NEW YEAR’S EVE BABY!  As you all get prepared to go out for an evening of debauchery and fun- we thought we would provide the men with a short list of guidelines to follow as they attempt to get their New Year’s kiss (in reality, boys/men should follow these guidelines at. all. times). 

Lesson 1: stay away, they look 12 (with too much makeup)


1.  When you go up to a girl, make an effort to engage her friends too.  She will appreciate that you aren’t excluding her homegirls otherwise known as: you are just being creepy.

2.  Buy her a drink.  I know… common sense right?  I’m all about being independent and paying for my own shit- but its the principle: guy should always pay on the first date and hey, if you’re trying to get some action after a crazy night of drinking, then the least you can do is pay for a goddamn drink (we all know the second you get to her house, you’re going to flail around until she decides to go in your pants, and then pass the fuck out).  

3.  Make sure that you’ve both agreed to a New Year’s kiss before going in for the kill.  No one likes a surprise…

You don’t want her to be checking out the guy across the room…


1.  Don’t get so wasted that your breath reeks of beer (gross).  Trust me, if you are THAT wasted guy… all you’ll be doing is kissing the toilet… and we will probably (likely) take pictures to show our friends the gross guy that attempted to hit on us as he was falling over.

If you merely get bad breath after a drink or two just… because…? (sidenote: you should probably see a dentist).  But ANYWAY, chew a piece of gum (cinnamon to be specific… you’re welcome) .  It’s tasty and fresh!
2.  When kissing, don’t slobber all over her mouth and most importantly, don’t stick your tongue in her mouth and have it just lie there like a dead eel.  Trust me: bad kisser is a major #dealbreaker. 

Gross. Just stop. Go home.

3.  Don’t be cocky.  If you really are that cute, we will notice… no need to TELL US or try to act like we are LUCKY to have your attention.  Because in reality, you are lucky that we are willing to even listen to your bullshit “hit-on” lines.  In life, you should always be modest– its helps you maintain your job, your friends and the girl you’re trying to take home that night.

So, follow these simple rules and we reassure you that your New Year’s will end up like this:

BEST. New Year’s. Ever


SEE YOU IN 2012!




My Kiss is like WHOA!

Hey joonjoons,

Enough of the shit talking… horrifying reality checks (at least for tonight).  Despite all the drunken shitshows, random make out sessions, and whatever else your dirty mind comes up with– I’ve had some amazing experiences too. SURPRISED?! Yeah…Me too.

It all started when I was 14 years old.  I was visiting my family in Iran and every night after dinner, I went out to the neighborhood street to play with the other kids my age.  Go figure: I was the only girl that wanted to bike ride and play basketball with the other boys (God forbid)! Of course, the other boys never let me play until one night, this dark haired boy (duh he’s Persian) threw me the ball as I walked by their game for the tenth time that night.  He was smiling at me and said, “Wanna play?” So I joined their game… mind you- I am probably the most unathletic person in the world, but I just wanted to be included… AND HE WAS DAMN CUTE. 

CutePersian asked me to join their game every night after that and I always went home happier than ever.  I had developed my first real crush. CutePersian and I quickly became more than just basketball buddies, we were friends.  He would yell at me from across the street and tease me.  I would blush (like the ugly adolescent Persian girl I was) and run away.

On my last night in Iran, we went to the corner store to buy some juice (Ab anaar to be exact).  We sat in a hidden alley where no one could see us (you know how Persian neighbors LOVE to gossip) and as stupid as it sounds (give me a break, I was a kid), I vividly remember exactly the way he looked: his dark shaggy hair, his black eyes… and that moment where he kissed me for the first time.  My first kiss.  

Please ignore the douchebag earrings… and the airbrush

I went back to the U.S. and didn’t see him again for two years.  When I was 16 years old, my family and I went to Iran for Christmas break.  The first night I got there, I walked through the neighborhood streets looking for CutePersian, but he was no where to be found.  Finally, one night- I looked out the window and noticed a group of teenage boys hanging out at the corner store.  Without even putting on my roosari (scarf), I ran outside and went up to their group.  They all looked at me in SHOCK (you know you don’t go out without a damn scarf… oops- American girl lost in Iran?) and I asked if any of them knew CutePersian, when he stepped forward.

That’s when it all started. We weren’t exactly kids anymore,  I was 16 and he was 19.  The kissing came naturally, he became the first boy I made out with and… a few other things (not sex…until I was 20).  On New Year’s Eve, he came to my grandparent’s house for a party.  Our families knew each other having been neighbors for years, so it was only natural that he was invited and of course, they didn’t suspect a thing.

