Frat Life & Fessenjoon

Time for another guest post,  but this time- from a male perspective. We talk about persian boys and frat boys too much on this blog, so why not hear it straight from one of the BROs:

College: The utopian playground of any barely-legal male.

The beauty of such an institution rests solely in what you make of your experience there. From the first day I set foot on my university campus, I decided I was going to go big or go home.

My idea of a college experience, however, differs greatly from the idea that my parents had in mind.

[Read more…]

Bringing Sexy Back


So today I found out– that it’s not me, it’s my oven. It doesn’t work and so instead of starving I decided to order pizza. After which I had the realization, I don’t think any man comes close to the way I feel about Stuffed Crust Pizza.

The best sex or Stuffed Crust Pizza? You know, in all honesty, I’d hesitate on that one.

As you can tell, I’m multi-tasking today, blogging/stuffing my face.

So in a topic completely un-related, I want to talk about…SEXY.

A while ago, I asked what it meant to be, like, really deep? And you know, SEXY is also an ambiguous term. Is it Kate Upton on the cover of  GQ? or is it one of those days when you wake up and decide you kick ass?

Is it Cleavage or Confidence?

To tell you the truth, it’s probably a bit of both. Sexy, like other things, is in the eye of the beholder.

Some guys I talk to think sexy is their girlfriend after an intense work, and some girls think nothing is sexier than guy with ambition.

The only real truth about sex appeal is that it is universal.

As a woman (because that’s the only perspective I can speak from, although I wish I could be a sexy man for a day) I think sex appeal is a dangerous game to play. Now, I’m not a bra-burning feminist– and I’m definitely nobody’s mother. But the other day, I was at a frat party– I’m too old to be going to those– and I was pretty shocked at what I saw.

Girls in lace bras, see through shirts, booty shorts, skirts, and sky high heels– roaming around a house that smells like beer trying to find a boy to hang onto. This is old news, and I am not saying I was above this scene when I was in school–

I don’t care if they have sex with random frat boys, or they drink til they pass out (I mean I care, but really…we’ve all been there). But I kind of cared that all of them seemed so insecure.

But for the first time (sober), when I looked at these young freshmen girls I saw them for what they really were: little kids playing dress-up, uncomfortable in their skin, and really just trying to be desired. For them, the frat guys validated their sex appeal. [Read more…]

Poppin’ Bottles


Sorry, excessive? It’s one of those nights- and I think it’s enough fucking around (literally and figuratively… okay not literally). I’ve written about this before– my mom.  Her problems. Haven’t heard? Read aaall about it here.  But I’ve never really told you how it makes me feel.

Let’s recap:

The first time I had to hold my mother’s hair back was when I was 16.

The year my mother filed for divorce– because according to her, my father was a tyrant– she lost control.  And since then, it’s only spiraled from bad to worse.  The wine was replaced with vodka.  The vodka was accompanied by God knows what pills.

I still can’t find the stash.

Her drinking wasn’t a result of the divorce… it’s a result of a genetic malfunction and a lack of strength.  My grandfather… my great grandmother… now my mother… and to some extents, even me- cigarettes and energy drinks- not as innocent as I like to make it sound.

Despite my slight cigarette addiction (<– see how I did that), I’m grateful I don’t end most of my days passed out on the floor or wake up in the morning with bruises on my face because I ran into walls the night before.

When I left California, I thought I had left my mother capable.  I encouraged her to take classes at the community college, she was spending less days at home in the dark– and more time outside, living life. 

I left the West Coast feeling like my mother would be strong enough to BE the parent she’s supposed to be and to take care of my younger sibling … I left thinking that I had “corrected” her behavior.

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In the Kitchen, Making A Sandwich


Please tell me you still remember me, its been SO LONG. It’s like a three kiss-on-the-cheek Salaam instead of just two.

Can you believe the summer’s almost over? It feels like yesterday I was blogging about being dragged on vacay with the crazies.

Time flies, and I should know- it was my birthday last week. One year closer to TORSHIDEH&DESPARATE (according to my mother, I’m already there) but we had Holly cover all that, didnt we?

Anyway, so along the same lines of MIA-ness, I’ve also been MIA from the workout scene, a.k.a my downstairs gym. & one glance in a full-length mirror, I realized maybe I should rethink my recent nutritional guidelines. So I decided to head to the grocery store >> to buy ingredients >> to make food for myself.

