A Party lesson...

The other day I was invited to a party by a guy whom I consider to be a "friend" sans plus. I say- sans plus- because even though J. is a nice guy, I find him totally boring...

I mean, thoroughly boring. Beyond hope boring...

J. is not interested in anything. Try talking politics to him and he changes subjects.
Talk Iraq, Palestine, the U.S, Globalization...and he goes hmmm and says "yalla ma'alech" (it's ok) and diverts the topic to something else...to something as boring as him.

J.considers himself not only apolitical but also non-religious, so discussing religion and philosophy are out too...

J. hates reading anything. Am not talking about books or the daily newspaper , even a simple brochure is too much headache for him...So obviously talking about anything related to writing or the printed word is out as well...

J. hates watching the news, and his TV watching revolves around action films...And check this out, one of his favorite actors is Bruce Willis. So agreeing on a film to go to at the movies is also out of the question.

But I do occasionally accept J's invitations, because I do feel guilty, he is a nice guy after all. I mean, he is friendly and is willing to be of help should I need anything and I know he has a soft spot for me. But as for the rest - forget it.

The only thing J. can talk about is his job. He works in a precision job that necessitates great concentration and meticulousness...He is an accountant.
So he talks about that. Accounting. Oh God!

I mean, once you get past the adding up and substractions, the sub-totals and net totals, and the revenues and profits, what is there to talk about ?

By the way, accountants are known to be quite boring...and anal.

I remember on one occasion, I had to sit through one of those tedious evenings with him, and I felt the corner of my eye get wet. I honestly felt a tear forming in the corner of my eye...a tear of boredom.

So when he invited me to this party at his friend's house, I did not refuse. After all there will be other people around and surely this would diffuse any potential stale, stagnant, moments of pure boredom...

So, J. picked me up and off we went to his friend's party.

It was no huge party, about 15 or so gathered around a long dining table, a table covered with hors d'oeuvres, beer, wine and nuts...

Some nice dancing Arabic music was blasting away and the party atmosphere was in the making...

There were a few married couples, one could tell they looked married. They looked rather empty and desperate.

Then there was one newly wed couple glued to one another. And there was a potential couple flirting away and looked very excited at some prospect...
There were a couple of single women referred to as "girls" even though they were in their late 30's and 40's and a couple of single guys. And I and my boring chaperon.

Everyone was still stuck up. People do tend to be stuck up in this country. They must all be some sort of accountants.

The married couples talked to each other. The men suck on their proverbial cigars and the women exchanged tips about the kids...

The newly wed couple were telling one of the single "girls" about their honeymoon...As usual, the woman was more excited about that episode than her husband who found it to be a waste of money.
He did not say so, but he kept repeating it was too damn expensive for what it was worth.

As for the couple in the making, I noticed the woman was drinking way too quickly, as if to catch up with her lover to be, and understand his jokes.

She would stop, listen, and then tilt her head back in a fake laughter, but always a wee bit late which drove me to the conclusion that she understood fuck all of his humor...Maybe because he had none.

So that left me and Mr.Boredom and the other singles talking...

The subject turned towards female beauty. This is how it usually starts.
Someone, usually a woman would evoke the name of some famous singer or actress and the men would comment on her beauty with a kind of a mental yardstick from 1 to 10.

So a few names were dropped, names of singers considered very pretty or sexy...The fact that most of them had extensive plastic surgery did not seem to matter in the new definitions of imported beauty.

And of course, the conversation took another turn in what has become the most predictable cliché ever. That of, the classical "after all it's the beauty of the soul that really matters..."

Clearly none believes that deep down, especially not after having spent an hour talking about boobs, lips, hair, legs, butts and yardsticks for comparisons and evaluations. Clearly that was a cliché to sound politically correct. And clearly it was bullshit.

Then one of the single guys trying hard to come across as enlightened and sensitive said "Beauty is not everything. I like to get to know the woman first. Like, talk to her for half an hour or so and see if there is an osmosis or not..."