Obviously, we had to be extra careful with our “relationship” in front of them especially with all the fuzool (nosy) aunts sitting around the dance floor staring at the javoonha (young people) dancing, passing judgment like it was fucking vodka. But, we would still sneak off and kiss every so often, then hurry back to the party.

Maybe not so innocent after all…

Before the clock stroked midnight, we ran into the parking garage and hid for 20 minutes… without the pressure from our parents, my mother to be exact- giving me the eye that I’m being inappropriate in front of the family (even then- EVERYTHING was inappropriate).  We just hid and kissed, and at that particular moment- it was something unreal.  It felt like time had stopped and I honestly thought I had fallen for him.  It felt like I was in the movies:

OK BORO BABA.  Enough with the bullshit mush- get real, life isn’t a movie (true story).  But, in all seriousness, it was one of the most pivotal moments of my life.  It was one of the few moments where I let my guard down with someone and felt like I truly cared about them.  16 too young?  Yeah maybe, but my feelings for him never changed until I was 21– I felt strongly for CutePersian for six years.

He was my first kiss, my first “I love you,” and my first time. Having to say goodbye to him every year was one of the hardest things I had ever done in my life- but it taught me the value of love ESPECIALLY when it comes to boys.

And most importantly: BEST NEW YEARS KISS EVER.

Love, S&F :)

So joonies, I hope this New Year’s, you all get to kiss someone who’s not only a great kisser, but at the very least- not a drunk ass mess.  And hey- if he is wasted as shit, then who cares? Its only New Years right? It ain’t your fuckin’ wedding. 



BlackOut Once Shame on You, BlackOut Twice Shame on Me

Hey joonies,

We apologize for the delay… took us a bit longer than expected to shed off that holiday Fessenjoon weight (no joke).  But now, New Year’s is coming up.  Hell yeah.  Bring on the party, the skanky dresses, the draaanks- shots of TEQUILAAA, vooodkaa, you name it.  This is the ultimate time of the year to get shitty wasted (minus spring break… just keepin’ it real).

As New Year’s approaches, I thought I’d share one of my (least) favorite DRUNK stories:

I’m not going to lie… I like to drink.  NOT everyday, but after a rough week of working, studying or whatever the fuck you spend your time doing… you want to let loose on the weekends.  (Warning: the older you get, the rougher the hangover… ON THE REAL).  Considering that I like to drink on the weekends NOW, you can only imagine how much I liked to drink in college: party everyday?  Pretty much.  (Don’t trip mama, I still got good grades- PERSIAN4LIFE).

I promise this was NEVER me

BACKTOTHESTORY: After I moved to the big city for college, my roommates and I decided to have a small housewarming party.  My friends from my hometown came, even the guy that I was dating came (IMPORTANT SIDENOTE: we weren’t official… excuses? I know).  We started the night… with shots.  

Cheers to …. NO BLACKOUTS! … oops?

To be honest, the night started off GREAT.  I was excited that my hometown friends/”boyfriend” were there, I made some new friends, and my new roommates and I were totally bonding.  Everything was going according to plan.  Until the fifth? shot… and with that- the hazier my memory became and pretty soon- I was GONE.BLACKED THE FUCK OUT.

I woke up the next morning next to a guy… who didn’t happen to be the guy I was dating…

Who the FUCK are you?!?!!!

I remember waking up in a panic (clothes still on incase any haters out there were wondering) and jumping out of bed to go find the guy that had driven hours to come see me that weekend.  He was packing up and getting ready to leave.  No matter how much I pleaded and begged, he wouldn’t stay.

FYI: I did end up kissing that other guy.  But luckily, it ended there.  I woke up next to him because all the other beds were taken by drunken IDIOTS (I guess I can’t talk…) and he ended up climbing in after I had already passed the fuck out.

Mmm alcohol gives you the BEST dreams

Needless to say, the “boyfriend” didn’t stick around and never talked to me again.  The guy I kissed?  Well, he did that whole, creepy lingering thing after my boyfriend left (fucking hate that- get it through your head homie, I ain’t putting out).  It was definitely a lesson learned.  I may like to drink on the weekends and have a good time- BUT I haven’t blacked out since that fateful night.   Plus, the hangover really sucked– I was in pain all damn day.

So joonies, with New Year’s coming up- be careful with the drinks.  I mean, don’t get me wrong- I will be wasted with everyone else.  But honestly, it is NOT worth being THAT GIRL (you know exactly what I’m talking about):

NO ONE wants to kiss this at midnight

Keep it classy joonies and I promise– not only will you find a HOTTER  guy to kiss at midnight, but its way better when you wake up in the morning without that panic moment where you instantly think, “OH SHIT, what did I do last night?!”  WORST FEELING EVER. 

