They Call Me Girl, That’s Not My Name

I don’t remember the exact day I realized that being called “girl” was demeaning. I wish I could say it was one particular scenario in which I felt infantilized, but it is very likely that I slowly came to the realization that I am indeed a woman.  I was ecstatic when I turned thirteen, and expected everyone to address me by my new age group; teenager. With age comes pride and the feeling of accomplishment; whether it is an actual accomplishment or the feeling of having survived:

the feeling that you are closer to being autonomous, emancipated, and in control of yourself.

As a Latina, I dreamed of the day I would be a Quinceañera; meaning “one who is fifteen years old” in Spanish. A Quinceañera party is not just a big hoopla, it is a rite of passage from girlhood into womanhood. My Quinceañera symbolized my development into a woman, and it was marked by a meaningful ceremony. The ceremony consisted of a religious service where I received a blessing and gave thanks for the gift of life.  My father changed my shoes from flats to high heels to signify that I was no longer a child, and my mother put a rhinestone encrusted tiara on my head to present me to the world as a queen.

My parents went through such an extravagant and expensive ceremony, just to present me to the world as no longer a girl, but a woman.

Embracing womanhood at the age of fifteen was historically necessary in the Hispanic community because it was the appropriate age for a woman to marry and bear children. In modern times, the idea that a fifteen year old girl is emotionally and physically mature to become a wife and mother is debatable, but the symbolism remains.

I didn’t feel as if I had an adult identity, or more specifically, an identity as a woman, until I finished college and entered the professional world. I was the only female, aside from a much older administrative assistant, in my department in an engineering firm. Being the only female engineer and the youngest person in my group made me realize that I wasn’t going to get respect just for being there, I had to earn it. I was immediately, the “new girl,” then “the girl working for…such and such,” and finally just “the girl that sits by the plan desk.”

It would have been inconceivable for me to call any of my colleagues “boy” because to do so would be insulting and suggests that they are incapable of handling adult tasks.

While I excelled in my career and spoke to all my coworkers as my equal, the term “girl” stuck with me. It was demeaning to have men who could be my father refer to me as “girl.”

Although I felt infantilized by my peers, I was more conflicted because I felt guilty. I call adult women, including myself, “girls” without giving it a second thought. Social outings with other women are a “girls’ night out,” and I cannot remember a time when I did not start an email or a text to a friend with the phrase “hey girl!”I have noticed that informally men and women are called “girls and guys,” especially when referring to adults in their early 20s, like most of the individuals in my social circle, and for this reason I do not see anything wrong with calling other women “girls” in an informal setting. It’s a playful expression of youthfulness, equal to “hanging out with the boys.”

But, I draw the line at calling women “girls” in a professional setting, or any setting where males are exclusively referred to as “men.”

It took me months to stand up to my colleagues about the way they addressed me, but it was the best thing I could have done for myself. Adulthood is messy and complicated, and no one truly wants to grow up, but it is part of living.

I am an adult. I am a woman. I am a self-respecting, sexual, independent, free-thinking, smart, feisty, woman.





PATRICIA پاتریشیا

Note: This post also appears on Patricia’s blog, check it out!


High-Five Yourself!

Saaghi here, I know it has been awhile– but we have such talented new writers that Farrah and I get excited to just share, share, share!

This latest post was inspired by this article I read the other day, 35 Things I Wish I Had Done Before Turning 35 by Hemal Jhaveri. Now, we all have our unfulfilled bucket lists, and it is inevitable that we’re going to have a few “I wish I had…”  but one thing really stuck out to me on this list,

2. Hooked up with that hot guy from New Zealand who I met in a bar in Bali
In your 20s, you think stuff like this will happen to you again and again, but trust me, it doesn’t. And he totally would have been worth it.

If you think I’m going to go on about how I think we should all hook up instead of thinking twice, you’re wrong. But I think Hemal captures something really interesting, the once-in-a-lifetime hookup. Sure, in college, you can trade saliva with a lot of frat boys, athletes, and pseudo-intellectual Socialists —

but once in awhile, life throws you a Gem of a hookup. And its not about love, or relationships, or anything like that.

Its a pure ‘HIGH-FIVE yourself’ moment, and that’s why it’s great. Because when you do turn 35, you’ll look back and mentally high-five yourself again.


And while meeting a sexy foreign guy and deciding against sharing some drunken kisses (or more) with him seems crazy, it happens a lot. One of my girlfriends turned down a successful Spaniard –who couldn’t keep his hands off of her– only to regret it two minutes later, and go looking for him again at the bar! I’ve had one or two gem hook ups, that I high-five myself for every time. One, in Paris, where my friends really helped me get the Parisian guy of my dreams..for a few hours ;).

Our usual instincts are : approach with caution, and don’t be promiscuous.

I’m not advocating that every night be get drunk and naked night, because you’re definitely not coming across these gems all the time (and if you are, give me the name of your city and I’ll move there) All I’m saying is–You have to know what you’re saying NO to, and if that will be a NO you’ll remember for a long time. Ultimately, everyone has their own principles, morals, and limits, but

You just can’t be too high-strung in your 20’s, you have the rest of your life to be that way. [Read more…]

& The Oscar Goes To…

Hello Joonies,

Happy Labor Day Weekend: a holiday that’s lost its historical significance, but we shop and party hard for it anyway.

