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…]

Single Persian Female, Addicted to Retail


For anyone who wants to debate the greatness of early KANYE, I have three words for you: the college dropout.

This post is based on my favorite Kanye song, because it mirrors my life so well— “sophomore, three years, aint picked a career.” Except I don’t have a baby daddy.

But I do have a shopping problem.

I know what you’re thinking– doesn’t every little persian princess who gets their bills paid by daddy have this problem? And is it really a problem?

Yes, in fact, no matter who pays for it, shopaholism is a serious problem.

(I may have made that word up)

Do you understand that I can’t see my rug because clothes cover the floor? (coughHOARDERcough)

Did you know that most of those clothes still have tags on them?

Don’t lie, we all wanted her closet…

Imagine the nightmare of living with me.

I really would rather kick my boyfriend/fiance/husband out of my house than sacrifice some of my wardrobe space.

Now, that’s a problem.

So I mentioned before how I hate fashionistas, and blog-following trendy groupies– and I really do. I don’t buy clothes because they’re in style. Let me explain to you how my addiction works:

1. Say Yes to the Dress: I will never, ever say NO to a bargain. Even when I couldn’t possibly find a use for it in the near future. I own SO many designer dresses that if I attended WEDDINGS twice a year for the next ten years, I still wouldn’t run out. These are not dresses I can wear to the club, or even the fanciest MEHMOONI (family party).

So Sorry Alexander Wang and Zac Posen, you’re just gonna have to gather dust (but you looked so pretty when I bought you!)

2. These Will Be The Best Memories: I have an emotional connection with my clothes, (and with food– PATHETIC I KNOW). But with clothes, I associate memories. I cannot, as hard as I try, throw my clothes away because I think ‘oh I remember wearing that on my first day of High School’…or ‘oh I lost my virginity in that’…or ‘I got really trashed and ripped that- HAHA”…

Does anyone else have affection for their clothing? Or am I trying to fill the emptiness of my soul?

This is the main reason why I’m a hoarder of clothing.

3. Creativity that Costs $$$: I like to blame my creativity for my shopping problem (Denial much?)…but in all seriousness, when I go shopping, I often get ideas for outfits– oh a MULTICOLORED CAPE?  BUSTIER TOP?! VELCRO SKIRT? FRINGE BRAS? I often go off the deep end. Recently I wanted to buy a blue fur jacket (Stop laughing) and my friend told me that unless I wanted to be mistaken for the COOKIE MONSTER, I shouldn’t buy it. And lets be real, the cookie monster is fat, so no thanks.

(I already eat like him)

My friends think I dress for Halloween everyday, but I really just can’t help myself. Life is like a huge art project for me, and clothing is my paper mache.

So those three reasons sum up why I shop, why my place is filled with clothes (old and new), and why I just can’t seem to get it out of my system. Now I’m not saying its a good thing- I’ve recently tried cutting myself off, cold turkey. No ONLINE SHOPPING. No BARGAINS (oooooo its hard). And throwing away things with the help of my mother who TEARS it out of my hand as I crawl after it.

And it feels good. It feels good to have an emptier room, and it feels liberating to have more money in the bank.

And lets break this gender bias that GIRLS are the only ones shopping up a storm– when I’m on the battlefield, aka a retail store, theres about just as many dudes- and they’re not always shopping for their woman…

So here’s to the road of RECOVERY!


Love you Like I love my clothes,

saaghi  ساقی
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