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How (Not) to Run Away

Boredom is the start of every adventure.

Last Thursday night I sat typing away at my social media machine, wondering if they’re ever going to make a Gossip Girl movie and if Chef Hossam would make ma7shy koronb for dinner instead of ma7shy normal. I realised this was quite sad. Much like Bilbo Baggins, I needed to go on an adventure…

The next morning, I gave a friend a call who’d me offered a place to crash in Gouna after meeting me only once. I thought this would be incredibly adventurous of me. This mysterious stranger could be anybody! Maybe she’s royalty! Maybe she’s a serial killer! Maybe I do know her! Maybe she’s born with it! Maybe it’s Maybeline! Alas, this is Cairo and there’s about 0.0000001 degree of separation between us all, so it turned out she knows almost everyone I knew. She is also a very sweet, chilled out girl who once saw a YouTube video of my dad shouting at me.

Now that my sleeping arrangements were settled, how would I get to my far-off destination? I know – I’lll take a hot air balloon to the city of Marrkhhhador, defeat the seldom-seen dragon and jet-ski the rest of the way to Abu Tig Marina. No! Let’s get realistic here – I’ll rent a stretch Bentley Continental, hire a driver made out of samna and regret, call a few models and get this show on the road!

No, Timmy, you do not have that kind of money and Marrkhhhador doesn’t exist. You’re going to call the only person in Hurghada that you know and haven’t spoken to in 2 years, and ask him if you can catch a ride.

I sent a group email to the MO4 team, stating my intentions to run away, and that I’d be back soon, you won’t know when or why, but it will be Tuesday because I would have run out of money.

So I packed up my shit and I said to the cabbie – “Yo homes smell you later, looked at my kingdom, I was finally there, to settle my throne as the Prince of Bel…” Shit. Sometimes i replace words with song lyrics because it’s easier, but you get the picture.

That night, I went out in Gouna hoping for the best but expecting the worse. Are they going to drop the bomb or not? Let us die young or let us live forever? We don’t have the power but we never say never, sitting in a sandpit, life is a short trip, the music’s for the sad men. Well, yes they did. The bomb was dropped in the form of a cattle of zombie-esque, genetically-defying, clone-like children aged 13 to 17; the girls dressed in uniforms of denim hot pants shorter than my attention span… I wonder if they’ll have a new cast for Gossip Girl 2.0!? So, girls in denim shorts and black crop tops, and boys in backwards snapbacks and t-shirts that were both adverts for surfboard manufacturers and philosophical statements: You are The Ocean Within : Snojdenaeg Surf Co. Est 1605.

I got this from Tumblr. A girl in Gouna told me Tumblr is cool.

Upon leaving your house in Gouna during the  New Year’s holiday, you cannot really help but feel like a pedophile. To be fair, I think this may be an insult to pedophiles because frankly I wasn’t a very good one: I would apologise if I walked within 5 metres of these scantily clad midgets. In fact, I found myself holding back from shouting : “Hey, where is your mother? Does she know you dress like this?!” Ahh yes, to feel young again! What an adventure.

Along with my new new friend/roommate, I  headed to LocaLoca, the nightclub where all the cool catz hang out these days. After waiting 25 minutes to get to the front of the queue of LocaLoca, they then had the nerve to I.D us. I’ve been backstage at SXSW! I’ve been VIP on Kanye’s table at MAISON and I have to queue up at LocaLoca?! With all these little people?! Bah, I will not stand for this Mr.CrazyCrazy! I will gather all my friends and march out! We will buy drinks from Drinkies and have a party on the beach and stare at the stars and make beautiful music together!

No, Timmy, you haven’t been to any of these places, none of your friends are even here, you’re going to stand there like a good boy and wait for the big man to let you pass the ropes. Oh, and you’re going to give him 300 LE for the privilege.

While waiting on the wrong side of the velvety golden rope that will lead us into the magical island of LocaLoca…oh, wait, that’s not velvet, that’s vomit… Anyway, while I was waiting, I suddenly saw someone I knew who was tall enough to enter the ride. It was hipster artisan Adam Mourad, sporting a Hitler moustache. Hoorah, I thought;  Someone else on an adventure! I wondered if he looked at his nose in the mirror one day and decided that it’s really important and he needed to underline it! We noticed each other and simultaneously came to realise that this current moment in time, waiting in the line of LocaLoca, surrounded by tweens, was the culminating point of our whole lives…

We high fived each other when we got in.

Magic!

The next morning I woke up with a suspicion that I’d been date raped (not by Adam Mourad). After various acquaintances recalled that I was “sakraaaaan neeeek” and “kan makhboot neeeeek wela eh ya Timmmeehhhhh… Timmmmeehhhh”, I found out that I had spent 30 minutes in the bathroom of LocaLoca, vomiting profusely in the rubbish bin outside the cubicle. The next sighting of me was when I passed out on the sofa at a random house party, with a banana in my hand and rocking violently. This was the same random house party whose guests included young relatives, potential hook-ups (in my mind, anyway) and ex-girlfriends…

My theory is that I accidentally took a girls glass at LocaLoca, which may have been spiked. Ergo, I saved that girls life and I am a hero.

Ummm…

Shut up, I’m a hero.

What an adventure I was having!

I had to put thoughts of the potential date rape behind me. It was a new day, a new dawn, a new life and I was feeeeeeling gooooood (except for the date rape in my system). What would I do today? Maybe I’ll call one of the potential hook-ups and take her on a private yacht to my private shack in Mahmeya with my private sand and my private fish tank inside the shack. Maybe I could take her on an adventurous first date to the beach and teach her to kite surf? We would share moments, she would Instagram them, we will bond.

No, Timmy, you do not know how to kite surf and you have no phone battery. You are going to trudge along to the internet cafe in the alleyway behind Best Way and do some social media work whilst you duck under your hoodie afraid that anyone will see you on Twitter and Facebook in a fucking internet cafe in Gouna at 11am and think you are a bit sick.

What an adventure!

And then to New Year’s Eve – a lot of people felt obliged to spend up to 800 LE of their hard earned pieces of arbitrarily valued paper from their imaginary job, (is SODIC a job?), so they can celebrate a new second of clock-time like the UN is about to put an international ban on getting drunk. To be fair, I wouldn’t be able to go to one of the parties because the organisers think I’m a cock, and I think the person involved with the other one last saw me in fetal  position on her sofa 2 days prior.

What an adventure!

And so to the New Year’s Eve house party which was like the end scene of American Pie if there was a scene where I take a few pre-pubescent boys aside to teach them how to drink responsibly, stay in school and reach their maximum potential as humans

No, Timmy, that’s not what happened. You poured shots for all the teens at the party with a ratio of 80% vodka and 20% Juhayna Orange Juice, then preached to them about how to spot the difference between a playa and a dealer. You then proceeded to climb up on the balcony bar, like a cock, fall over and break it. Yep, the whole granite top came crashing to the ground with the rest of the party’s supply of alcohol.

Needless to say, I was the life the party and it didn’t stop there! I passed out once again, this time in my friend’s car, whilst him and his other friend went after-party hopping. I slept in the car.

What an adventure!

‘Til next time Gouna..

xoxo

Gossip Girl