“I think that gay marriage should be between a man and a woman.”
- Arnold Schwarzenegger
It’s really hard to tell if a guy likes you, isn’t it?
You buy self-help relationship books. You google “Is the guy I’m dating into me?”. You call your friend up at 2 a.m. asking for guy advice. All because you want to understand how a guy thinks. To know if he likes you. To understand what it means when he says “I’ll see you soon”. To decipher the ‘code’ when he puts his arms around your back during the date and says “thanks bro”.
But it’s time you knew that there is no code.
Men are simple.
Men are not complicated.
Neither am EYE.
So guys, if you ever date me, kindly remember the following 11 signs that scream “I don’t like you”.
I don’t like you when…
#1: I’m Not Replying to Your Manjam Message
You send your message again and again on dating sites. You send smileys, flowers, and dick pics. But I’m not interested. Get that.
#2: I see your picture and I Go Silent
We exchange emails/whatsapps and I see your picture. How can you expect to be with THIS when you look like THAT? I don’t have the heart to tell you you’re not my type. So I never reply. It’s not the horrible connection. It’s just that I don’t like you.
#3: When I Call You and You Never Hear From Me Again
I always do this to check if a guy has a feminine or manly voice. Eza khalis aw shedid 7alo. It’s not that I don’t like feminine boys. They’re my closest friends. But I never wanna fuck them. I like my men with a deep masculine voice. If after the phone call, I’m not BEGGING you to go out, I don’t like you.
#4: When I Say I Don’t Like You
Sometimes I have the guts to tell a guy he’s not my type. But even after I say so, some guys are just relentless and insist on chatting. Grow some dignity, bro.
#5: I’m Not Making Eye Contact
We’re at the club and you’re doing everything to get my attention. I’m not stupid. I can see it. But I’m not reacting because I don’t like you. Go away. If I like you, I’m dancing with you.
#6: I’m Not Asking You Out
If we’ve been chatting for a week and I’ve never asked you out, it’s not that I’m busy, it’s just that I don’t like you. If I liked you, I would do ANYTHING to meet you. Even if at 3 a.m.
#7: I’m Asking You Out
“Fuck, what did I just do?” is sometimes the first thing I ask myself after realizing how butt ugly my date is. So just because I did ask you out, it doesn’t mean I will again. Ever.
#8: I Don’t Fuck You
If you’re really my type and I like you, I would hint that we do it. I would hint that I’m good at giving head. I would hint that I’m horny. If after our date, you go home and jerk off in the bathroom instead of in my mouth, I don’t like you.
#9: I Fuck You
If I like you. I’m fucking you. But just because I’m fucking you, doesn’t necessarily mean I like you. I’ve slept with the most unattractive and fugly people…just because I was horny. It doesn’t mean I want anything more than getting a blowjob.
#10: If I Forget That I Have a Date
If I like you, I would never be late for our date. I would be there before you’re there looking like a million bucks. If you arrive at our date and I’m actually at home sleeping, it means I overslept, not JUST because I’m sleepy and tired, but also because I’m not interested enough and not nervous enough to stay awake to daydream about what you would look like in person.
#11: I’m Not Saying Good Morning
If I like you, you would be the first person I say hello to in the morning. If you’re always the one who’s starting the conversation, then I don’t want to chat. Because, say it with me…
I don’t like you.
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A couple of weeks ago, a fellow tweep tweeted about how her friend who was visiting Lebanon from France was discriminated against because he “looked gay”. I contacted her and asked her if he would be interested in writing about his bad experience.
Check out his story below, called: On Beirut, its Prejudice and Being an Outlaw
Thank you Matthieu (an alias) for writing this. And Thank you D.M. for translating it and for contacting your friend about writing this! Appreciate it, girl. =)
On Beirut, its Prejudice and Being an Outlaw
I am no stranger to Beirut. I have spent many summers in the city visiting family and friends and this past summer was no exception… apart from this time, where I was left with wounded memories. It was during one hot summer day in Beirut that my entire outlook on this city changed and I share my story in hopes that someone out there reads my account and conjures up social change.
A Frenchman by name and heritage with a Lebanese mother, I am naturally mistaken for a pure white man, thanks to my height, fair-skinned features and long blond hair. I came to Lebanon that summer to visit my Lebanese family and continued to acquaint myself with the language that I can fairly understand and speak, albeit the linguistic intricacies that I constantly come across.
On this particular day, I went out with my cousin and decided to take a stroll to Downtown Beirut. This area never ceases to amaze me with its novelty and consistent change every time I visit. My cousin, eager to show me around some more landmarks of this grand city, suggested we take a break and have some ice cream in one of the convenient shops of Downtown. During a previous visit to a friend’s place in a “less affluent” area – and given the hot weather – I asked one of the Ethiopian women in the area to braid my hair. Little did I know that this move will provoke prejudice and be the result of my frustration.
As we sat down to enjoy our ice cream in a café overlooking the Martyr Square (which reminded me a lot of home), a police officer (a darak) passed by our table and shot me demoralizing stare and walked off. My cousin turned to me and shook his head in disbelief. We did notice that several onlookers would often stare incessantly or whisper to their friends about us. I was the “white guy with black people’s hair”, afterall. 10 minutes later, this darak (I would have preferred to use another term at this point) came back, stood behind us and in English asked me if I was ‘Ajnabeh’. I said no and told him I was French but proceeded to ask him why he wanted to know.
