How I (Can’t) Feel

First off, in case anyone remembers or remotely cares, I did meet my Persian girlfriend’s mother. I feel like it went really well. (see my last post here!)

This may have to do with my mother always telling me, as a child, how charming I was, translating into a false sense of supremacy.

Regardless, my girlfriend told me her mother liked me enough. Either I am in the clear or my girlfriend has a great poker face.

Second, I would like to thank Saaghi and Farrah for posting my blurb and genuinely caring how my visit went. They have set up a wonderful blog giving voice to first generation Iranians abroad. Merci Farrah and Saaghi joon.

I can’t express my emotions properly.

I’m not a quiet individual nor am I my great-grandfather whom apparently only spoke to berate the loose morals of 50s youth: “‘Laash’ women and their harlequin print dresses.” My issue isn’t that I’m an introvert. My issue isn’t that I think speaking about feelings is a feminine trait. My issue is that I don’t know what to do when feeling: sad, upset, vulnerable, distressed, etc…

I would categorize myself as an emotional person. I don’t mean that I sob during long distance phone commercials. I mean that whether I am really excited or melancholic, the emotion overtakes me. I have moments where I’m animated from happiness and moments where I’m as un-enthused as Al Gore in a library.
My mom has accused me of taking drugs. My doctor has accused me of not taking enough drugs.
I’m not trying to make myself sound like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, nor am I painting a picture of a cross between Cary Grant and Behrouz Voussoughi, I’m only trying to be honest. People whom I build strong relationships with, friendly or romantic, understand this about me. My girlfriend, bless her heart, know this well and remains with me, although I must say she isn’t always a walk in the park either. We’re great (for the most part) together.

This little biography brings me back to the first sentence; I can’t express my emotions properly. I can sit and listen to my friend, partner or parent speak about their issues and give semi-decent advice. However, when the roles are reversed, Lassie does a better job at explaining his issues.

This ends up complicating my relationships. Building a relationship is difficult enough as it is. While we always think and speak of our partner’s best traits, it is really their worst you must accept. This is a given, of course. No person is baggage-less. Even if I think Alicia Keys and I would mingle quite well, I’m sure she has characteristics I would have to try to get over; such as not knowing how to make loobia polo. My baggage is the stress I can put on a relationship by not knowing how to say “I am sad.” I end up going quiet or getting upset. What is worse is at times I don’t even know why I’m upset. My girlfriend then gets frustrated because I’m in a bad mood and I won’t open up. I have managed to string together sentences blaming her and the 1979 Revolution simultaneously for my own issues. I’ve also been a big enough jerk to blame her for lack of caring when she asks “what’s wrong?” An oxymoronic jackass.

I’ve read in the odd female magazine, yes I’ve looked inside Cosmopolitan and the Oprah one,

….that most men do not know how to express their feelings or that we’re afraid of our emotions. I find it funny that those articles are always written by women who do not have a) any clue about being male & b) testicles. [Read more…]

Persian Girl Gone Wild.

Saaghi here. Its hard to follow after Maz/Jimmy Vestvood, but I’m going to try.

I worked an 18 hour day yesterday, and so tonight, I came home and got high. Loner stoner is not my usual thing- actually never–but Ive discovered  a new level stress thanks to my job. Its even giving me bad dreams, like last night–

I had a nightmare that my Persian Dad found out that I write for Sex& Fessenjoon. And he wouldn’t speak to me, even as I pleaded while balling me eyes out.

I woke up feeling just as sad as I was in my dream, but confused why it affected me so much?

For me, #SEXANDFESSENJOON is all about thinking twice about all that you’ve always been told is wrong, or zesht (dirty, looked down on, ugly, etc).  And partially,

its about defending my right to get high in my underwear, by myself, after work–as a Persian girl.

Or my right to have sex outside of a relationship.

Or even my right to be INAPPROPRIATE.

Cause lets be real, there are too many fucking rules.

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My confession though– Some rules only make sense after your break them. 

Especially the ones that you break over and over again. [Read more…]

Love, or Something Like It.

Hello there,

It feels like this week is dragging, am I the only one who feels like it should be Thursday? Overall, this week has been so blah minus the one highlight: a painless Brazilian wax.

Yes, I am now numb to the what used to feel like a harsh spanking (unless you’re into that #nojudgement) .

Besides these small little discoveries, there is not much else that seems to go on in my life.  I work, eat, blog, sleep. And repeat.  There used to be a big block in my schedule for my METH (my girlfriends), but that space no longer exists. I’ve been forced into withdrawal and like any addict, for awhile, I didn’t know what Rehab to check into?

Turns out, I didn’t get into the Betty Ford Center– I got  the 14 Hour Workdays to Sobriety Program.

So without meth, and without sex, I’ve been thinking a lot about…Love.

Let me give you some background on what L-O-V-E means to me. (and when I say love, I mean anything from strong crush–eternal love) Do you know what my favorite movie was from the 90s? #blastfromthepast

Yeah, 10 things I hate about you. If there was ever a love story I would love to live, that would be the one– not cause its Shakespeare, and not cause its Heath Ledger, but because Cynical-Feminist meets Dangerous BadA$$ and then writes him a poem about how much she hates everything about him (which is code for I love you). Watch the scene below:

If Love was a man, that is the poem I’d read for him, before storming out. [Read more…]

But You’re Like Really Deep.

JOONZ

do you know I’ve never spelled it that way?

I’ve been feeling uninspired lately. My life’s gone from 150mph to a slow turtle’s pace. (oK , I’m done with the pity party I swear)– and so I have..different material to work with–what that means for you guys is blog posts that are less sex, more JOON.

because I even forgot to bring my little friend to my new place.  (Let’s see how long I can hold out on this one.

Just so we’re clear. This post isn’t an ODE to mY loneliness POST, and  this post is NOT about me hating on Persian men– which is code for: DONE BEING SINGLE, SWOOP ME UP DOODOOL TALA!   just keeding.

its about depth. and depth-y people (I just created that adjective).

& Just to set the mood, I feel deep when I listen to this song:

SO wtf do we mean, when we say someone’s “really deep”?

Does it mean they’re spiritual? They recite cryptic poetry? Or that they’ve been through a lot of crazy sh!t in their life?

And how do you measure this “Depth”? cause clearly, humans aren’t actual swimming pools.

Although I wish people would have some sort of obvious marker for safety purposes– like “7 feet”, “5 1/2 feet”, “WADING POOL”.

[Read more…]

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