The Importance of Summer Loving
Karim Rahman is back - just in time for the literal and metaphorical heat of the fabled summer fling...
Summer in the big city can be quite the spectacle once you allow yourself to be caught up in it. In between the sweltering heat and wading through rush-hour traffic to get to your mimosa-filled brunch with your besties (read: alcoholic buddies), spending the summer in Cairo has that whimsical air about it, where you think everything is possible and that this time you're going to get your NYC-esque vacation of a life time.
The reality, however, is that you spend most of it OUT of Cairo, getting shitfaced before noon.
With my summer vacation literally knocking on my baroque bedroom door (literally: I had a dream last night that summer was this super hot A&F model knocking on my bedroom door, a mimosa in hand), I couldn't be more excited (especially for the getting shitfaced part). It's all I can do not to throw my papers in the air, throw caution to the wind and completely ignore the last remaining two weeks of my semester. However, cursed with a sense of responsibility, I'll have to wait it out for just a while longer. Besides, there's a lot of planning to do before I embark on yet another failed attempt at a glamorous summer. There's the whole issue of funding myself throughout the vacation: will I get a summer job? If so, where? Will I focus on furthering my fashion career or focus on things I am better at, such as napping and eating? But, most important on my list of questions: will I ever get the chance to have that fabled summer fling?
Let's be honest, here: one of the main reasons (borderline ONLY reason) single people are always so damned excited about summer is because there's always that chance they might run into that one person that's going to sweep them off their feet and take them on hitherto undiscovered territory, only to cleanly and smoothly disappear come September. No strings, no emotional drama; a clean break. It's a perfect fantasy of a perfect situation. I've never had a summer fling before, even though every year I promise myself that, come summer, I will store my emotions where they belong: with my winter coats. But, being the emotional person that I am, I find it very difficult to go for the no-strings-attached package. Sometimes, it's nice to have a candlelit dinner that's going to end in meaningful conversations about the future and just a kiss goodnight (or maybe a blowjob).
But this year (like every year), that's all going to change because this summer, I'm going to go all out. No more running around the city (or the North Coast/Gouna/any area by the sea) looking for the "right one." This time, I'm going to be looking for the "right-one-for-tonight." After the hellish semester I've been through, I think some fun is long overdue for this overworked designer. In fact, I think it's safe to say I already have a head-start on this newfound "no-feelings" attitude I've adopted.
Now that Engineer and I have swiftly and officially moved into the "just friends" zone, I found myself open to the possibilities of maybe actually being interested in someone that has a high chance of being interested back. Gone are the dysfunctional days, it's time I start something up that has a chance of lasting. This is exactly why my first pick was a hot-shot, highly successful, weirdly funny, slightly dramatic Investment Consultant…who happens to live in New York. That way, I have unearthed the hitherto undiscovered status of "long-distance fling." There wasn't even any sexting involved, just the promise of perfect dates for when Investment Consultant finally sets foot in Cairo end of May/beginning of June. Even though all the right things were being said, and even though I'm apparently fucked up enough to be intensely attracted to someone who lives thousands of miles away, things did not go quite as I intended. After reading my column and basing all interactions with me on a preconceived notion of who I actually am, it turns out maintaining an overseas fling is harder than I ever thought it would be, and things fell through (after much unnecessary drama and strongly worded texts, I might add).
Never one to let this shake my resolve from achieving my true calling as a summer lothario, I did the only logical thing to do and backslid my way into a "friendly lunch date" with Big. However, after twenty-one years of being me and after almost a year of writing this column, it's safe to assume that the only things Big and I were lunching on were each other. It was great, it was fan-fucking-tastic, but it was definitely not summer fling material. What really woke me up to my Big mistake was when I had to quietly sneak out after Big slept immediately after we were done trying to prove to ourselves that this was purely physical. Even though I had to leave a cute little note, stole Big's pack of cigarettes because I was out and it was all very Katherine Heigl-esque, there was too much history between us, too much emotional drama lingering there to ever fully throw our attraction for each other out of the window and keep it strictly physical. No, summer fling-ing my ex (and not just any ex: THE ex) was definitely not the storybook (more like Playboy) summer romance I was looking for.
This finally led me back to where I originally started out, and where I have been desperately trying to leave for as long as I can remember: square one. But here's what I had to discover about summer flings: it's not for everyone. In other words, it is certainly not for me. Sure, I can want it for as long as I can and I can think that it's the magical solution for everything and that it's the only thing missing from my life, but the point of the matter is that I would much rather have a flirty conversation than just mindlessly fuck. Besides, there are more important things to worry about in the summer, such as navigating the work day hungover from last night's binge drinking session and tanning (thank you, Hassan Hassan).
So this little wannabe sex columnist is back to the drawing board, but nonetheless, I still have big plans for the next three months. I believe there was a saying that involves oysters and/or shells and pearls; I forget. All I know is that this summer (seriously, though) is going to be one hell of a bumpy ride.