Holly Dagres – Middle East commentator, world traveler, and joooon. Here’s what she has to say:
You know the song, “Independent Woman” by Destiny’s Child? The likes of those kind of lyrics are what I live by. Even better, the unknowing feminist, Margaret Thatcher had a good line (I’m not a Thatcherite by the way),
“I will never be one of those women, who stays silent and pretty on the arm of her husband. Or remote and alone in the kitchen doing the washing up for that matter. One’s life must matter. Beyond all the cleaning, cooking and the children – one’s life must matter more than that… I will not die washing a teacup.”
Ironically, Lady Gaga had an even more concise quote, “Some women choose to follow men, and some women choose to follow their dreams. If you’re wondering which way to go, remember that your career will never wake up and tell you that it doesn’t love you anymore.”
Point being, that’s the kind of motto I live by.
I don’t want to be a pushover; I don’t want to be just somebody’s wife. I don’t want to be left stranded if the man I love decides to get up and leave, cheat, or God forbid dies on me. Continue reading →
Here’s something that made my week: the fact that my friends want me to dress up as Bert for Halloween. My question is,
Which Persian girl puts on a unibrow, voluntarily?
I thought bad eyebrows were like bad noses, you get rid of them and deny deny deny you ever had one? Or is the UNI in now? Someone fill me in.
Anyway, my grandparents were in town for awhile, all the way from eeRAN, and aside from lots of lavashak and pistachios, they bring a suitcase full of “Naseehat” (guidance from elders).
The problem with that is, I hate NASEEHAT. I’m comfortable enough with my parents to stop them before they get ahead with all their ‘guidance’ lectures–’Dad, the decibel level of your voice annoys me‘. But with my grandparents, I can’t be so direct. I have to swallow my pride, and smile, and nod–as if I’m actually going to take what they say into consideration.
Do you see how immature and stubborn I am?
But, in my defense, as I’ve… aged… I’ve gotten better at identifiying the ‘GOOD Naseehat‘ from the ‘OBNOXIOUS Naseehat’. Especially now that I’m out on my own, with my own bills and finances and Adult-ness,
I know I can’t learn everything the hard way– cause if I do, it’ll end with bad credit, a mug shot, and an ‘I TOLD YOU SO’. Continue reading →
I’m making a very big effort to not start off this post bitching about the fact that it’s Monday. Seriously…
It was the freakin’ weekend and weekends are bomb because it involves no work and all play- unless you do work on the weekends, then I feel for you #madrespect.
My weekends usually consist of a lot of food and good friends.
Good friends are hard to come by – especially ones who know what the real meaning of friendship is.
Saaghi and I say this everyday – but she’s my wife #sorryboys
I’ve had a lot of bad friends. Friends who think it’s okay to call my mom a bitch, just because I do. Or friends who think it’s okay to tell me what to do rather than to support my decisions and let me make my own mistakes.
And as a result, I’m blunt.
I say what I mean and I mean what I say.
I think “being fake” or being “nice” to someone who doesn’t deserve it is a waste of time. And I have more respect for people who can tell me how they really feel about me versus the people who pretend to like me to my face.
I have a tendency to believe people until proven otherwise — so me and fake [Iranian]girls usually aren’t the best combination. I believe them, they talk shit, and I end up slapping them with my words. It’s the never-ending cycle or I’m just a lot bitchier than I like to admit (doubtful).
News flash: people aren’t stupid and if you’re bullshitting someone, chances are… they know.
And let’s be honest, many Iranian girls have a tendency to be the sweetest, most loving person to your face – but behind your back, all hell breaks loose.
Our culture produces the epitome of “poz-dadan.” Translation: uhhh fake mother f#ckers.
And why is that?
We’re taught from early on that we need to create an image. An image that somehow proves we are better, that we are superior to our peers.
The image we create of ourselves somehow leads to our “survival” in the Iranian community. Continue reading →
Hope we made the early week a little more bearable for you guys with a little humor on the tumbLOLr (tumble here). As for myself, I’ve been putting this song on REPEAT…mourning over the fun/careless summer I never had #firstworldproblems #momoneymoproblems
hit play if you feel like your summer was unjustly cut short, too.
