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

If you’re not KOBE, you can sit this one out.

HELLLOOOO/salaaaam/bonjOUR to our lovely joooons,

I’m in a particularly good mood as you can see today. It’s rare, usually there’s something that sets me off – gets my ‘bitch mode activated‘. Anyway, there’s a new CONTACT US page, if you’re too lazy/scared/annoyedthatweevenask to email (! so gogogo and leave us some feedback. Farrah and I are all ears!

just for fun, my french boy crush: Adrien Gallo.

Now I have a concern for my own kind– the middle eastern woman. Since when were we such snooty bitches? and since when was THAT mistaken for confidence? EXCUSE ME— cocky is not confident, cocky is a projection of all your INSECURITIES & DADDY ISSUES.

Cocky doesn’t translate into ‘I’m the hottest bitch in the room’, ‘I’m a lionness here me roar’…Cocky translates over to : “I woke up this morning delusional, thinking I was Beyonce”

Now I know I said its coool to speak your mind, and I encouraged it (see here). & that’s not what I’m talking about– I’m writing about those girls that walk around the streets, the clubs, the malls as if they’ve just been dropped from the nose of an elephant (az damagh-e-feel – farsi proverb of the day). Girls with noses in the air, clutching their handbags, marching in their stilettos, and doling out DIRTY LOOKS. — now tell me that ain’t INSECURR?

As guys say, girls that think their sh!t don’t stink.

toddlers and tiaras. #smh

I have bad news, it does. & you thinking you’re better than other people only shows how inferior you really must feel.

I witnessed the following the other day:

As I stood in line for take-out, there were a couple Irooni girls a few people in front of me (just enough distance for saaghi the anthropologist – or creeper- to observe them). They were laughing, talking, gossiping whatever- until a guy sitting nearby decided to chat them up. It was unclear whether he was hitting on them or just killing time by being a social person.

a) I wanted to give him a MASS AMOUNT of credit for approaching girls while theyre in ‘wolf packs’ (that ain’t easy we know)

b) He was respectful, I know girls complain about all those sleazy creepers but he was not one.


Poor guy didn’t realize what he got himself into. The girls ripped him apart like wolves, to the point that I just felt bad. Even after he had stopped talking to them, they were still laughing, mocking, and just being plain disrespectful. Sure, you can call it mean girls– but it was more than that, these girls thought they had a right to just brush this guy off in any way they so chose.

I was so angry, I wanted to- all at the same time- comfort the poor dude, bitchslap the girls, take them off their stilettos & bring them back down to earth. 

Then I was relieved by this thought:

LIFE will do that.

Somewhere, between losing your virginity, falling in love, moving out, and getting a job- you will learn that there is nothing that makes you better than anyone else. No amount of money, looks, health, or family.

There are no ‘leagues’, ‘cliques’, and ‘ranks’ in the greater scheme of things. There’s only the reality of how you’ve treated the people around you.Like when you say ‘ugh he’s so out of my league’ or ‘I’m an 8, he’s a 4’– you only make yourself look stupid. When you look down on people is when you’re basically asking for life to humble you and smack the air of superiority out of your effing soul.

this is not real life.

As Iranians, or even Middle Easterners, we tend to inherit large egos and even bigger amounts of PRIDE– and I think that can be harnessed for good– towards your motivations, goals, aspirations, etc.  But when you keep it at a superficial level, you’re just going to stand still and look like a fool.

Now if I’ve gotten too philosophical and deep on you joonies, I apologize, let’s lighten this up by showing you how Life humbled a young Saaghi. I’ve realized my existence has been filled with way too many embarassing moments, and I haven’t shared enough of them with you. So here we go

My parents, as all persian parents do, signed me up for a few sports when I was young (some starting at five years old): Soccer, Swimming, Basketball, and Tennis. I definitely did not inherit some of the athletic talent my siblings have, and I was no super star but I was pretty good at Soccer (surprise). And this was because I was AGGRESSIVE (surprise again) and I had no problem elbowing, knocking down, kneeing, headbutting, injuring anyone. My soccer coach sent me into the field because I was the human bulldozer. (Wow, I’m making myself sound very attractive to you joonies aren’t I?) & he sent me in, for every game.

When it came to BASKETBALL, it was a very different story. I don’t know what it is about the sport– i am just NOT GOOD. Actually, I suck. I mean, I can play some one-on-one and survive, but a game with teams– my ADD kicks in and I have no idea what side of the court I should be on. Hands in the air at the same time for defense? Yeah, that just means I look like a confused weirdo doing jumping jacks at the half court line.


