What Friends Would Do To Cheer You Up. <3

Life Lesson #176: Nobody gives a shit about

And that’s okay.

But Why Is The Rum Gone?

There’s a point of everybody’s life when it seems like if somebody had set out to irrevocably destroy you because you slaughtered their first born child with a blunt blade, they couldn’t have done it better than how you’re doing it to yourself at that particular time. Everything you’ve ever worked for has made a pact with divine providence and ended up suicide bombing you into a sky zit. It doesn’t necessarily have to make sense, and it may or may not be related to recent events. And before you know it, you realize that you’ve gone black swan on your own ass and it’s already too late to do anything about it but feel bad as it unfolds, slowly, one hour at a time. Then you wish and swear upon that uncertain entity in your head that has materialized through history and man’s tendency to prefer false hopes to having the engine running with nobody behind the steering wheel that if everything is alright again just this once, you’ll work your knuckles to the bone just to make sure it doesn’t happen again, because you deserve better. The whole corundum is that you don’t really know how you’re gonna feel now do you? You’re just bribing that vital force into going your way just this once so that you can contribute to its resource, but how would the vital force know for sure if you’re following through? After all it’s your ass on the line and it’s right there, unscathed, watching with a huge bowl of popcorn and a can of soda. Why would it go out of your way when you’re stumbling on your own little two feet? One knows better than to hire contractors that can’t walk the talk.

So Throw Me Out The Window With Confetti In My Hair.

Life Lesson #172: Coco pops make me happy.

Life Lesson #173: Whoever said that people hardly hit midgets with glasses lied. It doesn’t feel nice when you get punched, so don’t punch people. Not everything that’s blue is nice. Or green for that matter. Or yellow..or red..or purple. Definitely not purple. It doesn’t feel the nice even when it’s white.

Life Lesson #174: Never tell a dude he punches like a girl. He'll make you wish you weren't one.

Life Lesson #175: Never try to work your way around a dark room thinking you're cool. Unless you wanna get back at your toes.

She Always Had That Little Drop Of Poison.

Well..A rat always knows when he’s in with weasels. Here you lose a little everyday.

Well I remember when  a million was a million, they all have ways to make you pay.

Of Bitches And Brit Ladies.

I had a good day today. Nothing too special about it really, having a good day was never about the fireworks. I got up early for no reason, not that early tho. Just early considering the fact that it was 7 or 8 hours into actually having a good night’s sleep for the first time in approximately three days. I talked to a friend of mine about something that’s been bugging me for a couple of days and she recommended, or rather prescribed, that I buy “Why men love bitches”. Even tho it had nothing to do with men, I believe I need that book more than my calculus and chemistry books put together. I decided that I’m taking the day for myself, so I called Arabic class off. Yes I actually did that. I want time off then screw it all. I went on my usual morning walk, a habit that I grew into when the curfew started to test my sanity – I have to say that the bouts of sporadic dancing have added to my limited supply of funky moves. The weather was pretty bad tho, so there was the issue of getting past my hypochondriac of a mother, workaholic of a father and into the sandstorm. Thanks to the fact that I’m as stubborn as a mule with a need for attitude adjustment, I got my way. I went on a walk, didn’t get lost as much as I usually did, or harassed – at one point I wanted to blog about the lack of libido that seems to have hit in post-revolution era but then again you don’t wanna point it out if you want it to stay, eh?

I may come off snobby but I absolutely love where I live. There’s a place to jog, there’s a little coffee shop opening up close by and I have two bookstores within a kilometre’s radius. If you go out for a walk early enough you’ll be joined by people walking their dogs or people in suits jumping in and out of cars with their suitcases and sometimes coffees. Nobody gives a fuck what you’re doing as long as you’re out of their way, which is more than a person could ask for if you’re used to the eastern cast.

Anywho, I got there, found three books that I liked and two that I intended to Google. I wanted to get a friend of mine a book that he wanted for his birthday, but apparently it was banned by censorship and only available in French, and even that was out of stock. It’s outrageous that they’d ban a book for its plot rather than content. Fuck the regulations, the government is not my mom. Hell, even my mom doesn’t do that. I either have awesome parents or the government is fucked. Or both. It’s a Paulo Coelho book for god’s sake, not hardcore porn! There was the option of ordering or getting it online or abroad but the dudette had suggested that I try the dungeons and alleys of Shorouk bookstore – which I found impressive as she went out of her way as to recommend a rival bookstore. Sweet lady, she had me regress to my brit accent for funsies. Oh the guilty pleasure. She didn’t notice, haha. A couple of summers ago I was an ID card away from getting a summer job there. I’m totally going for it this summer, I’m also totally messing with people’s head. I could be Scottish with a customer and Indian with the next. Mwahahaha. I’m evil. I gotta work on the latter tho. I wonder if they have any policies about hitting on customers..hmm.

