from the west are stereotyped as blond. If you’re blond, you will be asked (in a terrible Arab-English accent) if you’re American, European or English.

South Americans: Men are drug lords. Women are Victoria’s Secret models.

Japanese: They are everywhere. They are the “classe” Asians. Their cameras and phones are always nicer than yours so it’s safe to ask them to take a picture of you in front of the fountain – they won’t run away with your camera (believe it or not, this advice was given to me by several travel agents and tour guides).

Australians: since conversing with them is difficult enough, people tend to ask them if they’re ever seen or played with a kangaroo. Whether the answer is ‘yes’ or ‘no’, the conversation ends then because they have the worst English accent in the world (even worse than the Lebanese “za zebra went to za zoo” English).

Moroccans: their women are beautiful nymphomaniacs and/or whores. Their men are dangerous (not sure as to why).

Algerians: They are all crooks.

Africans: they are ‘all black’; hence they are all rapists, crooks, kidnappers, killers, thieves and everything bad and dangerous in the world. Avoid eye contact.

Jews: Best business minds and money makers, all are rich, all are stingy, all are selfish and all are backstabbers.

Armenians: All live and/or work in Burj Hammoud. All eat bastirma. They help each other and each other only. All are stingy. They are compared to Jews (please don’t ask me why).

These are only a few of the stereotypes made by Lebanese people, but what we forget is how we are stereotyped:

Lebanese: Worst people to do business with, loud, obnoxious, nouveau riche, war mongers, alcoholics, party animals, gossipers, trouble makers, pretentious, materialistic and fake. Let’s not forget Lebanese girls that are stereotyped as fake inside and out – plastic – and perceived as whores in the Arab world (thank you Haifa).

Of course none of the above stereotypes are fair or accurate, but it is so easy to put people in the same basket instead of focusing on their unique qualities. It is easy to wonder why a Pakistani person is a CEO of a multinational company or why a Russian woman is good housewife, mother and career woman. What’s not so easy is bursting out of our little bubble and embracing the world around us for what it is, not for how we see it. I am including myself here because I am disappointed at how I would allow myself to get carried away with the incompetent many instead of learning from the competent few. For the 564th time I say, “never again”.

Racism is man’s gravest threat to man – the maximum of hatred for a minimum of reason.” Abraham J. Heschel

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Zouzou, Abul Zouz & Abul Ghadab!

zouzou ebba La Wlooo!!!...Zouzou, Abul Zouz & Abul Ghadab!

I really wanted to write about Lebanese gentlemen this week, but since my writing is inspired from what I see around me, and since Lebanese gentlemen have become quite the endangered species, I decided to write about the notorious Lebanese Wazwaz instead.

Whether you have lived in Lebanon all your life or you are a tourist visiting for a week, you must surely be familiar with the term Wazwaz and what/who/how the Wazwaz is.

The Wazwaz always has spicy nicknames. Why? Because a normal name doesn’t do justice to such a powerful, dangerous zouzou antar1 La Wlooo!!!...Zouzou, Abul Zouz & Abul Ghadab!beast. Abul Zouz, Zouzou (Ebba), Abul Ghadab, Abul Leil, Abu Rabba, Jix, Aantar, Abu Ali – sorry I’ll have to stop at that; I’m embarrassed enough to know this number of names. My favorite nickname is Zouzou, so I will use it in reference to the Wazwaz club members throughout this entry.

Zouzou’s favorite accessory is his moped. Regardless of traffic or people or cars on the street, he will always ride it on one wheel; hence, “Ebba ya Zouzou ebba!” Eww. Yesterday as I was driving over to my friend’s place, Zouzou was showing off his moped “ebba” skills and holding up traffic. He was right in front of me . . . for ten minutes until my anger got the best of me, at which point I drove up to him, honked like a Zouzou myself, and yelled at him, “FHEMNA! CAN YOU MOVE NOW?” Zouzou was surprisingly . . . surprised! Did he think he was impressing us?