He replied in Arabic and I wish I could have understood what he said. In retrospect, I think it was due to my heart beating so quickly out of fear that I may have committed some crime by either sitting in public, having dessert, sitting with my cousin… After shaking off this fear, I asked him in English what is the problem and he told me that the style of my hair made me look “gay”!
I then remembered a conversation I had with some friends the other night when they told me about the recent scandals against the homosexual community in Lebanon and how some were arrested for being “gay”.
At this point, I could no longer feel my heart beat, my body or my legs.
The darak then proceeded to tell us that normally, “gay” people would be fined (excuse me!?) 500,000LBP for being out in public (my heartfelt sympathy goes out to the lost legacy of this country and those individuals that suffer from this backwards bigotry), but, because I am French, he will let us go and told us to leave now before further interrogations ensue.
That’s exactly what we did. We walked quickly to the nearest exit out of the Downtown area, while avoiding any potential dangers of other hateful daraks and the infamous ‘hajiz’.
I was beyond disgusted by the way I was spoken to, treated and asked to leave. I am French and where I am from, they drill us, from the time that we’re born, about the importance of understanding History because our liberty is the result of all the events of our past which has granted us with the freedom of expression, the right to exist, freedom of speech and freedom to live. I think it’s been over 15 years that anyone has had any say in the way I speak, act, dress or style my hair and my first experience in feeling my rights being infringed made me feel stripped of my identity.
When I arrived home, I was feeling very down and upset about how the day panned out and tried to think of the best solution to tackle this horrible problem. At some point, I even said to myself that this isn’t my problem and that I should just pack up and leave because I shouldn’t feel obligated to have to dress or look a certain way to please this society.
Instead, I decided to take action. I wrote an email to the relevant authorities representing foreigners in the country and composed a long and detailed letter to the French Consulate in Lebanon and the Ambassador of France in Lebanon asking for action to be taken against this prejudice and chauvinism, especially given that I am half-Lebanese and demand for my rights, as a French-Lebanese, to be treated with equal dignity and respect. Unfortunately, no one cared to regard my plea with any importance and received no reply for the remaining week I spent in Lebanon.
The day before my departure, I went to the beach with my (Lebanese) family and, with my braids still perfectly in place, we had approached a Hajiz. This time, I battled my fear and looked at the army officers in full confidence. They let us pass without any hesitation and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Looking back, I think I had come across a homophobic racist officer who felt it was his duty to dust off any European tourists that did not fit the part of an ‘ideal’ Eastern society. This was also during the Ramadan period and so I feel this was also in response to preserve a conservative image of the city where several Gulf nationals and rich Arabs visit and spend their ‘petrodollars’.
I may have been victim of a homophobic and racist interrogation that compromised my stay in my mother’s native land and I may have an advantage over many Lebanese because I do not live here and do not have to face this discrimination, but it pains me to know that this is still an on-going issue in what used to be known as the “Switzerland of the Middle East”. This hate and revulsion towards homosexuals and other ethnicities is a regression in the evolution of Lebanese society. No one should feel the need to have their identity kept in the dark because of laws that prohibit misconceived apprehension of them.
Humanity is not illegal and neither is one’s sexual and racial profile.
Written by Matthieu Dupuis
“On the first album I definitely did have a gay fan base, but it was much smaller, because I’m a very flamboyant character and the shows are really theatrical. But I don’t really talk about the whole gay community thing, because I don’t want to be a cliche pop star saying like, “I love my gays!” But the truth is it’s a really supportive fan base and they’re making this tour so special” – Marina And The Diamonds
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We’re always told to use a condom.
To wrap that dick up when we sleep with someone. ANYONE.
On World Aids Awareness Day: we’re always reminded to use condoms.
In health seminars, campaigns, Religion Class (though I think abstinence was what the teacher recommended), the same message is always repeated: “Use it”. “Stay Safe”. “Wear a condom!”.
On every IDAHO: condoms are handed out like candy.
So why is it that so many people DON’T use condoms?
I’m talking about some friends who somehow forget to use condoms, even after nagging on them before their dates to stay safe.
“But I go limp after putting the condom on”.
“But it’s not as hard anymore”.
“But I don’t feel a thing after I put it on”.
Really, dude. Would you send your soldier to battle without protection? NO!
Yeah, she might move slower cause of the heavy armor. But she needs it. Your soldier needs it!
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Many international brands have realized that they actually can profit from being pro-gay.
Here are some cool ads that cater to the gay consumer.
If you have a “Gay Ad” that you’d like to share, send it through the comment box!
Check out the ads by…
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“138 days later”.
Sounds like a post-apocalyptic movie title, don’t it?
Was passing by Mar Mitr this week and I was so happy to see the lovely Lebanon IDAHO posters that I put up with my friends back in May. Yes, you can still see remnants of those posters around Beirut. :)
Puts a smile on my face whenever I see the posters still standing, even if butchered. I get especially ecstatic when a poster still looks good as new. Like this one…