I later called the friend to tell him about the book dilemma. I’d already told him that I got it so he wouldn’t have a choice so the whole thing with me explaining the strategy and all was a tad embarrassing. He was sleeping so I doubt he’ll remember anything about the phone call. God I’m evil. Spent the evening teaching mom how to handle my phone and drinking really sucky tea because I wanted to see if the headache would go away if I didn’t drink coffee. It eventually did but I’m sleepy as hell. Right now I’ve got Maths to work on and a headache to ignore. Toodles cyber patch.

Of Blue, Purple And Green.

Life Lesson #171: You shouldn’t stay mad at people, because people die.

Just To Get High.

What have I done. What the hell have I done.

انا مصريه يا كلاب

There’s nothing like a paradigm shift. I’ve never been patriotic, I’ve always had to have a reason to like something, and I frankly never found anything worth liking about life over here, before 11th of Feb that is. That’s when it hit me that maybe, just maybe, that change they were talking about is actually doable, and they’re not a bunch of catharsis-deficient anarchists who nothing else to do with their lives. This is the first time of my life that I have hope fel baladi. The fact that this happened, however it turns out, is just a breath of fresh air. I’ve never been so damn proud. I take back everything I ever said about cold war and passive resistance.

I was wrong.

I’ve never been so fucking proud.

Of Epilogues And Sizzling Cocoa Mugs.

Gah it’s all been hectic. I’m starting the wrap my head around the fact that the stupid simulation finals are too close to actually study for and that they’ll coincide with the stupid droos exams so we’ll be examined at each subject twice. As if that’s not bad enough, they’ll be at the same time too.

Yesterday my maths teacher FB messaged an emergency class – and yes I’m actually serious – next morning. I had to pull an all-nighter studying and doing that maths assignment because I had 6 hours left till I have to drop my friend off at the airport leaving my msn on so that every time I went idle my friend could nudge me awake. She’d immigrated last year and wasn’t coping that well so she thought maybe it would be cool to fly in for a couple of weeks. There’s something a little unnerving about making sure a 19 year old is gonna make it through 19 hours at some airport in Paris unescorted. Fucking airport policies. No emergency visas unless it’s 24+ hrs? My ass. Hato3od te3mel eh, te3ed el karasi? We got that handled. Grown-ups do get handy sometimes.

I forgot to get tissues so I was determined not to need any. We almost ran a guy in a fluorescent vest over trying to find a parking spot since we had the ticket – which is ironically what helped us find the car afterwards since we couldn’t remember where we left it and the guy was still confused by the time we got back – ventured through a queer looking tent full of Asians till we identified two figures coming from a distance. She got in with her boyfriend then we waited for a friend who worked there to make sure she gets it all right because our dads were a little jittery about the couple of turns after the gate that we’re not allowed in. After a muffle of paper – ridiculous online booking – and stuffing more things in the pathetic gaps of the poor bags. Then came the farewell bit.

There’s a certain hilarity between the repulsion that exists between dads and boyfriends. This time, it was expressed in a certain hugging contest. I’m willing to bet an arm and a leg that my dad beat him to it on purpose. Dads.. Then came the acting all tough with a stiff upper lip after she leaves part. It was heart-warming seeing my dad’s upper lip twitch and his eyes bloat a little while her boyfriend kept shifting like he had a butt infection. Then came the “If you need anything” bit. My dad’s awesome. The amount of inside jokes passing back and forth between her and I was immense that the trail was almost visible in the nose-chipping cold. It was all a big déjà vu. The friend who keeps telling everybody to stay calm when he’s the only one shitting his pants. The dadoscope moments when my dad anticipated the course of action of everything 3 seconds before they take place. The competition. The couple of seconds before the hugs where everybody’s standing, time stops and you have absolutely no idea what the hell you’re doing there because the rush of that same realization is paralyzing. The double checking, triple checking and extra check to make sure everything’s in place and she has everything she needs but nothing she wants. The lashing comments on the incompetency of everything other than the ones they’ve picked and booked. The looking on as she walks through and away. And the wait at the car and frantic calls. Then the silence.