As for myself, I didn’t really shop (that’s a lie, I’m an addict) or party– but I did think about sex a lot. Because I haven’t been having any…and while that’s a tragic topic on its own, I was thinking more about

Faking Orgasms.

I know it seems I’m getting a little ahead of myself since I have no one to fake it with, but that’s exactly why I wanted to write about this. Sex and Orgasms have become two very different dry spells:

 I’ve been having real O’s courtesy of my little friend — and I can have it whenever, wherever (no, not at work). With sex, its not as convenient, and definitely not as much of a guarantee.  Here comes the earth-shattering fact of the day: Not every woman orgasms from sex..every time.

While for every girl that may seem like old news, there are a lot of guys who think “but she’s never been with me”. Especially Persian doodool-talas. I mean, it is made of gold…

Every persian guy thinks he’s going to be the golden doodool to rock your world.

[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…]

How to Lose a Girl in One Day


Sometimes when you have a shitty date, you need to let the dust settle before analyzing what exactly went wrong.

See joonies, some guys just go a little overboard when they’re trying to impress you.  This is what they need to realize:

There’s a fine line between confidence and cocky

and when that line is crossed, everything is downhill from there.


When a guy asks a girl out- the date should really be about him getting to know her, the date shouldn’t be about how “great” he is.  Ultimately, we really don’t want to hear it.  We’ve already agreed to go out with them, and it’s not so we can listen to how awesome they are.

Going on and on about yourself isn’t going to convince us to suck your d*ck.


I’ve been on a decent number of dates: I’ve sat through the good, the bad and the ugly (boys: please don’t cry on a first date- it’s a guarantee sex chance killer).  

[Read more…]

No Choice But to Slut Her.


Read on, and bump this (thanks to one of our lovely fbook fans):

(your welcome in advance)

This is about to be every sexually liberalized girl’s ANTHEM. #LEGGOOO!

Do you remember when everyone started to read? I mean when Kindergartners started picking up books that had words  like “SEE SPOT RUN.”— Remember how some people read faster? And then before you knew it, you were in 2nd grade and some kids were reading novels while your mom telephone-ordered HOOKED ON PHONICS (noshameinthatgame).

Thats kind of how I feel about Persian girls and their sex lives.

Some of us are HOOKED ON PHONICS–some of us are reading WAR&PEACE. And the problem lies here: girls still learning how to pronounce their ‘T-H‘s look at the girls reading Tolstoy and Dostoevsky with a certain—eye. Like ‘what the fuck could that big, thick book be all about?’ -no pun intended ;)

Oftentimes, this division gets misinterpreted. People/boys like to make this a battle of prude versus slut, but us girls know what its really about: its a battle over knowledge.

& Knowledge is ALWAYS power.

common sense is power too.

So I love my girlfriends, I really do– they’re the methamphetamine to my crystal. And I’ve been on both sides, that is why I’m not using the ‘J Word‘ here (judgment). I have love for my experienced friends and my non-experienced ones, they all add some variety and flavor to my life. But lets get rid of the awkwardness shall we? 

Growing up, I definitely blossomed later than my friends and I was not very flirty or boy-crazy. I had one friend who was a bit older, and just the opposite of me- she just had it. I didn’t know what ‘it‘ was but it seemed to get her a lot of numbers at the mall and the movies. It was inevitable that out of all my friends, she’d get a boyfriend and start becoming physical with them much earlier then the rest of us.

I remember the first time she told me she gave a guy head, and my mind was blown. I was torn– disgusted, fascinated, and shocked. I knew other girls did that in school, but my friend had SEEN A PENIS?

And so the rest of us girls drew a red circle around her. Not a target, she was just not one of us anymore. We were still friends and hung out, but it was as if there was a distance, we just couldn’t connect with her– when she talked about hand jobs and blow jobs, we were all like deer caught in headlights. I know we all thought it–even though we wouldn’t say it–‘was she a slut?’

Sometimes I felt jealous that I hadn’t experienced it yet. Sometimes I felt like I had the moral high ground, and sometimes I was curious.

In the end, my confusion was rooted in ignorance.

I realized this very recently. I started hooking up more in college, and then I finally started having sex. And I didn’t tell most of my friends. It was a big part of my life, and I wasn’t discussing with anyone even though I wanted to express the emotions I was going through.

I thought–why am I keeping this part of my life so private? (Let’s be real, I can’t be that private of a person if I write for this blog). And I realized, I was afraid of the backlash-

I was afraid of having a red circle drawn around me.

I wanted them to consider me  a close comrade, I wanted them to still see me as ‘one of them‘….I didn’t feel any different being sexually active, and I didn’t want to be treated differently.

(I think its important to mention, that I didn’t care about being judged. If my friends judge me, they will, very soon, not be my friends)

But I’m tired of pretending. Why should I have to sacrifice a chunk of my life, because some of my friends are still reading Green Eggs and Ham and I’m reciting Hamlet? Its not a hierarchy. None of us– virgin, non virgin, blowjobqueen, prude– NONE of us are better than one another.