Do you know what’s great about speaking another language a.k.a Persian/Farsi?
The sh!t talking.
Yes, we’re all guilty of being mean in our mother tongue. It’s a privilege we use and abuse.
And its not just Iranians– anyone with the advantage of a second language can and does do it. I swear my nail lady is always talking smack about me in a voice that’s barely above a whisper. However, for my friends and I- Farsi doesn’t cut it anymore.
In California: Talk Shit, Get Hit. Especially if its in Persian. The chance that someone in the room understands you is more than 50%, and the chance that you’re talking about a Persian is even higher.
So when all else fails, we use acronyms. And this was a long-winded introduction for our most meaningful one yet:
It’s been awhile since we’ve had a guest post and we all know you get a little tired of us from time to time– plus, there’s only so much sex we can have… at once… (joke). Please meet Holly Dagres- Iranian American- Aslan Media Columnist- Researcher for Cairo Review- World Traveler- Bad Ass of All Things Middle East – this list could really go on for an entire post so check out her website (click here).
Joonies, I like to pride myself on being an Iranian-American with having the unique opportunity to grow up in Iran during my teenage years. It’s definitely given me a nuanced perspective of things people don’t often look profoundly into. Coming from divorced parents, the idea of marriage has always been approached with caution. It’s no wonder that when the topic of “khastegaris” (marriage proposals) comes up, I tend to cringe at how simple people choose their significant others.
Ever since I could remember, I’ve had mothers running up to me on street corners, asking if I had not wed yet. This is just based off of my not so Iranian features, which consists of fair skin (you’ll learn why that’s important in a moment).
Then there was the one neighbor who offered my mother a ‘business deal’– my hand in marriage for her son.
Tonight’s topic is dedicated to several of our wonderful jooooons who have emailed/commented and asked for a post on this (thank you for that):
DATING IRANIAN BOYS… IN IRAN.
I’ve talked about this particular experience before (click here), but I left out all the real details: the drama, cheating and sex at grandma’s. Because let’s be real:
Persian girls aren’t the only ones that bring on the drama.
It's not always romance and butterflies
We’ve all had summer/vacation flings– and sometimes they’re the best relationships because you leave before anything gets “too complicated.” Most importantly, you only remember the good times… all those unreturned phone calls are quickly forgotten.
I originally wanted to start this post off by talking about how innocent I am. But, I’m not– I’m a Sex and Fessenjoon FIEND and you would know that if you followed me ;)
I’m pretty strict about no sex before a relationship especially if I’m seeing someone that I like, which doesn’t happen often. And I make it a point to not fuck the guy (not verbally- I’m not that psycho) no matter how bad I want to jump him:
I want it
Because sex is great. And even though I had to fuck a few idiots before getting it right– it was always worth it. But let’s be real, as women we get judged if we’ve had too many partners. If a guy has fucked 10 or even 40 plus, they’re a player. But we’re hoes and we never like being called a slore (slut + whore).
So if you’re like me and you’re picky about who you choose to commit to then that means you lead a life of celibacy and it sucks.
NEWS FLASH:
Women need to get laid too. We have needs and sometimes masturbating just doesn’t cut it.
While I may not want to increase my number- I’m really sick of not being able to have sex with someone I trust because society may think of less of me. I’m an INDEPENDENT woman, who gives a shit what YOU have to say about it! But most of all, I’m tired of just being horny. Solution?
Friends with Benefits.
Like, NIKE says: Just Do It
Before I get into the gory (but wonderful) details, there is something important to remember:
Just because you’re single and horny DOESN’T mean you should do everything in sight. Friends with benefits only work if you follow a few simple rules:
(1). Find someone you trust. SOMEONE CLEAN and who clips their nails (because guys with long nails are gross).
(2). Prepare yourself. You should already be aware of the fact that you’re only f#cking him, you’re not falling in love with him. Keeping that emotional bond separate from your sex life in situations like this is important. So make sure you’re physically attracted to him, NOT emotionally.
(3). Put it all on the table. LITERALLY- no I’m kidding– (kinda). Talk about it with him before doing it. I don’t mean to have a drawn out, hours long conversation. But just keep it real. Make sure you’re both on the same page before diving in.