Let me warn you:

The Kitchen and I have one of those really hot, messy love affairs. I never leave without some burns or cuts, and Kitchen’s always a mess when I leave.

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Something I Never Want to be a Part Of


It’s been awhile since we’ve had a guest post and we all know you get a little tired of us from time to time– plus, there’s only so much sex we can have… at once… (joke).  Please meet Holly Dagres– Iranian American- Aslan Media Columnist- Researcher for Cairo Review- World Traveler- Bad Ass of All Things Middle East – this list could really go on for an entire post so check out her website (click here).  

Joonies, I like to pride myself on being an Iranian-American with having the unique opportunity to grow up in Iran during my teenage years. It’s definitely given me a nuanced perspective of things people don’t often look profoundly into. Coming from divorced parents, the idea of marriage has always been approached with caution. It’s no wonder that when the topic of “khastegaris” (marriage proposals) comes up, I tend to cringe at how simple people choose their significant others.

Ever since I could remember, I’ve had mothers running up to me on street corners, asking if I had not wed yet. This is just based off of my not so Iranian features, which consists of fair skin (you’ll learn why that’s important in a moment).

Then there was the one neighbor who offered my mother a ‘business deal’– my hand in marriage for her son.

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What You Gonna Do About Your Baby Joon

Hey joons,

Sorry for being a bit out of touch lately– been dealing with work, friends moving, etc. Plus I kind of needed to take a step back for a quick second.  Until I realized that I can’t live without #sexandfessenjoon #truestory.

Okay let’s get to the real reason for this blog: my parents.

I’ve talked about my parents a lot and their cray tendencies– whether it’s having a llama at my birthday party *truth* or excusing me from sex ed in an effort to forever keep me in the dark about where a penis goes when you’re having sex (click here).

But at the end of the day…

I was raised like the little Persian princess that I am.

I didn’t grow up listening to The Beatles or reading Calvin&Hobbes– which after hanging out with my neighbor, I’ve been clearly “missing out on.”  I wasn’t introduced to this song until I was in college (the white girl anthem at every bar):

I didn’t learn the lyrics to this song until the Glee version came out.   And I had no idea what the members of Journey looked like until I looked up the video for this post.  Fail.

Instead of jamming to Pink Floyd and Pearl Jam, I was rocking out to Leila Forouhar and Black Cats (during the Pyruz days- badbahkt only ended up having a one hit wonder after Shahbal kicked him out).  My parents and I would attend monthly concerts where I would somehow get thrown on stage to dance with the band- and by somehow, I mean my mother.  Not quite as glamorous as it sounds– I was the creepy little Persian girl with acne and a nose that still didn’t/doesn’t fit on my face.

But not even trying to front– when the members of Black Cats told me to “gher bede,” I thought I was such a bad ass.

It didn’t really end there– in addition to being taken to the “elite” Persian concerts that ANY Persian kid would die to go to (sarcasm… kinda), my parents also strived to make sure I had whatever I wanted- of course, only if it fit their standards.

My cousins and I always joke about how our dads give us so much trouble when it comes to school and finding jobs, but at the end of the day…

We have them wrapped around our manipulative little fingers. [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…]

NPR And All Its Glory


This is a very special day for us.  

(Click here for our NPR INTERVIEW)

We started this blog last November with the hope that we could reach out to the younger generation of Iranian Americans and provide them with the dialogue that is often silenced/forbidden in our culture– a dialogue revolving around sex and other issues that are considered “taboo.”

Through our personal lives, we’ve learned that avoiding experiences out of fear or lack of knowledge only lead to bad situations.

Why is it that we have to hide a side of our identities because we are afraid of judgement?  Or that we worry about what our Iranian peers might say about us because we’ve done something that is considered “normal” in the U.S.?

We are not our parents/grandparents, and we shouldn’t be expected to believe in their same ideals.

At SexAndFessenjoon– we have always strived to achieve transparency by detailing honest accounts of our sexcapades and experiences- whether they were good or bad.  You don’t have to agree with our beliefs… but we hope that you keep reading and can find YOUR own voice while reading about our past.

As a culture, how are we expected to evolve if we never talk about anything?

With that said, please check out our first ever interview with NPR (click here).  A special THANK YOU to Sam Keyvan for really doing us proud!






But You’re Like Really Deep.


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”.

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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.


[Read more…]

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