Porn is the Gateway to Persian Madness

Hi JOONAMS,

Hope everyone had a great fourth of July- and if your family is anything like mine, there was probably some fessenjoon involved or in our specific case- CHICKEN KABOB.  #I’mafattie   

I decided to take a vacation this week and come out to the WEST COAST (best coast) to visit the family… and as always, whenever I come to visit…

I am filled with guilt, stress and nostalgia– the Persian formula for family time.

My mom loves this quote (secretly)

This visit has been a little different for me- instead of feeling like I’m running around to spend x amount of time with each family member, I’m hit with memories of all the crazy sh*t my parents would do for me when I was a kid.

*In reality, I’m ignoring all their requests- this is MY vacation, ya dig? 

My parents are the definition of craycray- but their psychoness hasn’t always been a bad thing.  My mom was known for throwing the most extravagant and unique birthday parties while my dad was known for being the intellectual who lectured all the kids on how they should have a business plan mapped out before they hit 16 to ensure their success.

Really Dad?  At 16, I’m just learning what a blow job is, who’s thinking about business?  

My parents could give those parents on the My Super Sweet 16 MTV show a run for their money — though slightly more modest…

Every birthday party was an excuse for my mother to bring out all her best mehmooni tricks and make a splash– let’s be real, there’s always a little competition within the Irooni community as to who threw the biggest/best blowout.

Pretty sure my eighth birthday ranked rather high on the Persian Approval Scale.  My parents rented a llama-LLAMA for a day to take me and my friends for rides around our neighborhood.  Whoever happened to look out their window randomly that day was probably really confused as to why there was a big ass farm animal sh*tting in the middle of the street.

Icing on the cake?  Seventeen years later, my mom still complains that the llama took a sh*t in the backyard (irony: we don’t even live in that same house anymore).

Obviously, the petting zoo party wasn’t my only super sweet birfffday.  Throughout the years, my mom exhausted every party venue in our hometown from bowling alleys to Chuck E. Cheese, she invited magicians, Barney and family from all over the U.S.- but none compared to my 16th birthday party.  My ultimate Super Sweet 16 and no, it’s not because a group of hot model men carried me in on some throne…

After awhile, I grew out of the extravagant birthday parties.  In junior high, I was tired of having a bunch of random Iroonis at my birthday party and just wanted to lay low with my friends.  So come my 16th birthday, my mom decided that it was time to ignore what I wanted… and do the unthinkable: a surprise party.  (I effing hate surprises…)

The night started with dinner at the local Chinese restaurant with my closest friends and ice cream afterwards.  They were on their cell phones the entire time, but I was high off Chocolate and Peanut Butter ice cream so I didn’t even notice- though that should have been a DEAD giveaway for what they’d been planning.

We make it back to my place, I open the front door and I’m immediately greeted by half my junior class.

Who are these people?

People were standing before me who I hadn’t talked to in years.  The jocks were there — some of whom I’d never even met.  I just stood there awkwardly and pretended to NOT be completely horrified- because in reality, it really is the thought that counts and my mom was trying to make my 16th birthday memorable… which she did.

My mom brings out the cake– cheesecake because that’s my fave with 16 candles on it.  I look down at the cake and my heart literally skipped a beat, there was a huge baby picture of me somehow scanned onto the cake:

Cute, right?

Totally.

But when you’re going through puberty, nothing is cute- no matter how much effort goes into it.

I tried laughing it off and just enjoy the night with the small group of people at my birthday party that I was actually friends with.  Until the jocks go into my room and get on the internet… Who knows what they were doing but all of a sudden, my mom comes bursting through the party screaming, “THESE BOYS ARE LOOKING AT PORN.”

“Maman, that is not true– they are just on the internet, I really doubt that these guys are going to look at porn with you hovering over the party.”

“NA, man midonam (I know), dese boys aren’t going to do anyting on de Internet other dan look at porn- I just know it, I have to tell deir parents.  Kids dese days- dis is all dey do.”

#PersianPARANOIA to the extreme.  The jocks were horrified, I was embarrassed and they literally spent the rest of the evening sitting on the couch being SUPER polite to my mom so she wouldn’t call their parents.

Buzzkill to the max– but at least, it started a beautiful friendship between me and some of them– who STILL mention (to this day) how cray my mom is.

Note to mom: Just get me an awesome present– no more parties please.

Though she doesn’t remember any of the awkward moments and still swears that those guys were looking at porn… with 25 other people in the room…

I have tons of memories where my parents just go overboard and try to do something nice/sweet for me- and in reality, I look back on that birthday party happily.  But that doesn’t mean I didn’t have to pay the price for all their wonderful gestures to make my childhood as memorable as possible.

Please stop smothering me.

Most of my childhood is filled with memories of performing at the local Iranian community blowout for Norooz or Shabeh Yalda or Chahar Shambeh Soori.  My parents enrolled me in Persian dance classes, Hafez classes, Farsi classes and even my piano teacher was Irooni.  I was expected to recite Hafez in front of everyone during Shabeh Yalda, play Gole Sangam on the piano for Norooz (see the song performed here– this is NOT me playing), and be the first person on the dance floor at Chahar Shambeh Soori and the last person to leave.

Failure to comply resulted in grounding, yelling and the cold shoulder.

I can bitch about my parents all day errr day — but I love them no matter what. Because that’s just how we are raised…

We are taught to love unconditionally, how else would we survive the trials and tribulations of being an adolescent Persian?

So here’s to my awesome/crazy ass mother– I love you for all the memories but I am SO GLAD I’m old enough to say, “NO.” 

Tell me all about your favorite childhood memories- better yet, your SUPER SWEET 16:

SEXANDFESSENJOON@GMAIL.COM

FACEBOOK US

TWEET ME: @FARRAH_JOON

StillWaitingOnMyBMW,

FARRAH فرح
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Comments

  1. Cute post. The last time I had a birthday party was when i was turning 9 and that was more of a close group of friends sleeping over/hanging out type birthday. Never had a sweet 16!

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