The single girls were listening with great intent, forwarding their bodies across the table to catch our "sensitive" single man...

Having heard that, I just cracked up laughing so hard, with one of my loud HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH's.

He stopped short and said to me with an irritated voice
"Did I say something that funny?" to which I replied...
"Give me half an hour and I will tell you."

Then the host, came over towards the single "girls" and "sensitive" guy and put his hands on his shoulders in a great sign of affection and invited them to dance, as he played the latest from Haifa Wehbeh, the Lebanese siliconized, botoxed, pumped up, plastically remade,singer...

I lit up another cigarette and laughed some more, with another loud HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

J. being the tedious nice guy, as flat as a can of coke, did not get it. But Haifa Wehbeh's song seemed to have tickled a few of his nerves, as he jumped up off his seat and tried a few dancing steps...with an "Oh yes!"

I left the party, having learnt what I always knew, it is so easy to rule the Arab masses. It is so easy to rule Arab men. Ask some lebanese singer.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Hopeless...

I know this is not the right time to spill it all out, but I really have to say it, Arab men are prime assholes...

They are really very stupid. Frankly, stupid.
They are very stupid when it comes to Arab women.
And this kind of follows my previous post about Western women versus Arab men...

For centuries, we were led to believe that our men were beyond any form of critique...they were taboo subjects...They were next to God, almost perfect...Then something went sour...

Their authority was not what it was cracked up to be...and here am talking even about the secular ones...

Don't take authority in the literal sense. Take it in a symbolic form if you can. I say if you can, because am not sure that blogosphere is really a yardstick for higher intelligence...actually it's quite the opposite.

Especially americans, they are not known for higher intelligence.... They are as dumb as they come...Honestly, americans are very dumb. It is kind of hard to explain it here. But it is something one experiences...They are collective idiots.

Arab men on the other hand are not idiots per se, but they are idiots when it comes to Arab women.

You see, every Arab man will try to boast...and every Arab woman will try to manage that...

But as I said something went very sour along the way...It must have been a "salad" of politics, colonialism, wars, occupations, imperialism and just the element of time...

Arab women cannot play the game anymore. Some of us still do but we know we are fooling ourselves...We know we can't afford to do it anymore.

Arab men when it comes to women, are a spoiled bunch. Mama preferred them. A woman preferred them to a girl...a daughter.

That really is the bottom line. And from then on, everything was allowed to them.

Hence they grew up as arrogant bastards, mama's sons and they've had their own way for a long time...Now you understand why am no feminist. Ask Mother or Mama.

They were led to believe that everything was allowed to them. Even God was lax with them. Their egos knew no bounds... with us, Arab women.

They would flex and exercise everything their mothers taught them...from the muscles to the so-called brains...

But a few of us escaped that...and we know better.

We in fact knew better all that time but we tried managing... We managed the egos, the silence, the infantile behavior and we looked at mothers in disbelief...
As if to tell them, how could you ?

Arab men are idiots when it comes to Arab women. But when it comes to Western women they are not idiots, they are just lapdogs.

They salivate like a pavlovian bunch even without a bell...

Again do not take it literaly, it's symbolic. But maybe you should take it literaly...

If there is anyone who can tie the Arab man by his balls, it's the "foreign" woman.

Ask us Arab women, and we will tell you story after story...

He is in awe of her. Nevermind what he says about colonialism and the rest, he is in awe...Someone from the white race finally looked at him even if she is black...or as dark skinned as his own sister...


They may rebel and play the revolutionary, but deep down that is all what they long for...be recognized by what they consider a white woman...even if she is black, yellow or purple...

Of course they will never admit to that, but I know them...they believe they have scored, they have finally scored either with their dicks or pockets or both...

Some stranger has finally graced them with a glance...And they are reborn.

They have become touched by "civilization."

They deeply believe they are not civilized, but only when touched by the "other", the stranger, who has finally heard and recognized them...

Then they become like lapdogs...and you can read that in the literal sense...
They become lapdogs...