ANYWAY, my parents would come to the games, and I realllyyyy  wanted to show off for them. Especially my dad who was still yelling “HUST-ELE” from the sidelines (click here for the full story). Of course, my coach knew I sucked– my teammates knew I sucked– but I, big egoed bulldozer saaghi, still felt like there had to be someone who sucked more than me. & of course I decided it was the girl who hadn’t shed her baby fat yet. (WHY AM I SUCH A BITCH!?) I insisted Coach put me in the games, insisting I had more KOBE in me than her. Turns out, that wasn’t true– one game, as I awkwardly let the other team consistently score while trampling over me, my coach took me out and said:

“Saaghi,You can sit this one out.”

and then I sat every game out, as baby fat KOBE played, scored, and got some glory. My basketball skills became the running joke of my family (still is).

It may seem like a mild story, but guess what– I ate shit on the court a few times, which made me EAT MY WORDS, and kill my ego. Baby fat Kobe was gonna play and I was gonna STOP FRONTIN’ THAT I WAS KOBE/JORDAN/ALLEN/SHAQ– and SIT IT OUT.

I’ll leave you with this joons, and it’s not jesus’ golden rule (although that’d apply here)>>

True Swagged out bitches know they’re just as flawed as the rest of the world. & they don’t front.SO kick off the pedestal you put yourself on, and take a new look around you.

Sh!t looks different from ground level, huh?


The Persian Bulldozer,

saaghi  ساقی

Shave my back, I’ll shave yours

Heyy joonies, we have a special treat for you tonight.  The one and only DoozyFab: our guest post this month!  DoozyFab is not only hilarious, but really knows how to keep it real and at SEXANDFESSENJOON, we are all about honesty.  If you want to check out more of her writing, click here.   For now, sit back and enjoy (boys, this is all for YOU— unfortunately, we Persian girls have a little TOO much experience with “derakhts”):

Imagine this:

The hottest persian guy just asked you out on a date. He picks you up in his black Benz (or BMW) and whisks you off to a romantic restaurant in the hilltops of the Beverly Hills mountains overlooking the city. After some wining, dining, and amazing conversation he drives you home. You feel an incredible connection and feel like you’ve known him “forever.” You invite him in and you both just can’t control yourselves. The chemistry is undeniable and then you unbutton his shirt and there it is:

The tree of life. The derakht that grows on him. ALL THAT PERSIAN HAIR. The Persian carpet or whatever you want to call it, is staring you back in the face.



please take that sweater off…

Badbakht looks like he is still wearing a SWEATER.

It’s a pretty awkward situation to be in, especially since you are totally not feelin’ it anymore and you’re just trying to find an excuse to get the HELL OUT.

Persians must be educated about their HAIR.


A long, long time ago in a faraway land…with no Persians to witness my pain (I say that with love). I was with a guy I was really into. We had hooked up before, but one time he forgot to trim…not only his chest, but his whole body.

When you are really into someone, things like that don’t usually turn you off. Until one night…

We were kissing and as I begin to kiss his chest, ALL I could feel was the bristly hair against my face. This literally made my face turn red (his damn scruff scratched the crap out of me). It felt like my microdermabrasion went to waste. UGH. It was just getting in the way of everything (kind of like how dirty dishes can ruin a friendship between two roomies)!

Feeling that bristly hair on my face was not only irritating my last facial from an expensive dermo, but the tips of the hairs would graze my mouth (Ughhhhhhh). I admit it though, in the beginning I acted like I didn’t care, but after a while I literally just stopped and changed the subject and actually thought about getting him a trimmer for Christmas (no you can NEVER ever get a guy a trimmer for Christmas that’s just rude and insulting)

Guys have egos so women need to figure out ways to gently ease them into how much hair is appropriate.


There you go

Obviously, you can always be sneaky and pretend like you are taking him to your waxing lady or eyebrow threader because YOU need something done and then con his ass into the seat… FREE OF CHARGE.


The pain is worth it in the end

Now if you don’t want to go to sneaky extremes there are alternatives and guys know this too:


– Trim, but not to the point where you look like a bare baby. It’s still part of you masculinity and is sexy to many woman.

– Clean up those eyebrows. No one wants to take pictures of someone with caterpillar brows.


Enough said

– If it is soo bad that if you even trim a little, it grows back stronger than Hulk Hogan trust the laser beam (it will barely hurt after a little numbing cream).

– Invest in a trimmer (beard & body). Painless and easy.


– Shave until you look like a Mexican hairless cat.