When I was in college, I didn’t want a boyfriend. I knew I wouldn’t be staying after graduation– I wanted to move on to bigger and better things. So I steered clear from commitment because I didn’t want anyone to hold me back from my future. I had two close friends in college- both Persian males. With one, I had an emotional/platonic relationship. He was like my brother- we talked to each other about our personal lives and even to this day, I still consider him one of my close friends even if we don’t talk everyday.
But the other… Well, we were/are close too. We shared personal stories with one another, but it wasn’t just platonic. I was attracted to him and I wanted it. Bad.
He’s a hottie and he had #swag. We always joked about sex but neither of us ever had the balls to actually do it. Until one night, we got drunk and he came home with me. And it was great because we didn’t worry about being “shy” or trying to act all “innocent.”
We were just in it for the ass.
We became friends with benefits, and continued it until I graduated from college and moved away. The best part: it was never awkward because we were both on the same page. He knew that I didn’t want anything more from him and while I loved him as my friend, I knew I wasn’t IN love with him.
Most importantly, we were still able to hang out with our friends without them even realizing that we were fucking on the side. Okay fine, they knew. But we were still able to kick it without anyone feeling weird.
Bliss.
Until I moved across the country and now I only see him maybe twice a year. Oh well. Friends with benefits are people too and we’ve been able to maintain a friendship (minus the sex).
But you see, I got lucky. I got lucky that I was friends with someone who was man enough to RECOGNIZE that I wouldn’t end up wanting to be his wife.
Unfortunately, some guys are SO STUCK UP THEIR ASSES that they actually think if they grace us with their penis, we will fall madly in love with them.
What’s even more annoying: they think that if they decide not to fuck us anymore, we’re going to get crazy.
Fuck me or die
They actually think their penis is so great that if they take it away, we’re going to turn in that jealous, psycho ex. Um no. Let’s get a few things straight:
(1). If I wanted to be your girlfriend, I wouldn’t be sleeping with you. I’m smart enough to know to NEVER give it up that easily.
(2). We’re not always the ones with the attachment issues.
So MEN– check yourself before you decide to deflect your insecure bullshit onto us and blame us for what you didn’t get from your last woman.
(3). Just because you’re hot doesn’t mean I want your babies. So stop being a doodool-tala (golden penis complex) and just fuck me.
I like where my life is going and I like not knowing what’s next. But most importantly, I have Saaghi to fill any void that I might need filled from a man…. minus the sex. So I went to a good friend and proposed the idea of benefitting from one another.
I mentioned it because we ALWAYS talked about sex.
He flipped out and while he “is down,” he “can be an asshole sometimes” and “doesn’t want to hurt me.”
Guess what.
I CAN BE AN ASSHOLE TOO.
I’m a big girl, I don’t need you to watch out for me- my Irooni daddy does a good job of that already.
Just because you’ve broken a few hearts doesn’t mean you’re going to break mine. So step off your pedestal and get back to reality.
Is it just me or is this actually true sometimes?
So joonies, this post isn’t to tell you to go fuck randoms because truly, I’m not into that. And like I’ve said before– we’re Persian- we don’t do trashy.
BUT, I think its time someone told these “men” to STOP OVERANALYZING.
We’re lightening up on this blog- its been too much sexguiltGODaddiction (love you FARRAH)
Anyway, I have this video on REPLAY as I write this post, anyone who has a problem with the quality of my writing can take it up with the year 2000:
LISTEN FOR THE ULTIMATE NOSTALGIA
Do you guys remember the days when boy bands were the shit? When Xtina Aguilera was hot? Britney wasn’t a mess? And Eminem was the best rapper around?
I dont know if its just me, but growing up in America, the music of the 90′s and early 00′s played a huge role in my life. Whether it was TRL or SPICE GIRLS bubble gum wrappers, I was sold. I didn’t know if I wanted to be Posh Spice or Ginger, (who the fuck wanted to be Scary Spice?) I knew I preferred Backstreet over NSYNC, and I rooted for Britney&Justin ALL THE FUCKING WAY.