As for now- share your drunk stories with us.  We never judge because honestly, we don’t have room to talk:



Your favorite (way tamer) drunk girl,

Farrah فراه

Lies My Mother Told Me

Hey joonie joons,

In honor of the holidays, we have dedicated this week to our crazy Irooni families.  We never realized just how unique Iranians are until we started to reminisce about the past… whether its from the silent “disappointment” car rides to causing us so much stress that we would resort to private striptease shows.  Unfortunately, it doesn’t end there…

If your Iranian family is anything like ours then you KNOW that “Persian mothers know best” when it comes to EVERYTHING, including (but not limited to) homemade remedies that cure any and all things:

Remedy #1: 

Unlike most Persian girls, Farrah isn’t hairy (thank God), but as a result, she has very “light” eyebrows.  As Perisans, we pride ourselves on our beautiful eyes, with long eyelashes and thick eyebrows (NOT unibrows,nevercute) so as you can imagine her mother wasn’t too happy about the thin, unpluckable because not enough hair, eyebrows that Farrah had.  Madar’s solution? Rose water.

Yeah, I can just see the hair growing… in bushels

Farrah: My maman used to chase me around the damn house just to get me to sprinkle rose water on my face twice a day in hopes of making me grow full, “luscious” eyebrows.  She never succeeded (muahaha).  FYI: I’ve never had any complaints about my BEAUTIFUL eyebrows, thanks.

Remedy #2:

Sex makes your boobs grow.  That’s right.  Tired of stuffing your bra with kleenex and cotton balls?  Too scared to get implants (don’t do it, looks trashy). Never fear, because according to OUR mothers, SEX ENHANCES YOUR BRA SIZE.  FINALLY– something enjoyable and fun with GREAT, fucking results.  

I grew one whole cup size after this

Saaghi: Yeah my mom used to tell me that if I ever had sex, my boobs will grow.  Well mom, I have had sex… BEEN having sex… and nothing is happening.  ALTHOUGH, I do notice her staring at my chest every once in awhile trying to figure out if they’ve gotten bigger (aka if I’m still a virgin).  I’m not… Sorry mom, but you’ll never be able to tell from my chest.

Remedy #3: 

The mysterious “at-home” remedy to help your penis grow.  This doesn’t apply to us (seriously, no penises tucked away anywhere here). BUT, according to SOME Persian mothers: there is a little something that can be done to help enhance their son’s … package, ESPECIALLY if they are lacking.

Screw viagra, mama knows best

Farrah: My mother was always concerned about whether my brother was doing okay in the below the shorts area.  “Farrah, if he is too small, tell him to JUST TELL ME, I can help.”  Ummm… no comment.

Remedy #4: 

Rub dead ants over your legs and you will never grow hair AGAIN.  We know every Persian girl reading this is actually considering whether or not they should try this.  Let us save you the headache: ANTS ARE DISGUSTING… please just stick with shaving… a little stubble never hurt anyone… too much.  

And you want to rub this shit on YOUR BODY?!

Saaghi: My mother would actually spend time trying to convince me that it would be worth it to rub ants on my body so that I would never have to shave again.  I’d rather be hairy as fuck then rub that shit on my legs, thanks.

We know the list of ridiculous remedies that our Persian mothers SWEAR by is long and most often, a bit ridiculous.  WHAT DOES YOUR PERSIAN MOTHER SWEAR BY? 



Enjoy the holiday weekend joonies!



If Looks Could Kill

Behind every Persian daddy, there’s a mastermind: the Persian mother.  She’s not just the brains behind the operation, she’s the neck.  Your “Daddy Dictator” requires you to make him proud so that he can breathe easy at night- your success reassures him that you won’t be a total fuck up when you grow up—but you’re mother requires you to be outstanding for one overarching reason: so that she can brag. 

Nobody likes a show off.

Within the Iranian community, everything is a competition.  Who has the best grades, who’s the most attractive, etc.  Parents compete by posting their child’s report card on the fridge before a mehmooni (dreadful family party).  Let me just make one thing clear about ME:  My report card never made it on the fridge.  My mother had to come up with creative ideas to “show me off” to her minions:

Example 1: “Child Star” 

Growing up, I was a MAJOR Spice Girls/Mariah Carey (back in the “Fantasy” days) fan, who wasn’t?  I would frequently put my Spice Girls cassette tape on in our living room stereo, throw my hair in a high ponytail and come up with my own dance routines.  Looking back: the most God awful/humiliating routines you can imagine.  Bytheway– I was eight years old.

My mother forced me to perform my Mariah Carey dance routines at every single mehmooni we had (um yeah, in front of PEOPLE) WHILE lip synching the words.  I know what you are thinking… maybe I took a dance class?  No. Maybe I was a good singer?  HEEEELLLLL NO. I merely imitated what I saw performed on the music videos and on T.V.  Embarrassing?  Little bit.