And then the Dad Quote.

The one that sums it all up in a way that makes perfect sense to him and no sense at all to anybody else.

The one’s that’s heard by the one person leaning against the car looking at him and none else. That moment that you remember 50 years from now with the look on your dad’s face and the chill that helped condense his ego right before it got too much to keep in an that obstinate eye-lid. One that you don’t tell anybody and keep selfishly for yourself.

Then I got home and I made us two huge mugs of concentrated hot cocoa – that liquid okay-ness which portion is proportional to the incident’s impact – and before you know it, everything’s alright again.

Shove A Gerbil In Your Ass Through A Tube.

Everybody’s talking about it. That’s all they talk about, everyday, same shit. I was thinking of posting my curfew diary  but then again it’s too personal and has me panicking all over the place in large dosses that are bound to send my social life into a flaming asteroid that everybody’s pathetic enough to wish upon.

So let’s talk about Gerbils. Or Coco Pops.

Bytar2a3o. Pop pop pop.

“Shove a gerbil in your ass through a tube, shove a gerbil in your ass through a tube, shove a gerbil in your ass through a tube. Ew ew ew ewwwwwwww.”

So, I’m Still Alive And Stuff..

I will not talk about it, no.

Remove Uber Alles.

Haven’t blogged in a while. Was a good day today. I woke up to the sound of my friend who’d immigrated, she’d come for a visit and somehow I managed, with only 6 hours of sleep, to hear her and wake up a room away. She got taller. I had to stand on the tips of my toes to hug her.

My ex-best friend called out of the blue yesterday to help me with my Maths sheet. I didn’t even ask. We hadn’t talked in three years. It felt odd. You know when you fall out with a good friend and then you talk to them years later and it doesn’t feel like they were gone at all? You pick up where you left off. I don’t even remember why we fell out anymore. It was..nice.

I hate fighting with people. It bugs me, so I always make sure that the ones I get into fights with are ones that I wouldn’t exactly miss, because what bugs me even more than fighting with people are grey areas. So when I actually do get in fights I get massive guilt attacks and always make sure they’re over by apologizing excessively no matter whose fault it was because life’s too short. It’s way to fucking short. If that doesn’t work, I end up castrating them. An old friend used to say I Undo people more than I do them. lol God I miss him. Fuck immigration.

I ran for two and a half hours yesterday. I can’t feel anything below my chin. This is better than hash.

Grandma just came over with a chocolate caramel cookie ammunition. Today is a good day. Despite the fact that I almost missed class, had a fight with an invigilator and ended up intimidating them – lol that never fails to make me laugh – fell out with a friend and removed their entire contact information from my cell phone and msn and met another who’s leaving in two weeks.

Sometimes life needs chocolate cookies to move on.

*Crickets*

Regardless of the fact that it took me exactly 74 minutes to muster up enough oomph to get out of bed, it felt good to sleep after two days, on the clock, sleepless. God it felt good. This is dope. I’ve been sleeping for 10 hours. 10 HOURS PEOPLE! I demand a standing ovation! That’s double my usual sleeping hour quota on a good day.

By the power vested in my by the rush of coffee in my veins and molten gebna roomy in my mouth, today is gonna be a good day. There are always two ways to look at stuff you know, Imma put on one of em funky 70’s glasses and make sure I see everything the right side up today. Or not, whatever makes it look better.

I dreamt that I got shot. – Dreaming is good.

I slept for too long and now I don’t have enough time to study for both of my finals and am gonna have to wing one. I haven’t slept that well since the 4th of Jan. – Sleeping is good.

I snapped at people for no reason at all and made an ass out of myself because I was pissed. And it felt good. – Catharsis is good.

I had a fight with a friend. I spent 7 minutes making her feel like shit. It was the right thing to do. – Shutting people up when it’s due is good.

I’m hungry and there’s nothing in the fridge. – Molten gebna roomy smells awesome.

I lashed out at 5 people yesterday. Most of them are now giving me the silent treatment and those who aren’t called to settle the debts. I’m actually enjoying it. People should shut up more often. – Silence is good.

I’m not gonna write the other stuff. Shoo.

I’m Tired.

W Ba3dein?