No one wants to take this home

– Copy your friends. Everyone’s hair is different so do what works for you.

– Let it grow until you look like you are wearing a sweater (you might think its hairy but we don’t want to have to “moomak” wax your ass before we make out with you).

Maybe some people like that coarse, dark, Persian hair on their cheeks when they’re trying to cuddle (hopefully it doesn’t smell like kabob). But for most people…. having a partner who takes care of themselves is way more desirable.

It’s Persian Hygiene 101.

Trim a little. Your chest, arms, nose, ears, pubes, toes, palms…no one wants to hook up with someone who looks like they’re wearing a sasquatch costume.


Keep it clean please

One slice of pizza… hold the hair!

You know how you (hopefully) send your food back at a restaurant if you find a hair in it? Well, I like to order my plates (and men) clean, FRESH with minimal hair. I’m not saying be bald or bare…just manscape a little (please… and we promise to do the same). Do not let your hair grow to the point where a woman wants to send it back like she just found a black hair in her nachos…GROSS.

Remember these tips and know that saving the rainforest only refers to things that grow out of the ground…not on your body ;)



FABulously yours,

DoozyFAB دوزی فب

I Don’t Give a F#ck About Your Sadness

Hey joonie joons,

Have you ever been on a date with a guy who just talks… and talks… and talks… and an hour drags by, and not only have you COMPLETELY lost your appetite (which isn’t normal for you) but he probably hasn’t asked a single question about YOU.

You just kinda sit there looking bored as fuck yet… he still doesn’t get the hint AND KEEPS ON YAPPING about who the fuck knows what– all you hear is “Yeah I’m awesome… bla … bla… please take this stick out of my ass,” when really he’s probably saying something more like, “Yeah I’m awesome… because this one time at band camp…”

Can I switch my date to the guy sitting over there?

What is it with guys these days?  They either call you because they want to tell you about all the great things going on in their lives… or they hang out with you because they just like to hear themselves talk.  Self absorbed with a side of cocky?  YEP.  Excuse my bluntness: but… I’m annoyed.  

*disclaimer: I am fully aware that not every guy is like this.

um I’m about to shoot myself in the face now, thanks

Remember those days when guys used to complain that women talk for hours on end and only text them when we need something?  OVER.

I have a theory:

 As women start to become successful, men feel the need to overcompensate.

Case in Point:

My last boyfriend was a great guy- on the outside.  He had his Master’s degree (in something unusual), we had the same interests, and his Farsi was great (is it just me or is that really hot).  Then one day, I started noticing that he would change the subject when I would mention something exciting that happened to me.  I didn’t brag… I was just excited to share it with someone that I cared about, and thought the feeling was mutual.

Then BAM out of the blue, he broke up with me the night before I started my first grown-up job.  Why?  Because I got a job before he did.  (GROSS)

Now, as we try to be friends, he only contacts me when he wants to say something about himself.

For example: “I did this today!” or “I got this opportunity today!” ME… ME… ME… Umm hi, I’m a person too- thanks for remembering.

In order  for a friendship to work- BOTH people must be engaged– you want to share your stories… and you should ask to hear theirs, no matter how insignificant it is to you.

In order for a relationship to work, BOTH people must support each other- no matter what punches life throws your way.

No one wants to deal with a guy who is going to act like this:

… AAAND I’m over it

Talk about the ultimate turn-OFF.

I understand that need –> the need to prove you’re not a total fuck up.  But keep the sharing to a minimum.  Just like guys, girls like a little mystery too.  Plus, we can usually tell within the first 10 seconds of talking to you whether you’re really a fuck-up or just having a difficult time.

The more you seem interested in us, the more we will be interested in you.  

Only people like Snooki believe this… DON’T be a Snooki

Joonies: take it from someone who learned the hard way– don’t waste your time on someone who isn’t secure enough to handle your successes.  At the end of the day, it will feel so much better when you find someone that does.

Its kinda like the song: You’re so vain.  You probably think this “post” is about you, don’t you? 

Sorry but, not everything is about YOU so do us a favor, and GET OVER YOURSELF. 

Disagree?  Am I the one that needs to get over myself or do I just suck at picking the “right” guys



Always keepin’ it real,


Inked Up and Thugged OUT

Hey joonjoons,

Hope you all had a wonderful weekend… full of hotties (non-creepers, please), booze (jk…kinda) and good friends.

Now let’s get started.

Growing up in the Persian community, we are all expected to conform to a certain mold.  Straight-A student, musically gifted, active on campus and in the community, etc.  BOOOORING– I practically fell asleep writing that.