But it doesn’t end there.

I’m wearing this so you can tell my mother how cute I am.

Obviously, I wasn’t a naïve bacheh (child) my entire life and I eventually, put an end to the one-woman-shows my mother tried to blackmail me with.  Unfortunately, that only caused the pressure to increase… We all know how it goes at a typical Persian party: after a few plates of food and shots of Tequila, the lights are dimmed and the dance party begins.  My mother forced me to be the first one on the dance floor every time.  Mind you: I was a shy child, but if I didn’t get my ass out into the middle, my mother wouldn’t talk to me for the rest of the night.  That’s right, Farrah isn’t dancing?  GROUNDED FOR A MONTH.  All she had to do was give me that look and I was fucking running to the dance floor.        

Unfortunately, that “look” didn’t just apply to dancing.

Example 2: “My First Strip Tease” 

When I was seven years old, my parents signed me up to be on the club swim team at the local gym.  (Sidenote: Every Persian kid has to play a sport and an instrument… we have to keep up with the other hotshot Persian kids).  At the end of each lesson, I would be waiting for my mother to come pick me up to take me home in my drenched swimsuit.  The second she pulled up to the parking lot, she had the horrifying “look” on her face… I remember hesitantly opening the door and right away, she would start yelling at me, “Vhy are you still in your maayo (swimsuit)?!  My car is going to get so dirty tanks to you!  YOU ARE SO IRRESPONSIBLE.” (Yes, I was already irresponsible at SEVEN).

So, one day, swim practice ended early and I decided that I would be “responsible” and change before she came to pick me up.  I got out of the pool and waited for the other kids to leave the indoor pool area.  The only people left were me and my MALE swim coach. As he cleaned the toys from around the pool, I proceeded to be “responsible” by taking off my swimsuit.  I vaguely remember him glancing up at me, dropping the toys and bolting out of the room. But, all I could think about was escaping my mother’s wrath that I didn’t even realize that… you probably shouldn’t be getting buck ass naked in front of a random person.

and then I stripped for him.

Of course, my mom walked into the pool area right as I was putting on the ugly ass towel robe she brought me back from Iran and her sudden shriek caused my heart to literally stop beating for one second.  “VAT ARE YOU DOING?  YOU TINK DIS IS RESPONSIBLE?!”

But of course her wrath didn’t just cover proper etiquette and dancing…

Example 3: “Khar Shodi?” (Are You Stupid) 

One bright, sunny day- my mother and I went to Target after my third grade class let out.  As we were walking through the aisles, my mother suddenly pounced on me, “VAT COUNTY ARE WE IN?” I remember thinking… um county?

Let’s be real– they don’t teach you the state capitols until you are in the fifth grade (I remember exactly what year thanks to this particular incident) and when you are in the third fucking grade, all you’re really thinking about is whether you are going to play pogo or hopscotch at recess (just sayin’).  

When I couldn’t answer her question, my mother suddenly whacked me upside the head in the middle of the store with a group of other families surrounding us- staring in shock. 

After we left Target, my mother went and bought books about all the different states in the U.S. and their capitols, counties, etc. and forced me to spend an hour and a half after school everyday memorizing all of them.  That’s why when the lesson in fifth grade came along, I WAS SET. 

yeah I know the fucking capital of Albania.

Obviously, when I look back on these times it cracks me up… but what gets me even more? SHE DENIES EVERYTHING.  “How could you say dat? I NEVER hit you… I NEVER made you do dat.”  It almost makes me second guess my memories… did I just imagine these…? (No I fuckin’ didn’t… I’m not that oblivious, thanks).

Of course, I love my crazy Persian mother.  She made me into the person I am today… After I grew up– I made damn sure I could give her reasons to brag about me- whether it was what college I attended or what job I was able to pull after (and surprisingly, it doesn’t include stripping) or simply making sure I was just there for her when she needed ME, but to this day- I will NEVER forget that “look” that sent me running to her mercy… or the way she would yell at my father to “stop chewing his gum so loudly” because it was “rude” (when in reality, I never heard shit when the poor guy was chewing gum).

Was your Persian mother as crazy as mine?  Did she ever make you pinch YOUR butt so no one would “cheshm” (jinx) you?



Your favorite amateur stripper,

Farrah فراه

Daddy Dictator

In honor of Kim Jong-Il’s death, we’re dedicating this post to Persian dads.