And you shouldn’t have to pretend with your meth, because you’re afraid they’ll feel left out that you hit a rite of passage earlier than them. Sex is a personal choice. 

My sexual experience began with a guy who I was not in a relationship with. The world didn’t come to an end. And it was fucking wonderful. I like being sexual, it is who I am, and I’ve taken control of it. I’m proud I’m past the awkward, confused virgin phase.

It feels right for me, right now.

Just because I’ve had sex, doesn’t mean I have the secret to life. Or that I’m a girl  who has lost her self-respect. Let’s not draw a redline between the experienced and the inexperienced. I don’t look at my virgin friends as little naive sheep and I don’t want them to look at me as a wise hooker.

Timing is important. And for girls on both ends of the spectrum– they need to realize that. I would never push my friends to start having sex, and I would never hinder them from doing it. If you read Crime and Punishment in 3rd grade, it most likely wouldn’t have had much meaning for you than if you read it at a point where you understand some of the larger themes. Same with sex, you do it when you’re ready– when it has meaning, and you can understand why you’re doing it.

For some girls it might be 18, for some it might be 29.

But we can all be friends, can’t we?


Keeping it Real,

saaghi  ساقی

Try Sleeping With a Broken Heart

Hello my dear Joonies,

I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving and are completely stuffed with Turkey and Ghormeh Sabzi stuffing (because let’s be real, a Persian Thanksgiving always includes… rice or kabob or some type of khoresht).

Is that FESSENJOON I see in the top right corner?

Anyway, not to put a HUGE damper on the festivities, but I decided this might be the perfect time to bring up a topic we all love to talk about… but hate in action: THE BREAK-UP.  We’ve all been there- whether we have been the dumper or dumpee. I will admit, I’ve dumped numerous guys without even thinking once about how it made them feel… until it happened to me.  I’ve seen it all: guy cheated, lost interest, lives went in separate directions, etc. And then there is the grieving period where we drown ourselves with ice cream (or in my case- pizza) and cry ourselves to sleep, wishing that things were different.

There’s no easy way to say this: being broken-hearted fucking sucks. What’s the point of starting a relationship with someone if its just going to end up with you being the one to get hurt?  That’s what I used to always think and I always tried to stay away from it- whether it was in college or even after when I started meaningless 2 month relationships just to end it once I got “annoyed.”  But recently, I was hit with this realization: It might hurt throughout your entire body when your heart gets broken, but sometimes its necessary to let go of things that we cling to so dearly to make room for something better.  Everything happens for a reason.  He may have seemed perfect then, but if he can’t handle you getting a new job, or throwing plates at his head every once in awhile, then he’s just not meant for you– know what I’m sayin’? So for all your joonies out there crying over some douchebag who just can’t appreciate how wonderful you are, dry those tears– because I promise you there is someone better. And if you’re still high off the breakup and feel the need to bash him for his piece of shit attitude, then feel free to tell us ALL about it:

D-bags don’t deserve a chance with our hearts

One contributor recently shared her story with us.  After being dumped by someone she thought she would be with forever, she decided to write her feelings (instead of egging his house) and her letter to the asshat is printed below for our lovely “Douche of the Week” series.  Read it, sympathize, and know that you’re NOT the only one out there going through some type of pain caused by a worthless guy you’re better off without anyway.



Farrah  فراه

Dear XY,

I don’t even know where to begin.  There are so many things I want to say that I could never say to your face and for the sake of my sanity, I just need to get it out.  I don’t know where things went wrong.  Everything felt so perfect.  I was so happy and I was so sure that you were too.  Maybe I was just blinded.  Maybe I never really knew you like I thought I did.  I have to admit, there were times where I felt something was off, deep down I knew something was wrong- but I always justified it with some worthless excuse.  

You promised me that you were in this for the long run and that you truly cared about me.  You introduced me to your family and took such a seemingly serious interest to learn about mine.  I felt comfortable to let my guard down and for the first time in my entire life, be completely vulnerable with the guy I was with.  You made me feel safe and insisted that I could depend on you.  Why would you do that if you were just planning on leaving me in the end?  

Even after months of being together, I still got butterflies in my stomach every time I was about to see you.  Did you not feel the same way?  What did I do wrong?  For the first time in my entire life, I feel like one of the girls I always look down at.  One of those girls who just commits their heart to someone irrationally… I was thinking with my heart, not my brain.  

I am so mad at you.  So mad at you for putting me in this situation.  So mad at you for convincing me that you were for real.  But most of all, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry that your jealousy and competitiveness got in the way of a wonderful relationship.  No matter what you think, we weren’t just good on paper- we were great in execution and it was your selfishness that got in the way.  You’re a coward and after months of blindly falling for you, I can finally see that now.  People say that everyone gets their heart broken at one point in their lives, and I guess now its my turn.  Despite the pain I feel now, I know that one day, I will get over this.  But I hope that you look back and utterly regret the decision you made.  And when that day comes, I can assure you: I will no longer be there hoping that we can work things out.



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