VH1: THE TRL DECADE– must watch.
Unfortunately, I didn’t limit my music taste to my stereo system.
I decided at some point that my clothes should be a reflection of my music taste, and unfortunately, that was always changing.
PHASE ONE
When I was younger, my parents reallly restricted my ability to choose my own clothes…aka they cramped my style. Given I was 11 at the time, I really was frustrated at the fact that my parents wanted to dress me like an IMMIGRANT PREP SCHOOL CHILD (knock-off oxfords, suspenders, and plenty of plaid)
So I decided to take matters into my own hands, and just change on the school bus, on the way to school. I’d like you all to take a minute and imagine the confusion of the white person sitting next to me on this bus– unable to understand why I would be so adamant on changing outfits.
At this time, I really loved Britney Spears, Mariah Carey, and Ricky Martin.
I was so obsessed with pink sports bras, hot orange windbreaker pants, and platform shoes. I wanted my pants to always be shiny and balloon-y. I would make my hair crimped or straight, preferrably in pigtails with cute scrunchies.
Oh, and as for make up? That was also applied on the yellow school bus. But of course, I had no idea what I was doing.
I remember one time I stole my mom’s purply-pink lipstick and just slathered it on my lips like a clown. The kids at school would stare at me while I was walking by in the halls, and I really thought it was because I looked good so I’d keep applying. (How sad)
PHASE TWO
After awhile I decided trying to look like a white girl wasn’t doing me any good. So I decided I’d rather try to look like a black guy.
Yes, Joonies, I discovered Eminem, BIGGIE, Dre, and Nelly. And somehow, I thought I fit into the category.
For people who think the ‘rap game’ back then was like what it is now— HELL NO MOTHERF*cKER. There was no Skirt-wearing Kanyes and BOOJIEE ass DRAKES on the scene.
Rappers SAGGED their pants, wore XXXL Tees, and big bling CHAINS.
Guess who else did?
ME. Thats right, I didn’t let my gender get in the way of my hood-swag. I sagged my pants, wore FUBU tracksuits, and corn-rowed my hair.
Let me tell you how it worked– I’d wear jeans like a regular girl, then OVER MY jeans I’d wear sweatpants, and SAG them real low, with an accompanying XXXXL sweatshirt. At school, my teachers would literally stare at me as if I’d lost my mind.
My parents were horrified. But the best was yet to come.
I also had an obsession with sneakers, particular AIR FORCE ONES.
I needed more than 2 PURRS. I bought the high-top ALL BLACK two sizes too big because I just had to have it. My dream was a closet full of Air Forces, of all shades, special editions, and heights. The Brands of this phase included (but not limited to): South Pole, Baby Phat, Nike, Applebottom Jeans, and FUBU.
I guess no one was around to tell me that I didn’t look HARD, I just looked like a RE-TARD.
Really though this phase is probably the most embarrassing and fun one of my life. Who else can say they sacrificed their femininity to look like a heat-strapping thug? (other than MISSY ELLIOT)
OFF THE DEEP END FOR SURE, so shake ya tailfeather.
PHASE THREE
By some point I realized I wasn’t black, and had to face the fact that maybe my personal style shouldn’t be an imitation of what I see — but something from the inside.
I will be the first to say that I HATE fashionistas that keep up with thisandthat blog, tote VOGUE as their Bible and eating disorders as their mission.
WHY? Just because their imitation isn’t as awful as my FUBU phase, doesn’t mean they’re not lost too. Style is not Expensive, and its not Brand-name. Its also not Trendy and of-the-moment.
Back to my Phase Three point: We all struggle with trying to figure out what the fuck we’re going to do with our lives, why complicate it more by trying to look like anything other than whats natural–ourselves? Whether you look to a celebrity or your best friend for style tips, you’re most likely going to end up looking second-rate.
Personal style is like personal hygiene. You wouldn’t use someone else’s toothbrush. And you wouldn’t watch them take showers.
You just gotta do you.
But of course, you have to look like a joke once in awhile and laugh at yourself afterwards– real LOUD.
Do you have any style faux pas you’d share with us? Pictures, perhaps?