The lapdogs they always dreamt of being.

Very sad but very true.

to be continued...

A Witness...

A few days ago I witnessed a most surreal- not surreal, am lying, a most disgusting, nauseating, "social" set up.

This acquaintance of mine has a brother who lived all his life in America. He is in his 40's and decided he wants to get married again.

He lands here for a two weeks visit, and in those two weeks, his sister is to arrange a list of potential wives...

She had a pile of pictures on her coffee table and he was going through them. I could not believe my eyes. She also called upon all her single girlfriends and friends of her girlfriends of which I was unfortunately one, to come for an afternoon coffee. So I went.

And here was the guy sitting on a Louis XIV armchair, greeting all those arriving females. He would not even stand up and shake hands, he would remain seated and wave hello from afar and quickly check each "item" as she arrived...

Fucking hell, I could not believe my eyes. Again, I've been had, as I did not know the set-up. None of us did except for the matron- his sister and him.

The sister would say "Shufoo khayee ma ahla, lessa jay meen Amerrrrikkka" -Look how my brother is handsome, he has just arrived from the shit hole America.(my italics)

I, without realizing, opened my purse and reached for a tissue and put it to my mouth, as if I was about to throw up. Then I realized that was too obvious for Freudian slip and tried to exercise a little more self control...

I had learned in the past, the best way to get over something or someone, is to observe them carefully, dissect them like insects and make them so small until they stop affecting you. And this is exactly what I did. I had found the whole thing so offensive, I was surely not going to let it go by so candidly...

So I dissected that piece of shit from his hair to his shoes. Every single body part, every single movement, every single glance...

I can tell you for instance that he is a definitely a nouveau riche and am allergic to nouveau riche guys. How do I know ? For starters the armchair on which he was seated, a golden Louis XIV for heaven's sake. Secondly the way he held his coffee cup, he would lift the little finger as he brought the cup to his lips...Gross.
Thirdly his bracelet. He wore a gold bracelet with his name on it. Fuck - how more narcissistic can one get?

What was he afraid of, losing himself in the female crowd or being abducted by one of the desperate ones ?

And there were his socks. White socks and black shoes. A definite no-no. I also heard a slurp when he was drinking his coffee...I thought I would faint.

But that is not the worst.The worst is that he would engage in a conversation with one of the idiotic females who actually bothered to address him and still try to eye another or pick one of the photos laying there on the table right in front of his hairy nose...Arghhhh. I understood during that visit how homicides are triggered.

Now for some background information.

This dear "little brother" who looked more like a goon than anything else, went to Amerrrikkkaaa to study. He never finished University because our "beau" got lost in diskkkkos and banging Amerriiikkkan women.

One of them got pregnant despite him and he was forced to marry her. Yes, Western women do such things and it is very common.

So he married Ms.U.S.A and she made life hell for him.

He was not allowed to talk Arabic to his friends, not allowed to visit them alone, not allowed to watch or hear Arabic music, not allowed to eat Arabic food at home but only on very strict occasions...

When his "darling" of a sister visited, she had to go to a hotel and was not allowed to stay at her brother's place.

In other words M.s U.S.A had him by the balls and of course by the pocket.

Finally he filed for divorce and led a life of "an enlightened bachelor" for a while, until his sister convinced him that he really needed someone to look after him. She said "Ya haram, he only eats out in restaurants, he has no one to cook for him."

So here he is the dumped prick, playing Pacha on us.

And you have not heard the best yet. Monsieur wants a "veiled girl", a question of easing his insecurities, major insecurities brought about by the abusive American wife.

His matron of a sister said "You know, at least with a good muslim woman, he knows he will be well looked after."

Get him a fucking nanny, sis or a nurse or a cook or a maid.

Oh but no, the progeny, the baby boy has to come and complete the picture, a picture only possible in the M.E.

I have much more to say about Arab men and Western women, in my next chapter...

So stay tuned. And Arab male readers, fasten your seat belts for I shall be taking you on a royal ride.