OK I am by no means saying an evil dictator who oppressed his people and wore platform shoes is ANY analogy for Iranian fathers– its just that Dictator and Dad both start with a D :)

Now, we’re gonna start with a little activity here:

Imagine the day you were born. Tehran-LA-Vancouver-Wherever– imagine that wonderful day your parents rushed to a hospital to have you delivered. Now, I know you don’t want to picture everything but I swear I have a point– just go with it

You come out of your mommy’s womb (cue: EW); and your mom & dad can’t believe their eyes! Its YOU (and you’re def not cute at this point sorryboutit). Your mom’s excited to meet who she’s been housing for months, and your dad stares at you with tear glazed eyes (or in my case, faints).

All he can think about is:

This is my child. I will love them forever, and they are going to make me proud.

I will give them everything they want, all that I can provide, they will be my prince/princess…and they will make me proud.

BAM!! There it is: the contract you signed when you were only a few minutes old. And guess what? You’re bound for LIFE. You didn’t even read the fine print:

The contractor defines ‘proud‘ for the contractee. It is open ended and up to his discretion at any given point in time. It is the contractee’s sole responsibility to determine whether his actions fall under ‘PROUD’ or ‘UNPROUD’.

Yep, you just signed your life away. It is a given that you will forever be your father’s child, and you’re forever bound to his expectations, hopes, and dreams for you. You are obligated to live up to them, because you must make him proud. If you don’t, you’re in violation of the contract. And what happens then?

There’s his disapproval, the ‘shame you bring the family’, the revocation of certain privileges…oh and the GUILT YOU IMPOSE ON YOURSELF.

That is the craziest part of this whole ordeal: the more time passes by, it becomes less about the pressure your father puts on you to make him proud, but more about the pressure you put on yourself. By a certain age, the contract is so second-nature, you are living to make your father proud–and guess what, you don’t even know it!

So back to the delivery room, your dad’s drawn up the contract, and you consent to it just by breathing. He’s staring at you imagining how you’re going to be the best surgeon/lawyer/engineer in the whole world, he sees your life before his eyes– from your first walk, bike ride, college graduation, PhD, job, retirement.

He sees you happy, he sees himself proud.

That’s another fine print on the contract: your father begins to see his happiness contingent upon your proud-making abilities. This is what you understand when you get older– and this is where you learn guilt. You realize getting an A+ in Math may have gotten you the car for the weekend when you were 16, but by the time you’re 20+, there are certain choices you can make that can really determine how proud/happy you make your dad.

And sometimes, you end up making life choices, that were for you and you alone, based on him and his approval.

Your dad has protected you from a lot, since you were too young to remember, and now its your turn. You decide you’re going to protect your dad from all the things you think will make him disappointed and unhappy.

Now here’ s something scary to think about: that contract was made to be broken. Your dad broke the one he had with his parents, the day he married your mom or went for that job across the world or did something rebellious. And your grandparents broke theirs too. That’s life.

true story.

My father and I have always had a very rocky relationship, probably because we’re both the same astrological sign (in all seriousness). Yet, even though I act like Idontgiveafcuk I still really care about my father’s expectations, and seeking his approval.

I remember the first time my dad caught me using a certain drug when I was in high school — damn that peer pressure!- the look on his face, the did I really raise you to be like this? helpless stare. For the first time my dad didn’t yell. He just took me on a car ride. We sat in silence, and I MELTED in my guilt. Staring out the window, ALL I could think about was the ways I would make it up to him– the A’s I’d get, the Lawyer I’d become, The shooar (husband) I’d find— I was naive, but I was ready to give my whole life up three times over so my dad would not be disappointed in me.

When he parked, he just asked me why I did what I did, and if I knew how much pain I caused him. Yeah I did. And from then on I made a promise:

Either I would HIDE the stupid sh!t I did BETTER, OR I’d do whatever the fuck he wanted me to do.

Being punished/grounded/spanked sucks. GUILT will ruin you.

Some dad’s might be easier in giving their approval, but it is the fact that we seek it out nonetheless that is the problem. At some point, you learn, no matter how hard you try you will NOT get the approval you’re looking for without sacrificing your OWN approval. Your dad dreamed up this life for you in his head, in the delivery room, that does not mean you have to star in this film. At some point (waaayy after the drug incident) I had to have my father deal with having a daughter who wasn’t so perfect, who didn’t have a starring role in his dream, and I HAD to deal with the guilt and disapproval that came my way– (and boy do Persians know how to lay it on). But dealing with it, and giving into it are two different things.

Dads love their children more than they love their STANDARDS, EXPECTATIONS, RULES, etc– even though it doesn’t seem like it. And once you defy them on what’s important (dont break curfew and expect them to say I LOVE YOU ANYWAY) I mean on real life decisions, No sorry dad, I don’t want to be a doctor… your dad may not like hearing it– but if it means you’re happier that way, he’ll deal with it.

He’s Dad, not Dictator.

Am I right? Or are you more down with the Rules of Dad?



saaghi  ساقی

Pledge the 1%

*Read before you hate, please.