Isn’t it ironic that I missed an exam because I pulled an all-nighter studying for it?

Isn’t it even more ironic that I’m about to do the exact same thing? Again?

Isn’t is funny how I don’t give a fuck anymore but am still gonna study my ass off because that’s the right thing to do?

How We Swallow The Sun.

It’s A Sad Sad Situation, And It’s Getting More And More Absurd.

Why do people do stuff? To get satisfaction. Why do people do stuff if they’re satisfied? To get more satisfaction. Why do people do stuff if they can’t get any satisfaction out of it? Because they think that if they try harder they’ll get it. What happens when people are completely and utterly satisfied? They stop working.

So it’s safe to say that a functional individual doesn’t feed off of satisfaction? A functional individual is ultimately a robot. You work because..you just work. You work to work.

No.

You work to sleep better at night.

You work to actually get any sleep at all.

Due to the ongoing anal rape I’ve been undergoing because of the accumulating overdue work that I’ve ultimately had to deal with because I was sick last week and missed class, I’ve come to the revelation that work actually makes you sleep better at night. Not in the manner that you get satisfaction so you sleep with a clear conscience. Haha, no. It knocks you out cold. You work hard enough and you don’t have to worry about the stuff you keep thinking over before going to bed simply because you just pass out as soon as you’re in the vicinity of a flat surface. Side effects might include you snapping out at the average Joes that roam that exact same vicinity. It’s funny really. Everything seems to work itself out as soon as you stop trying to work it out yourself. I never thought I’d live long enough to hear myself saying that last sentence. I’ve always had a certain God complex that led me to try and control everything all the time, and believe with every fibre of my being that I can get anything around me to work just the way I want it to with enough work put into it. I still do believe that, to a certain extent. However, for that to happen, the things involved have to be 1) Objects. 2) People that are putting forward an equal amount of effort. Luckily for my career – since the latter don’t exist – books are categorized as objects and I’m still nuts.

Pros to overworking yourself might or might not include:

1. Sleeping.

2. Snapping at assholes.

3. Sleeping some more.

4. Snapping at more assholes.

5. Getting over heartache, psychological angst and whatever human derails you might have conjured up simply because work turns you into a robot that has no feelings, or rather has absolutely no time for aforementioned feelings.

6. Burning Calories. That’s also called burning out, but whatever floats your boat.

7. Better career opportunities. Yes, I actually just wrote that.

8. Less time on your hands to actually live and make impulsive mistakes that happen because you’re a no-thinking train wreck entirely made of gut.

9. You’re no longer an active Hikikomori, but then again you’re no longer an active anything.

Ana Kbeeeeeeeera!

I’m big.

I’m huge.

I’m a giant.

I’m invincible.

I own the whole goddamn world.

Ana kbeera fash5. Ezzay ana kbeera keda.

I’m old enough to drive in Egypt and to do drugs in Holland.

I’m an Adult.

Ana ‘KBEEERA’!

I’m no longer the kid nobody listens to.

I’m old enough to do a lot of things and get away with it.

I’m humongous!

I’m 18.

I’m old enough to hit on older guys and not get the “I’m sorry, but I’m not a pedo” line.

The world WILL stop and listen to me when I say this:

‘ANA KBEERA!’

And it will go Aww.

That’s when I’ll hire people to kill them.

Because I’m old and I can.

Drop everything you’re doing and listen carefully, because I’m big now.

I’m a member of the tall serious beings association, whether they like it or not.

The government thinks I’m old enough that it can put and ID card, a driver’s licence, a cigarette and a bottle of wine in my hands all in the same year.

The government thinks I’m superman.

I’m awesome.

I’m Kbeera.

I’m Not One Of Those Who Can Easily Hide.

So How Old Are You Now? –18. Ya3ni Ba2eity Sha7ta.

Are You Hearing What I’m Hearing?