Zouzou knows his toys. A moped is one of them, a compact 1970’s Volkswagen, Renault, or BMW will make him king of his alley. The “Pimp My Ride” Zouzou edition involves decorating the car with stickers, “If you want to die, follow me . . .” wazwaz car 300x300 La Wlooo!!!...Zouzou, Abul Zouz & Abul Ghadab!Those cars always have an extremely noisy exhaust and an obnoxiously loud sound system that plays “tish-tik-tah-tah” music – Haifa Wehbe is a favorite. Their English music selection usually includes Yves Larock’s “Rise Up” and 666’s “Alarma”. Yes, so dangerous. Zouzou’s car will always beat any Ferrari, Porsche, or Lamborghini he comes across on the highway. It doesn’t matter if Zouzou’s car bursts into flames because its engine exploded . . . he’ll always find a convincing reason as to why the Ferrari won. Hence, the “Abu Rabba” nickname.

Zouzou’s favorite line is “Shuuuuu??” pronounced as “Shaaaaaaaaa?”
He sees his friend: “Shaaaaaaaaa?”
He sees his father: “Shaaaaaaaaa?”
He sees his neighbor: “Shaaaaaaaaa?”
He sees the garbage man: “Shaaaaaaaaa?”
He sees a female: “Shaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa?”

Speaking of which, Zouzou has no control of his “zizi” or of his speech, behavior, and thoughts when he sees a female – angry man La Wlooo!!!...Zouzou, Abul Zouz & Abul Ghadab!especially if she’s walking down the street.
“Shaaaaa ya ashta?!”
Of course Zouzou expects her to be charmed and jump on that moped with him as he rides her into the sunset.
God forbid she’s licking a Popsicle: “Wlek ya raytne el bouza!!”
No, this is not harassment at all! It’s not weird at all for a strange man to shout out to a woman that he’d like it if she “licks him like a Popsicle”. Eukh!
This happened to me once. I was so offended I simply had to throw my Popsicle at him and run off. Once again Zouzou was surprisingly surprised. I still think of what reaction he may have been anticipating (moped . . . sunset . . . baby Zouzous).

Zouzou almost always looks like
a) a gangster
b) a homeless street boy
c) a rapist
d) all of the above

tige tattoo 225x300 La Wlooo!!!...Zouzou, Abul Zouz & Abul Ghadab!He almost always has a tattoo . . . or five. It’s either a cross, a dagger, a tiger, a skull, or maybe all combined into one big mess of a black ink catastrophe. Him and his posse probably all went together to “Abul Ghadab Tattoo Parlor” to get tats done together; the stamp for the “Zouzou Brotherhood”. In the absence of a tattoo, Zouzou definitely has burn scar tissue in the form of a cross on his arm, shoulder, or back. This is back from the high school days (if he got that far) where his Aantar-ness and beastly manliness were tested. No it’s not disgusting; it’s COOL!

Zouzou’s clothing style and trends are to be envied. His faded ripped jeans, wife-beater (sleeveless shirt), thick black belt with a Wazwaz buckle the size of Texas, Pointy shoes or cowboy boots (or as Zouzou says, “Coyboy”) and enough gel in his head to hold together the tower of Pisa. Some have the army haircut; the “tanjara”. It’s quite a favorite among the Zouzous.

When a Zouzou looks at you, you know he’s thinking of one of two things:
1) The quickest way to steal your money
2) The quickest way to grab your ass
In any case, this is bad news. The best thing you can do in such circumstances is ignore the Zouzou.
If you are a woman, you certainly don’t want to engage in a stare down with Zouzou. He will interpret it as one of two things:

a)      “Bayye a2wa men bayyak” – could you possibly think for a minute that you are more worthy than Zouzou? *Gasp* In this case he’ll get very defensive and aggressive. He’ll forget about raping you and will want to beat you . . . after he floods you with every possible below the belt insult. These insults usually involve your mother, father, great grandmother, dancing on your grave, a donkey’s penis, and things like that all coming together to form one glorious insult.

b)      “Enta ktir wahesh” – yes, Zouzou already knows he’s a lover hotter than lava. Now he knows that you know. Whether you know it or not is irrelevant. Whether you’re looking at him in the most disgusted way is irrelevant. Whether you’re holding back vomit is irrelevant. Next thing you know he’ll be telling you, “Shu hal jassad ya assad,” or “Habbaytik wein baytik,” as he gives you his sexy signature stares. At this point, even if you scream in his face . . . it’s irrelevant.