So, I’m just going to speak on behalf of Farrah and myself. But if you feel like you really get me—then feel free to join the movement.

(Now I know OCCUPYSOMETHING is a serious movement, but we keep as nonpolitical, areligious on this blog as possible so if you’re about to get SERYOOHHS Edward Petrossi style–then byeeeeee)

Let me tell you about 99% of girls and how they interact with their men. Yeeeeea not just Persians but all girls- Black, White, Puerto Rican, Chinese girls (if you get this reference, we should really be together)

They’re kind of like Congress: [Read more…]

Bitch, You Make Me HURL

Hey joonjoons, 

Enough of this emotional crap.  Its time for a major reality check.  We all know how great it is to start a relationship with someone you’ve been pining after for weeks.  Those first kisses, staying up late talking, lots of sex, finishing each other’s sentences… (I think I just threw up in my mouth a little).

Bet the people studying didn’t think that was so cute…

I’m all about being excited about your new relationship with the hottie in your chem class (ok let’s be real, no hotties in chem class… let’s go with HISTORY class). BUT, just because you are in a relationship doesn’t mean you are completely excused from normal, respectful tendencies.

Case in point:

My best friend in college had just started a dating a new guy.  It was her first boyfriend in a… LONG time and she was so excited.  Don’t get me wrong, I was excited for her too- he was a NICE guy.  But then all of a sudden, he was at our apartment ALL THE DAMN TIME.  And we didn’t live in one of those nice, spacious apartments, we lived in a shithole where you could hear EVERYTHING from the other room.  He was eating everyone’s food, they were making baby noises at each other (NEVER OKAY) and no matter who was in the room with them, they acted like they were the only ones there.  Privacy was gone.  He was suddenly everywhere, yet he had his OWN place to live.

Even ^she agrees 

I understand that when you are dating someone, the world revolves around them (at least in the beginning) and its all sunshine and rainbows.  But here are some things to keep in mind:

1.  No, I don’t want to watch you guys stick your tongue down each other’s throat at the dinner table- whether it is at home OR at the fucking restaurant (NEVER OKAY).

2.  Yes, you should be able to bring your boyfriend to your home and spend the night… but EVERY NIGHT?!  It gets excessive ESPECIALLY if I’m stressed out with work or even finals.  He’s gotta home too- utilize that shit.

3.  Really, I’m TOTALLY fine NOT listening to your “inside jokes.”  No I don’t get it and I really don’t want to.

4.  If I’m single:  Respect that and don’t forget it.  There’s no reason to force me to come out with the two of you and then baby talk at each other throughout the entire night.  I’d much rather stay home and watch people baby talk on Gossip Girl.

Bet he’s thinking: SHOOT ME IN THE FACE

And last but not least:

5.  When you aren’t home, he shouldn’t be chillin’ at OUR home, lazying around on the couch, hogging the bathroom and shit.  It would be different if you guys had been: (a) dating for YEARS (somewhat okay), (b) he was visiting from out of town, (c) if he was setting up some bullshit surprise for you while you were in class.  But if his reasons don’t fit any of the categories above, then make sure he goes the fuck home before you leave the house.

I know it will take time to learn the balance between friend and boyfriend… hell it took me awhile.  But some things are just common sense.  NOTICE: I didn’t say “don’t ditch me on a Friday night.”  I’m completely cool hanging with the two of you… I’m only hating because if I have to hear another “aw baby-waby,” I will literally throw up in YOUR mouth.

So please, keep that shit to a minimum in public and behind closed doors: DO WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT.  Until then:


Happy Humping,

Farrah فراه


Dearest joonies, 

Thanks to your constant support through sharing our posts, commenting and sending emails- we decided it would only be fair to give you a voice too.  In addition to our monthly guest contributors, we are going to post reactions written by loyal readers to our most controversial posts.  Two nights ago, James Bond pushed the envelope when he dared to categorize US into “types.” Tonight, NAZANIN (name changed for confidentiality) tells it like it is.  Enjoy: 

Immediately after I read “James Bond’s” bullshit analysis on Persian girls and sex, I thought: what is he talking about? I enjoy sex! I have no problem talking about it! There is nothing wrong with Persian girls and sex.

But then again, he poses a very valid point to which I’d like to respond- what stops Persian girls from falling into the silver category? (see: Bond’s medal guide to female sexuality)

Because women are not allowed to be sexual beings.

