It’s been a long day. I’m tired. I just went on a cleaning rampage and now I feel like my entire body reeks of bleach. But shit needs to get done – ya feel me?
All I want to do tonight is relax and laugh.
I’m going to pretend like I wasn’t planning to go for a run tonight – ugh why is running so hard? Better question is, why is it so much easier to eat something like this:
My type in food is … NO DISCRIMINATION – I love it all – minus the weird stuff, like cow tongue, cow BALLS, kalehpacheh, and all the weird shit our culture claims is okay to eat.
When it comes to dating, my type is starting to become more of a disappointment/ball buster than a night well spent.
I have a tendency to go for the unemployed, douchey, mama’s boys.
I’m not really sure what the appeal is in that — wish I could say that they’re really packing it (if ya know what I mean). But the reality is they’re equally lacking in that area.
#khaktosarem / #mommyissues?
Men who don’t have a lot to offer have a tendency to overcompensate in an effort to hide their true colors until you’re hooked.
Now THAT’s what I call sexy – sarcasm.
I like to think that my vast experience in getting with the infamous doodool-tala (golden penis complex) gives me a little authority to pass some judgement because let’s be real…
At the end of the day, why would anyone ever WANT to be a DOODOOL-TALA?
*disclaimer: some of these apply to women too – #sorrynotsorry
I love my mom as much as the next person does. And you should – you should love your mom – because she gives you life, she takes care of you, she loves you unconditionally. Mothers are invaluable.
But in the Iranian culture, mothers coddle us beyond recognition. They don’t just play the role of a parental figure in our lives – we’re baby’ed, fed, and changed until we’re old enough to say “no.”
For me — I ran out of my mother’s grasp at the first opportunity I had. And even now, I fight off her coddling with every bone in my body because I just can’t handle it. And when I date a guy who expects me to baby him… I’m usually running out the door before I can put my underwear back on.
Doodool-talas come in all shapes and sizes — but they share some distinct qualities:
– I DON’T WANT TO DO IT:
Growing up – I was never expected to do chores. My mom did my laundry, she made me food, she cleaned my dirty dishes. In fact, all of that “I’ll do it for you” only ended up hurting me in the long run. I didn’t learn to do laundry until a year and a half ago – and even then, I didn’t realize that “fabric softener” isn’t actually detergent until I’d already used it for 3 months.
You live and you learn.
DON’T judge me.
It took awhile for me to learn how to use the stove and cook food that didn’t require a microwave. And despite some setbacks (I still can’t figure out a damn can-opener), I’ve been able to survive on my own for awhile now. (I’m such a princess).
But there’s nothing more unattractive to me than when a guy tries to pawn off his laundry on me — or can’t figure out how to use the oven. (Not that I’m an oven master…) but their inability to just do it reminds me that their mama is still taking care of them.
Listen, we’re Persian. Manners are embedded in our DNA — as much as we talk shit, we find ways to redeem ourselves by being polite and hospitable. It’s almost insulting when non-Iranians go to Iran and comment on how surprised they are that we are so giving. It’s who we are.
My biggest lesson in learning manners was when I was six years old. My parents took me to one of those mehmoonis that I hated. I was a shy kid – I hated the spotlight and so my mom got creative with earning her bragging rights within the community. She made a deal with me that night — if I said “hello” and “goodbye” to all SEVENTY-FIVE guests, she would let me get the pet rabbit that I had been asking for.
So… I did it. I went to every single person in the house that night and said hello… then goodbye. I let them all kiss me twice on the cheek — though it’s debatable since the older people get, the closer to your mouth they kiss. I let my mom brag about how polite I was and the next day, we bought my pet bunny, Muffin.
Of course, that night set a precedent for every gathering thereafter and I appreciate it. I pride myself on being polite and caring. I believe it is important. We should all have some “orzeh” (Trans.: common sense?).
But why do I have to applaud some guy for throwing away his trash?
I had an interesting experience once. This guy made a point to say that he is throwing away the can of soda he finished to the recycling bin. I just kinda stood there like … okay. But he proceeded to say how his dad won’t give him any credit when he does this at home.
Since when do we get credit for cleaning up after ourselves? We might get rewarded with some “applause” for cleanliness when we are in our teens… but in our 20’s — that’s some baby shit that just doesn’t fly – at least with me.
Are you really implying that I have to say,
“OMG! You washed your plate?! BABY, meet me in the bedroom in 2 minutes and I’ll thank you the way you deserve.”
You must really be smoking too much of that golden crack.
– I’M IN THE BUILDING AND I’M FEELIN’ MYSELF:
I admit. I probably change my clothes 3+ times before leaving the house. Luckily, my hair is manageable and I have a tendency to go more for the natural look when it comes to my face (AKA makeup is hard). But when it comes to getting dressed, I can never decide. If I’m running late to meet someone – it’s probably because I changed my shirt 4 times… and still left the house with the original outfit I had planned. Clearly, I have problems.
But if it takes me that long to get ready — can you imagine my disgust when it takes a guy longer to get ready? Yes, we’re all making an impression when we leave the house. Some of us more than others…
I just don’t want to wait for you. And there’s something unsexy about a guy who spends over 30 minutes on his hair…
If your hair is shorter than mine, then it should take a third of the time it takes me to fix it. Logic right?
Clearly, logic never met a doodool-tala.
I don’t want to sit there and listen to you about what pants match your pink shirt. It’s just not my thing. I can barely stand it when my friends take foooorever to get ready. Plus – it’s an instant turn-off if we’re f#cking and my hands get stuck in your hair because of all the gel that you soaked into it.
Even Beyonce can run her fingers through her hair.
Joonies, we all have an inner doodool-tala — but there’s those of us who grow out of it… and those of us bask in it. You can be who you want to be – the whole “be a man” thing is a little gender biased and unfair …
But I just don’t want to have sex with someone who needs their hand held if they pick up a napkin from the floor.
I might be a doodool-tala when it comes to working the oven, but there is a vast difference between that and someone who needs their date to fill in their mother’s shoes.
To me, being “manly” doesn’t mean that you never ask for help or you can lift 1000 lbs. Being a man is independence… being a man is knowing your strengths and embracing your weaknesses. Being a man is having the ability to ask for help when you actually need it versus asking for help because you just don’t want to do it.
So here’s to no more doodool-talas in my bed — if you expect me to clean up your dirty condom off the floor then I’m going to choke with you my fessenjoon when you least expect it.
TWEET AT ME: @FARRAH_JOON