If you are a man, regardless of what you say to him or how you look at him, it’s over. He’ll unleash the “Tatari” beast within upon you.

What is the best way to insult Zouzou? Just say “Immak” (Yo Mama!) – You are guaranteed to have a “mashkal”, Zouzou style! Regardless of what you’re trying to say about Zouzou’s mom, he will interpret it as an insult if he hears the word “Immak”.
Zouzou’s Friend: “Kifa Immak? Sarit Sehta Ahsan?”
Zouzou: “Shu assdak wleh?! Immak enta el sh*******!”

With one phone call, Zouzou has already rounded up an army of Zouzous on mopeds ready to fight with their fists and baseball bats (ironically enough, none of them play baseball).
Rule number 1: take your shirts off.
Rule number 2: don’t stop till the “darak” arrive.
Bear in mind that Zouzou probably insults and/or beats his mother every day, but no one else has the right to say her name – regardless of the context.

I truly love Zouzous. They crack me up. Lebanon would be a lot duller if we didn’t have these annoying guys verbally harassing us every day. A walk to the supermarket would become uneventful. Eating ice cream would become . . . just eating ice cream. Wearing a skirt would become bland. Moped salesmen wouldn’t be able to put bread on the table anymore (same goes for hair gel distributers). Last week I thought flies were useless until one of my readers informed me that birds (or frogs or something) enjoy eating them. The same logic applies for Zouzou – as annoying as he is, who could imagine a Lebanon without him?

“You wanna f*** with me? Okay. You wanna play rough? Okay. Say hello to my little friend!” Tony Montana

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Sun Of A Beach

beautiful on the beach e1301844962309 La Wlooo!!!...Sun Of A Beach

Beach season is only a couple of weeks away; I can tell, since I have no place in my aerobics class that magically went from 15 to 50 people – all struggling to ward off the evil fat.
Excess body weight is not the only problem at the beach though – allow me to elaborate.

Undress to Impress

For her:
When buying a swimsuit, make sure the fabric isn’t see-through. There is nothing sexy about wearing a white swimsuit that reveals your secret garden.
Also, pay attention to fabric. Stay away from vulgar prints and metallic fabrics. Mesh is a big NO-NO, especially when vulgar bikini 225x300 La Wlooo!!!...Sun Of A Beachcombined with army print. You’re not Lara Croft or G.I. Jane, so don’t try to flaunt that look.
Keep in mind that there could be families at the beach you’re going to, so keep your thong bottoms for a more private occasion (or burn them, preferably). If you have large breasts, make sure your swimsuit top covers more than just your nipples. You want to look sexy not scary. If you have fake breasts, please stay away from push-up swimsuit tops – that’s just plain disgusting.
If you’re overweight, do not wear anything stringy because it will look plain ugly on you. Be considerate of other people’s eyes and feelings.
It would be very considerate of you to wear a cover-up while walking around, especially if you have a blubbery behind. Once again, other people have eyes.

Never wear high heels. You’re not going out to dinner or to a trendy club, you’re going to the beach! Whatever happened to Havaianas? Seriously, there’s nothing sexy or cool about a woman parading around in high heels or wedges while wearing a swimsuit. It’s way too overdone and I get uncomfortable just watching these women attempting to walk.

One more thing, visible hair (anywhere other than your head and eyebrows) is unacceptable. Deal with it.

For Him:
Speedos may be the bomb in certain countries, so if you want to rock that look, fly there and spare us from the misery. man wearing speedo 124x300 La Wlooo!!!...Sun Of A BeachNo one is comfortable looking at a man wearing Speedos. Your bulge is way too distracting. It looks as if it’s about to explode or pop out to say hello.
Do not hike your swimming trunks up to your throat, and don’t push them too low to the extent that we can see your wiener lower pelvis. There is a comfortable and proper way to wear your swimming trunks, a way that doesn’t scare off children – keep that in mind.