Even when we are, we get labeled as whores and God forbid we become demanding in the bedroom because then we are just kinky bitches. For generations women have been given messages of being classy and “khanoom” and everyone knows no “khanoom” ever talks about sex, let alone enjoys it (I can feel my great grandmothers turning in their graves). And here is why:

Throughout history women are ‘sexualized’  in a pretty negative way. Great kings had harems of women that they used purely for sexual reasons. Even today the leaders of the world are constantly messing around having a wife, girlfriend and an escort on the side. In Iran it’s still legal to have more than one wife, and believe it or not MANY men actually DO! Furthermore, most of our grandmothers were married between the ages of 9-18, some didn’t even know what a menstrual cycle is (some still don’t bichareha) but they popped out anywhere from 2-15 kids. I am pretty sure the way it happened was the man climbed on top of her, did his thing, and got off, and she had no idea what was happening.
Women were never told that they were more than baby-making machines, or that they were worth anything, let alone, an ORGASM.
Women were never told that they were worthy and valuable human beings, capable of being something great. GOD forbid anyone ever say that because then we get called feminists.
So I am either a whore or a feminist. Grrrreat.
On top of it all we have something called “the flower” aka your virginity, which is so valuable that men pay 10-20 times more to sleep with a virgin geisha than the non virgin ones. Let me tell you a story about my life:

A few years after graduating college, I was hooked up by a family member and began dating an Irooni boy who was the ultimate dream come true for all Iranian parents: A surgeon! But I was just not feeling it. I told my family, and the attacks started: “Vat? Who do you tink you are? You tink you are so great? He is too good for you!” I was nothing, he was everything, and I began to believe it.

During one of our first dates he told me that he thought “purity” was important. “Purity? You mean virginity?” I asked and he said “Yeah…that. If a Persian girl is not pure before marriage, then there is something deeply wrong with her and family.”  He went on to say that white women can get away with it because of their “savage culture.” But an Iranian “khanoom” knows better than to let anyone but her husband put his hand into her cookie jar.  I wasn’t a total slut in college but I had my share of “sexploring…” (uh oh).

No shame in that.

Finally I told him that I wasn’t a virgin and his reaction was so intense that I felt like he was going to come to my door with the rest of the villagers and make me wear a scarlet “S” for “Slut” on my chest. I started crying and suddenly, I was APOLOGIZING to him for not being a virgin. I felt like yeah, no one else will want me now. I am tainted. I am worthless. He finished the conversation by saying that if he told his parents, they would never let us get married but he loves me so much that he is willing to look past this huge imperfection of mine.

Needless to say I eventually broke up with him, but it wasn’t easy. I dealt with so much anger and frustration from my family, especially when the news of my “impurity” got out to my parents. For months after that I prayed to God asking for His forgiveness for letting a man other than my husband touch me. I bargained– “Please let me get through this hard time and I swear I will not let another man touch me unless he is my husband.”

A lot of Iranian families who are more traditional have these views, here and all over the world. There is just something wrong with keeping these old traditions alive in an age where sexuality is explored and treasured. There is something wrong with the message we send Iranian girls that their worth is based in their virginity. Sex becomes this huge monster most women want to ignore, let alone have fun doing it. So every time that girl goes and has sex, she comes home and scrubs herself so hard in the shower that she bleeds. While we live in a world where women are given these messages and they internalize and believe them, NOTHING will change.

she may be an ugly feminist, but she has a point.

My value as a woman is not based on my virginity. My worth is not in my sexuality.

I am a strong, independent, good woman and I do not need to prove my worth because I AM ALREADY WORTHY. I can take charge of my sexuality and do what I want with it, and hell yes I will enjoy sex and be demanding of what I want from my lover. I will not allow society or tradition dictate my worth.

So James Bond, I can’t wait to see what you try to come up with next:



Nazanin نازنین

Orgasm Much?

Hey joonies, hope you all had a wonderful weekend.  We wanted to start this week off with a special post by our new, infamous contributor… JAMES BOND:

.I wanted to start this post off by telling you the Wikipedia definition of sex:  “Sex is a process of combining and mixing genetic traits, often resulting in the specialization of organisms into a male or female variety.”  I’m just going to keep it real:

the point of having sex is to orgasm

(which is the most beautiful and amazingly pleasurable feeling in the world.  And if you can’t relate to this, then that really sucks for you).

Now let me tell you the Iranian girl’s definition of sex: “SEX is holy like the Bible/Quran. SEX is an insurance policy: it protects your relationship (for some time).” So basically these girls think that as long as you have the insurance policy (sex), you will have a MAN in your miserable life.  Of course, until SHIT HITS THE FAN, and even then- the “sex insurance policy” will not keep him from leaving your psycho ass.

I love Persian girls. They are the most beautiful CREATURES in the world.  You can’t live with them and you can’t live without them. Iranian girls are the most complicated, complex, convoluted, puzzling females species to walk this planet. I guess girls in general fit this profile, but when it comes to sex specifically, Iranian girls are the most complicated/puzzling.