Apparently I was running a little more temperature than within the norm, and I gotta say man, this shit is dope. I’ve never slept so much. I think I fell asleep about five times today, last of these I was asleep and had the laptop and cell phone piled up with all the books and stuff on the bedside table then I got woken up by something. I was not able to identify what it is. At that time, it took a while to tag it as ‘sound’ and a little more energy than would normally be required for that realization to evolve from ‘sound’ into ‘music'. Something is playing music. Now you see, make note of the fact that I wasn’t all up there, or maybe too much of me shot up there would make a better metaphor. So, following what seemed logical at the time, I thought the best thing to do would be to bang on my laptop keyboard. Not turn it on, not wake it up, not turn it off, no. Bang on its keyboard. Somehow the banging and fingering got the laptop on and I could still hear the music. What the hell was I thinking? Laptops don’t make music when they’re turned off, and if it had been sleeping the banging woulda definitely woken it up. That infernal tune was still there! Some time later, I was like “waaaait a second..”, used the laptop screen light and utilized the recently acquired conclusion after a belated ‘aha’ moment that there’s this invention called ‘cell phone’, that this extraterrestrial music was ‘ringing’ and that inebriated retard on one side of the call was me. That took a while to figure out too, since I couldn’t quite locate who was speaking in the dark. Hint? There was nobody else in the house.

Damn I was high.

Colds are awesome. I’m getting more sleep, a three-day break from all the work – not that I actually have a choice I couldn’t quite function when I kept passing out like a dog on mushrooms and shivering in front of the heater with more vibrating momentum than dad’s sacred electric latte/cappuccino whisk – I’m not eating so that’s a great diet, I’m not tasting anything anyway so I don’t mind not eating, hell, I’m not even thinking. This is awesome. You just hibernate for a couple of days. The only downside to the whole package is that I can’t taste coffee. My precious precious morning coffee tastes slightly different than the boiled water that my mom used to boil the corn. So that’s no coffee too, for these whole three days of rehabilitation. And the nutty part is, wait for it, I DON’T EVEN MIND THAT ANYMORE! Can you believe that?

No wait, what the hell am I saying? That can’t be right, it just can’t be right. I must be running a temperature again.

Let’s rewind that last sentence again and see where the fuse went off, shall we?

…precious morning coffee tastes slightly different than the boiled water that my mom used to boil the corn. So that’s no coffee too, for these whole three days of rehabilitation. And the nutty part is, wait for it, I DON’T EVEN MIND THAT ANYMORE! Can you believe that?  And it’s driving me crazy! My taste buds are activated by caffeine, how the hell are they gonna be of any use now?

Now that’s more like it.

Of Apartment Amblers And Quite A Gutsy Finch.

What do people do when they’re blogger blocked?

They start rambling about every single thing that might or might not be considered an actual thing. I’ll save you the drill of telling you how much I’ve got to get down before today’s trial examination and all that shit. If you’re a frequent reader of this blog, you’ll know that being sleepless, caffeinated and the proud owner of a serious itch to get one’s nerd on, as a friend puts it, is rather a postulated surmise around here. If there’s a blog post on your dashboard, odds are it’s been written at an ungodly hour of night when I’ve gone through the whole psyche alteration cycle a couple of times over, given up on the fact of trying to function as an individual and eventually resorted to the much soothingly unrequited ranting to a very tolerant patch of good ole cyber space.

I tried to catch some eye shut and after a couple of failed trials, I decided Imma head off and call it a night. I grabbed my book from the bedside table and stomped to the door. Walking the hallway, I found the housemaid cleaning up, said good morning and continued with my trance. Halfway to the couch, I found an unidentified face pacing from room to room. A lady. I wasn’t quite sure if she was a figment of my imagination or an actual living stranger in our premises, so I ended up in the living room, with a face that sent my mom and dad on a hysterical laughing fit as I stopped in my tracks pointing at the room with the moving entity and saying: ‘And Who the hell is she again?’ My mom elaborated that she’s the new housemaid, then she wondered what I said to her when I found a complete stranger strolling down our apartment.

‘I said Good Morning’.

I just had my fifth coffee of the day. And I mean day in the mathematical sense rather than the humane one, since I haven’t slept in almost 18 hours. I’m sitting in the balcony listening to the jumbled and rather confused – which, for the record, I spelled ‘confusioned’ a couple of seconds ago and backspaced – oomph of cars as they gear up for another round of the clock. A bird, wild finch, just came and checked me out. Pretty gutsy for a creature that’s about One twentieth my size.

This is going nowhere.

But then again it doesn’t have to.

I Guess It’s Just Another Day, In Liiiiiiiiiiife.

My Aura Is Yellow And Doesn’t Move Much.

What You Say!

How Did It Come To This?

Life Lesson #170: I know your body’s like a cloud, floating around the softer side of things you know. You’re in love with an Igor who’s in love with a placid penguin.