Wel3ane!

Will someone please explain to me what the concept of clubbing in Lebanon has come to? Fridays and Saturdays are now the official clubbing nights, and anyone who decides to spend them at home is perceived as a loser. Whenever you ask any clubber how their night was, they will answer you “Kenit Wel3ane!” (Even if they were too drunk to remember what it was really like). “Wel3ane” is the new “in” word. There is also “Bedna nwalle3a!” What are you going to set on fire, exactly?

The other day I came across a show called “3eesh Beirut” by mistake (big mistake). The concept revolves around the presenter visiting different pubs and night clubs and asking people how they’re enjoying their evening. The funny thing is, whether those people are talking and smiling, or just sitting there looking bored out of their minds, they will answer, “Wel3ane!”

But the sight for sore eyes was this girl drinking a Flaming Lamborghini; all of a sudden, the straw catches fire and she starts fighting with it to put it off. Finally she gives up, puts it on the table and walks away, trying to look indifferent, but traumatized by her experience. Unless this show is supposed to be a comedy, the editor has done a very lousy job.

Now don’t get me wrong; I love dancing, hanging out with friends, listening to music and going crazy. But what I do not love is sitting on a chair that is too small, or not even sitting at all (because even though we reserved for 15 people, they managed to convince us that we could fit on a table for 5); leaving my phone on the table (because there is no way I can hear or see it ring otherwise), somewhere between the crackers and all the drinks, and having it be bathed in vodka by the end of the evening; having to make my way through a sweaty crowd, and getting pushed into some guy-I-have-never-seen-'s arms, just to get to the bathroom; going home smelling like an ashtray, or having my vocal cords damaged after spending half an hour screaming something, at the top of my lungs, in my friend’s ear. Naturally, at first they do not hear what I am saying, but after a couple of trials, they just smile, and continue nodding; truth is, I am not sure whether they are nodding in agreement to what I just told them, or if it is part of their dancing routine, to some beat that they have never heard before.

As my good friend very well put it on our way back from the club yesterday, it was full of “pimps”, “gays” and “transvestites”. When I first walked in, I was blinded by the bright lights and colors all around: shiny lip glosses, eye shadows, sparkly dresses and camera flashes everywhere; a girl sitting sideways, with her legs crossed, and her hair thrown over her right shoulder, faking a smile so that she can use the picture for her Facebook profile the next day. "Ba3d we7de", she kept saying.

As my friend also told me, we should not talk about the “slatterns” though. They are the ones who make our economy work! Not only in the medical surgery sector, but also in the public health sector; they are getting so flammable from all the plastic, they might catch fire if people keep smoking next to them; this ought to make the ministry of tourism to speed up the process of banning indoor smoking!”

I remember I went with my friends to a beach party last summer. I originally ordered a Virgin Jamaica, but only 5 times after asking where my drink was, did the waiter remember to tell me that they do not have Jamaica (I don't understand how that is possible since it is just a mixture of different juice flavors) Anyway, I decided to let it go and order a diet Coke instead. Another half hour, and still no diet Coke. By then I figured it was useless to order anything else and so I ended up drinking my warm water, just for fear of getting dehydrated. Apparently, if you don’t want to drink alcohol, then you do not deserve to drink at all. Call me crazy but I am paying a $40 minimum charge, don’t I at least deserve a diet Coke?

On a slightly separate note, do you realize that a simple dinner at some places has come to cost more than $100/person? You say you are paying for the experience, and the fanciness of the restaurant, but what you are really paying for is getting your picture published in Mondanite next to its recurrent celebrities, come on, admit it. I must say, how these women manage to be there in every single issue, for every single event, is beyond me. They have proved to have a very high level of loyalty and dedication; let's give them a round of applause. Anyway, for a $100, I would rather have breakfast, lunch and dinner at Roadster, each with an Oreo Sundae on the side (Yes I can do it).

The bottom line is this: there is more to life than which dress you will be wearing to go clubbing next Saturday night. Most of you look exactly like each other anyway, so what difference will it really make?