For your benefit, I have categorized them into 3 types based on a low to high percentage:

1) First we have the Bronze Category or 3rd place (which in my opinion doesn’t cover a high percentage of Iranian girls, but unfortunately they do exist).  GET READY, DRUM ROLL, and ACTION:

They are saving their vaginas for marriage.

innocent little virgins.

Ok… “WHAT the FUCKKKKK?!!”  I have never understood these type of girls and unfortunately, I do know a few of them so you know I am not talking out of my ASS/KOOON. I have ABSOLUTELY no idea what goes on in their head.  I would like to say a CRAPPP-LOAD of nonsense.  Look, by the time you are married, lets say you are in your late 20s and you’ve been waiting your whole life to have sex.  By the time you are actually going to enjoy it and not feel the virgin penis pain, GOD knows where your relationship stands.

I believe that a happy, healthy and comforting relationship has a lot to do with GOOD sex- I’m going to say… at least 40% of your relationship relies on sex.   Therefore, when you are so desperate for marriage and don’t have any sexual experience then chances are… before your sex life finally gets good (or at least up to par and calm down women, I ain’t talkin’ like pornstar sex), your relationship is probably going to be miserable, unhappy, sad, sorrowful, and a bit depressing (no one wants to fuck a girl who just sits on top of you looking scared). So yes, this is the first group Iranian girls.  Don’t worry guys, they only cover less than 10% of the Iranian girl population (thank fucking God).

2) Next is my favorite group of Iranian girls (or girls in general): the SILVER Category or 2nd place.

These girls LOVE and ENJOY every minute of sexual intercourse

she knows what she wants.

INCLUDING (but not limited to): ORGASMS/EJACULATION, HOT SEX, blow jobs, 69, DAWWGGYYY STYLE (not trying to be too graphic, but I just needed to make my point). They aren’t saving their prideful virginity for marriage or some other type of “fairytale” miracle.  They have sex to orgasm because they know how fucking awesome it is.  I really don’t need to elaborate much with this category- its pretty self-explanatory and fabulous.  They are out there… but unfortunately, I’d say its only another 10% of the Iranian female population that belongs to this category.

3) DRUM ROLL PLEASE…. and now I’ll let Bruce Buffer will do the honor: “Last but not least is the GOLD Category or 1st place.  Now the “Gold” girls are the most interesting, fascinating and complex species out of all the Iranian girl categories.  I get excited when I talk about this particular group of Irooni girls.

They are insecure and very desperate for a relationship.

THESE are the girls who view sex as an “insurance policy…” to keep them in the relationship.

Please stay with me.

How SAD and MISERABLE!  And sadly, a high percentage of the female species belong to this group, but today I’m only covering the Iranian portion of it. Personally, I consider myself a GIVER, which basically means that I’m all about giving pleasure (not to anyone)  So when you are having sex JUST to “insure” your relationship- this means that the LAST thing you are thinking about is having an orgasm.  All you are focusing on is keeping your man.  This is the most disgusting/unheard thing I’ve ever seen girls do.  YES, I AM BITTER AND DISGUSTED because the only reason anyone should ever engage in 69’ing or DAAAWWGYYY style (minus the view) is to have a fucking orgasm.

Don’t just do it to make sure your boyfriend sticks around– just because you haven’t had an orgasm doesn’t mean you can’t.  It just means you haven’t figured out the right position, or the right move.  And yes “JOONIES”– a guy canNOT give you an orgasm until you know how it has to be done FOR YOU… we all need a little guidance here and there.

I get it.  I know you want to make sure you get MARRIED at the right age …. or whatever else excuse you have for sticking with your sex-confused partner… but


This is absolutely the most repulsive category and unfortunately, it comprises about 80% of our Persian girl population.

Lastly, Iranian girls, I’m going to leave you with a few words of #wisdom: having an orgasm is amazing, its the peak pleasure of sex, its like an explosion inside your body.  It feels great and yeah, it might take awhile till you get there- but once you do… it feels like you have absolutely no control of your body for that one moment (but in a good way).

And EVEN BETTER:  it cures things like tension, stress, and acne- THAT’S RIGHT! 

So please, get out of your miserable none orgasmic relationship and have ENJOYABLE sex- WITH orgasms.  Experience the most amazing feeling in the WORLD.  And for God’s sake, at least accept the fact that BLOW JOBS or GETTING EATEN OUT is not “gross.”  Honestly, its like the appetizer to the main course: the ORGASM.

Trust me it will help you reach the peak pleasure of SEX quicker.

Disagree?  Do you REALLY think its worth being in an “orgasm-less” relationship?  TELL ME WHY:


Later bitches,

James Bond جیمز باند
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