Saaghi and I are finally reunited after what feels like foreverrr – AKA blogspiration. So check out our new poll below and let us know what you think.
I’m writing to you from the comfort of my mom’s couch. Is it just me or is everything more comfortable at the parent’s house? The blankets are warmer, the food is better, the towels are softer. I love coming home — and unlike before, I’ve mastered the art of avoiding their constant guilt trip.
“You don’t want to have dinner with us?”
I’ve had some difficulty coming up with ideas to write about. Probably because my dating life is a little non-existent and my work life has basically taken over. But, being so wrapped up with everything unrelated to sex makes me realize…
that sometimes fantasizing is better than the real thing.
Unfortunately, in my life — fantasies don’t exist. Imagining the perfect man springing you out of the strip club you’ve had to resort to is just a stupid dream that only slutty Persian girls think about. Oh wait… just kidding.
The point is that every time I come home…
I’m reminded of the horror and nightmares that only Persian parents can put you through.
(and the annoyance that only my brother can inflict- love him, but DAMN).
My mom used to compare our relationship with the Gilmore Girls. She used to tell everyone that “her daughter tells her EVER-TING.” In her mind, we were two peas in a pod. We had the kind of relationship where she could (allegedly) give me amazing boy advice while still encouraging me to be an IN-DE-PEN-DENT woman.
RIIIIIGHT. To sum up my mother’s million dollar boy advice: Never fall for a man. I interpreted that as — women are okay, but boys are not. Unfortunately, I was born this way #sorrymommy.
Crying over a guy was a sin in my household. If I was ever dumped or heartbroken — my tears were left for bedtime only when the lights were off, doors shut and there was no risk that my mom would see me. I would cry under my blankets in fear that if my mom heard me, she would scream and yell at me.
Clearly, her boy advice was very effective. My feelings were constantly hidden and somehow that has left a lasting effect on my life (hence why I choose blogging over talking).
I had a great method with my mom though. I allowed her to believe that we were best friends – even though I knew that if she knew all the dirty things I tried, she would disown me.
Let’s be honest – if my mom knew that the first time I ever gave head (God forbid) was to the Persian guy I grew up with then she would kick my ass. If my mom knew I lost my virginity in Iran five years ago, she would never let me go back again.
But I was able to keep her at an arm’s length by letting her think that I confided in her. I told her about my first dates and all about my first kiss in hopes that it would ward off any unwanted questions about my actual sex life. That method lasted me all through high school.
In fact – it lasted pretty effectively — especially when all my responses to her questions about sex were,”Ewwwww mom I would NEVER do that!”
But on my 21st birthday, everything changed.
At a certain point, if our parents still believe we are as innocent as we claim then they are taking way too many to pills to numb the pain.
I went on a cruise to Mexico with my mom to celebrate my legal drinking age… aka one year after I lost my beloved V-CARD. My mom and I spent the days walking through the streets of Ensenada, chowing down on bomb ass guac and buying cheap ass jewelry. But as fun as the trip was during the day, the questions came out at night (with the tequila shots).
My mom would spend all our dinners asking me about my love life… aka my sex life.
“Farrah, are you still a virgin? Are you sure? How far did you go with your ex?”
Her questions were so relentless – that finally, I just gave up.
– Yes mom, I’ve had sex and I don’t want to hear anymore questions about it.
Our parents grew up in a different time – a time where virginity defined marriage and it wasn’t the norm. I have to give my mom props for recognizing the difference in our environments.
I didn’t expect my mom to be cool about me giving up my V-CARD, but I also didn’t expect for her first question to be, “Did you have an orgasm?”
I was absolutely mortified. In all her efforts to be the “cool/hip mom” — she ignored her own horrified reactions to my lack of hymen and responded in the only way she thought would be “chill.”
For me, I was just disgusted that she knew what an orgasm was.
Long story short: We never talked about sex again.
For my mom, I think that she had to hide her history of “promiscuity” AKA going to college in MURRRICA. And the only way she thought she could relate to me was by trying to claim that she would be somehow “okay” with me having sex when in reality, she just wanted to have a close relationship – she didn’t really want to know anything.
TV shows like Gilmore Girls make it seem like the only way you can be close with your kids is if you are able to talk to them about sex freely and relate to them on their all their experiences… but in all honesty, all any of us really need from our parents is support.
We don’t need to hear our parent’s stories about their lack of orgasms… we just need to know that we won’t be disowned for having bomb orgasms.
That’s what it comes down to. Needless to say, I will NEVER confide in my mother about orgasms… especially when she can just read my blog.
TWEET AT ME: @FARRAH_JOON