Man boobs 177x300 La Wlooo!!!...Sun Of A BeachYou may be the hairiest beast in the world, but we don’t need to see or know that. Spend a day (or three) waxing or shaving all that nasty chest (back, neck, stomach) hair before you make your debut at the beach. a) girls will look at you without vomiting, b) children won’t think that King Kong just emerged from the sea, and c) you’ll feel much better about yourself, and lighter (since carpets belong on floors).

A beer belly is not that bad; no one is asking you to look like Brad Pitt, but if you have man breasts…it’s over. You can either try to lose weight or cover them up just like women do. Yes, when exposed, man breasts are even more distracting than their female counterpart.

Wearing your watch, chain, ring, and whatever else to the beach (where there is sand, sun, heat and water) is just cheesy and vulgar. Keep it simple, and keep all your metallic objects in a drawer in your bedroom . . . and spare yourself the 573 unnecessary tan lines.

To Tan or Not To Tan: leather skin La Wlooo!!!...Sun Of A Beach

Tanning is a choice. There is no rule that says you must become 60 degrees darker during the summer season. Also, it is simply not polite to tell someone they’re whiter than milk. If you’re super tan, it wouldn’t be nice for a pale person to tell you your skin is like leather – think about it.
Even if you’re wearing sun block with an SPF of 100, you are still entitled to enjoy a fun day at the beach minus the burning. People go to the beach for other reasons than tanning: it could be to read a book in the shade, snorkel, swim, Jet Ski, play volley ball. The list is endless, so do not force anyone to do anything they’re not comfortable doing.

Sex on the Beach:

beach pda 300x157 La Wlooo!!!...Sun Of A BeachYes, you and your lover may have a little too much skin showing and the sun may be a little too hot and you may have drank a little too much, but none of that justifies making a porn video on the sand. PDA (public display of affection) must be toned down at the beach, where everyone is literally one or two steps away from being completely naked. Beds on the beach are meant for tanning (unlike beds in the bedroom) – make no mistake there and please do not confuse the two because there will be people like me watching and wanting to vomit at the site of two half-naked people practically making a baby at a close distance. Speaking of babies, sometimes children are present and staring with awe and fright as they wonder what you’re doing.

Sand, Litter, Kids:

Sand is difficult enough to walk in as it is. Although it does have its exfoliating benefits, it burns the feet and could beach trash La Wlooo!!!...Sun Of A Beachcontain pieces of glass or stone that may hurt you. The last thing we need is someone littering the sand with cigarettes, beer bottles and food. Keep a bag for your litter and an ashtray for your cigarettes.
If you have a baby with you, please make sure to change its diapers in the WC. We do not care for that type of sight (or odor) while trying to relax.
Make sure you teach your children a thing or two about urinating in public waters. When I do accidentally swallow water, I’d prefer if it weren’t mixed with urine. Keep your kids in the kiddy pool, it is there for a good reason.

Off the Beach:

Although you will end up in a swimsuit, you do not have to arrive in just a swimsuit. It is always appropriate to be fully naked in public 300x180 La Wlooo!!!...Sun Of A Beachdressed during the time you leave your house, get into your car, and arrive to the beach. The construction workers at the side of the road do not need to see a half naked man or woman parading around in what looks like underwear. After a day at the beach, you may want to stop by a café for an iced café latte or a quick bite to eat, so make sure you’re dressed in the appropriate attire. If you’re at the Starbucks wearing just your bikini or some cheesy see-through cover up, the guy behind the counter will register your outfit as lingerie, not as a swimsuit. It is equivalent to you walking around naked, so cover up!

Once again, it’s all about manners. It’s about trying our best to live together in a civilized way without being offensive to others. If it were up to me, we’d all parade around naked on our own private little beaches, but reality says it differently. While we all work on our beach bodies, let’s try working on our manners. Enjoy tanning, and please don’t have a seizure if your friend is tanner than you are.

“The hardest job kids face today is learning good manners without seeing any.” Fred Astaire

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