Unfortunately, that’s not all.  

In addition to being the perfect student/kid, we have to look good too.  Looking “good” doesn’t mean we have to be beautiful because let’s be real– we are probably some of the ugliest kids when it comes to puberty.  But I mean, clean cut: no Justin Bieber haircut for the boys, and the girls should always look “neat-” nice clothing, brushed hair, think L.A. Persian girls with their constantly manicured hands, fancy haircuts (but not as extreme).

God forbid, we grow up and get an “edgy” haircut.  Disowned?  Absolutely.  Piercings? We all get our first hole in our ears by age 2, but anything beyond that? NOPE.  Tattoos? FIRED… GONE… EXCOMMUNICATED… NO LONGER PERSIAN.

I may be banned from my family, but AT LEAST I’m still “unique”

I never really fit in with the other Persian kids that ran in my parent’s circles.  I was always the outsider… the one who didn’t want to be a part of the gossip group (SHOCKING I know…) or the one who had NO intent to follow in the typical Persian career path (sorrydaddy). Personally, I think it was because they were all spoiled bitches who rode up and down in their HOUSE ELEVATORS but I’ll get to the point…

Not that this ever stopped my parents from trying to change me.  I always had to perform at the Persian get togethers- whether it was reciting a Hafez poem I didn’t understand or playing piano like I was some kind of amateur musician, when really- I probably just looked like some douchebag.  So come my 18th birthday, I decided to rebel in the most drastic way possible (and no, blow jobs didn’t cut it).  

I got a tattoo.   

I picked it out of the book at the tattoo parlor (very original) and decided to get it on my lower hip (second place prize for tramp stamp).  And I vowed to keep it a secret from my parents FOREVER.  Until one year… we took a family trip to sunny, beautiful, SWIMSUIT required, Mexico.

Coulda been worse Dad…

Throughout the trip, I made DAMN sure my swimsuit covered my tiny tattoo.  Then one day when I was chillin’ at the pool by myself, my dad snuck up behind me and YELLED, “FARRAH, WHAT IS THAT?!!?!?!?!?!?!” I quickly pulled my swimsuit up, said it was henna, and immediately dived into the pool to avoid the slap I could see coming toward my face.

At this point what’s done is done- what can he really do? …Besides leave my ass in Mexico for eternity.

He came up to me that night and said, “Farrah… if you ever want to get a tattoo again, you have to come talk to me first.”  SO OPEN-MINDED, RIGHT?! Then he continued, “You come talk to me… and I vill say NO.”

Um … so what’s the point?

Guess what Daddy :)  I have gotten two more tattoos since.  Horrified of the day that you will see them- but these tattoos actually MEAN something to me.  It is a symbol of my INDIVIDUALITY and I really don’t give a shit what any Persians want to say about it.  (except you… please don’t disown me).


Our culture requires us to be good, pure and marriage material.  We are defined by our culture the second we are born: MUST be successful, MUST cook, MUST MUST MUST MUST- shiiiit my HUSBAND IS GONNA COOK FOR ME.  jk- I’ll leave the harsh realizations my father will eventually face to a minimum… for now.  But why am I no longer deemed “marriage material” by my father or my grandmother just because I have several tattoos that aren’t even visible with clothes ON?!  I should only be considered “un-marriage-able” if I become a stripper (not happening) or look like this:

Heart attack waiting to happen

Let’s be honest.  The only “thing” my tattoos make me… is a THUG (in the most rewarding way possible).  And joonies- we are ALL thuggish in one way or another.  Whether its through our physical appearance- creative haircuts, body art, etc. or simply through our interests: books, astrology (lies), or even comic books.  Our interests define our individuality and we should never be reprimanded for what we like.

I’ll admit, I will never get a huge tattoo that can’t be covered with a t-shirt, but I will never regret the decisions I’ve made because they have all played an integral role in making me into the person I am today– and NEITHER SHOULD YOU.  

Should I be banned from ALL THINGS PERSIAN?!



Farrah فراه

Time to crash the Pity Party

Hey joonjoons,

Welcome to bitch-sesh.

For some of us (the lucky ones) the topic of marriage isn’t even mentioned in our household until after high school. Unless of course, you visit your grandmother in Iran and you have a new khastegar (suitor) every week… um sorry but that should really be called, “Hi, I’d like to use you for your visa.”


