Life After College Sucks _____.

Hello there Joonies :) It’s Saaghi.

By now, all the graduates of 2013 have graduated already. And while I’ve never had any long-term dreams of being a commencement speaker, I think Mary Schmich had it right:

Inside every adult, lurks a graduation speaker dying to get out.

I barely count as an adult, but I’ve hit that one year post-graduation mark where I really wish I could stand at a podium and rain on everyone’s festive parade. I’d like to tell my peers how it really goes down— because it’s not just about sunscreen. (is my bitter showing?) From what I gather after talking to people aged 22-26, I’m not the only one who wishes someone would’ve told them straight up that Life after College sucks. I’ve mentally noted some of the reasons, thus far, I believe that to be true…

Welcome Graduates of 2013 to the real world where ‘Confused and Sarcastic’ is the new black.

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I left the wonderful and fuzzy bubble of my undergrad years to deal with an extremely new lifestyle: a real job in a different city, away from home.  And right away, I hated it and I wished my Alma Mater could have taken me back for another 4 years. 

Things got a little better when I received my first paycheck, I felt like…

And it was all exciting, picking a place to live, being “independent”. But then this sudden sense of doom hit, and I realized somethings will never be the same. [Read more...]

Hold Me, I’m Vulnerable

Last weekend I was deciding whether I should take a fellowship that pays a meager stipend in the next year. It was one of those “what the hell am I doing with my life” moments that have colored my year after graduating college. I had been bottling a lot of insecurities and questions for a long time, and finally I broke down in my car. I had a good cry, but then collected myself before I went inside my house.

My mom took one look at me, and asked what was wrong, and I finally let go and had a good cry with her.

It felt great; it was a necessary catharsis that I had been denying myself for so long. I’m just not good at accepting and showing my vulnerabilities. As a society we might be very quick to point out our physical flaws, but character flaws and personality issues are a bit harder to be honest about.

I’m very afraid of showing my vulnerability, letting others (even those closest to me) see the moments of self-doubt, sadness, and self-questioning I have.

I’m not the only one either. It seems that particularly as women, and additionally as Middle-Eastern women, we feel the need to always look like we are in control, independent, and capable. We are all of these things, but we are also humans that go through healthy amounts of self-doubt, self-questioning, and self-consciousness.

Part of this may come from pressures from our family, and fighting against their expectations of having the perfect “career, marriage, children, family” path. We have to show them that we know what we are doing, and that we don’t need to follow their set expectations. The other aspect of it is the pressure of further proving to Western society that we are not meek, incapable, and dependent women, but smart and in control of our lives. I’ve seen this amongst my Iranian and Arab friends so often that it is the norm.

To make it worse, any instance of vulnerability has a backlash of opinions on the Internet and in society.

The moment someone shows vulnerability everyone jumps on the judgment train. [Read more...]

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...]

Not thug life, but the Double Life.

Happy Tuezday.

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?

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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’. [Read more...]

Ayo, I’m tired of using Technology

Good morning.

Its technically my morning, because its 3:19 am, and I canNOT sleep. Blame it on the alcohol, that’s what I get for pounding those double-shot margaritas after work.

Drinking in college is for Fun. Drinking after work is for Sanity.

(of course i dont look this fab @ happy hour)

So what you do when you have alcohol-induced insomnia is try to load up on drunk food so you can fall into a carb-induced coma, but since my cabinets are empty and i only have some KALE in the fridge (who was I kidding when I went grocery shopping?)– I had to turn on the TV. and instead of turning on C-SPAN, I watched Sex and the City– SEASON ONE episodes.

& it provided me with some blogging inspiration: The evolution of technology, and how within 10 years– everything has changed. For better, or for worse.

There was a scene in the episode where Carrie and Big run into each other unexpectedly– though they’re in a relationship, and then casually say goodbye. In that moment, it hit me– neither of the two is exactly sure where the other is going, what they’ll be up to, and when they’ll see each other again.

Updates on status had to be given via a land line phone. Which means you had to be home. not mobile.

Or if Carrie had a moment of crisis (which she does in most episodes), she would have to wait until she got home, got to a payphone, so she could catch one of the girls at home, or in their office– tot talk it through. Or she could leave it for Sunday Brunch.

And to think that land lines and pagers and payphone were within my lifetime…well, it blows my mind.

THen it all hit me,

Technology has redefined personal space.  And our love lives. [Read more...]

Last Name Ever, First Name Fakest.

JOONS,

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. [Read more...]

Safety First?

hihi joonies,

I remember the day Saaghi approached me about starting this blog– we were driving back to the YAY Area and she said, “Yo– remember when we were virgins?  Who did you talk to about this?”

“Um no one… you?” 

…..????

I remember when I was younger and a guy would rub up his ya know against mine and I would take the morning after pill because I thought you could get pregnant from rubbing.

I remember when I first gave head in the back of a car and I looked at myself in the mirror thinking, “I look so different now.”

I had no one to turn to.

[Read more...]

Rules Don’t Apply

Hey joons,

I feel like I’ve been a little MIA- but I could really use the distraction tonight and I swear I have a good excuse… let’s just call it, MARKET RESEARCH.

Excuses?  Yeahhhh… my bad.  Let me explain.

I have pretty strict rules when it comes to dating.

Naww I really have NO game

Not because my mom would disapprove of anything less, but because I just don’t like losing control– issues? I think so.  If I give “it” up quickly, then that guy is automatically considered “un-dateable…” at least in my mind.  I instantly write them off as a “hook-up” or “friends with benefits” because ultimately, I don’t really want to give it up immediately to the guy I’m dating.  Ideally, I want him to work for it.

It goes both ways– you might think I’m easy for letting you f#ck me, but I think you’re easy for lasting x minutes.

Don’t ask me how I come up with these rules, but it’s always worked for me… until now.

I met this Persian guy recently through some friends- and I was instantly interested.  I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before, but there is something just incredibly sexy about a guy who can spit out Farsi like it’s no big deal.  So of course, one of the first nights we all hang out in a group- with drinks involved- we end up making out.

What about inhibitions?

And the next night, one thing led to another and we ended up hooking up for real.  I’m not really sure what motivated me to do it– regardless, it happened.  And it was really great.

NO REGRETS. TRUE STORY.

[Read more...]

I Said No

Hey joons,

We talk a lot about the fun in sex… and partying and losing your inhibitions.  It’s true- sometimes you need to abandon the Persian traditions that we were born into and just let your hair down. 

But that doesn’t mean that there aren’t consequences ready to kick your ass at any unexpected moment.

Because the harsh fact is:

No matter how much sex you have or how responsible you are  — you can’t always guarantee success/safety.

[Read more...]

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