Regardless, for many of us- the best accomplishment we can achieve is not attending law school or medical school (that’s for the boys, didn’t you know?), but it’s to FIND a husband that IS in medical/law school. Someone who can take care of us while we stay at home or work part time (don’t forget, bachelor’s degree is still required)… AND take care of the precious children… AND have some type of delicious khoresht on the table when our money-making hubby gets home from work (yumm Fessenjoon).

This is where my family is different. Obviously, they put a huge emphasis on family — because that’s just how every Iranian rolls. But I was taught to be independent: go to school, get a job, go to grad school, be self sustainable ALL before getting married.

So you can imagine my surprise when all of my college friends (literally… 5/8 from our former drunk ass group) ended up getting married in their early 20s (shocker: none of them are Iranian). Don’t get me wrong- I was more than happy for them because that is what they wanted.

Until one says, “AWW don’t worry Farrah, you’ll find someone soon too.”

Excuse me? I’m sorry, but I didn’t realize that I had some sticker on my forehead that reads, “NEED. HUSBAND. NOW.”

Marriage, let alone having KIDS?! I’m good off that (for now), thank you. I’m still selfish enough where I don’t want to have to make compromises because of my family. I want to pursue my goals without the guilt of missing my daughter’s school play. (UGH- “my daughter-“ even that sounds gross).

Fact of the matter is, everyone is different. We all have different beliefs and needs. Whether I CHOOSE to get married now or later is MYdecision and I don’t deserve to be treated differently because of it.

Married people- whether they are Persian, White, Black- WHATEVER, instantly think that single people have this perpetual curse: “Oh she’s 25 and single?! Hmm badbakht…” They give you that so called “symPATHETIC” look when you say that you are in your TWENTIES and single.


Now that’s not a pretty picture.


“NO BITCH- IT’S MY CHOICE… I CHOOSE TO STAY SINGLE (or un-married) because I have OTHER priorities in my life.”

Since when did being self sustainable become SECONDARY to marriage? It definitely isn’t for men… and that just isn’t the way it should be for YOUNG WOMEN.

And boys- I bet you’re reading this thinking “girls are crazy when it comes to marriage” but we all know the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. You know that as your friends start to get married, you panic too because let’s be real- no one wants to be that creepy 35 year old in the club sleazing on the young girls.

So to all you married beezies out there- I AM SO HAPPY FOR YOU that you were able to find someone that not only, SUPPORTS but motivates you to be the best that you can be.

Truly, that’s a gift, but so is my job.


Thanks gaga, for keeping it real.

But while you think you have your life figured out- just remember that I AM NOT YOU– so save the fucking pity party invite.

And hey- worst case scenario- if I’m 40 (yes 40… not 25… or 35) and SINGLE, then all I gotta do is hit up my native country (Iran) and I’ll have my husband faster than you can count to 25 ;)

Are you single & proud? Or are you waiting for mr. right?


Single and Fabulously yours,

Farrah فراه

We gettin’ ARAB MONEY $

Hola joonies. We’re about to make some of you very mad. (boys—lookin at you!)

So if you weren’t aware before, Iranians have this hate-hate relationship with Arabs. To all the white people reading, no we’re not all the same thing.  Different religion, different cultures, VERY different political agendas.

Obama bows to Saudi King

It’s a broad spectrum:

– The Iranians that strongly hate Arabs: they believe the Arabs were conniving conquerors, impregnating our beloved Iran with Islam and so bringing on allll the present trouble we face today (ISLAMIC REPUBLIC of Iran)

– The Iranians that mildly hate Arabs: because of the Sunni/Shiite divide, and/or cultural differences “Arab-hayeh malakh-khor” =  Grasshopper eating Arabs.

– The Iranians that just hate Arabs, because…well habit.

Luckily, I grew up in a non-racist household (SORT OF) or my parents just forgot to teach me how to hate Arabs.

I actually love everything about them. Their language, their music, and of course, their MEN!

When it comes to men, Arabs are just MONEY

And you can consider this video the theme song of this post:

(and for all those who are going to complain about the use of quranic verses in this video—from one muslim to another, calm down and be glad they’re in a Busta video and not AlQaeda’s)

In the game of Arab men vs. Iranian men, I’m sorry to say Arabs WIN. It is not really about net worth, they’re not all wealthy– they just have unbelievable swagger. Most Persian guys just look feminine compared to Arab guys. Maybe its that our ancestors were chillin’ in palaces (see: PERSEPOLIS), and Arab’s were surviving the not-so-friendly climate of the desert and figuring out tribal warfare. Maybe that’s when they started to win.

Arabs on camels.

Or maybe, its that Iranians love to pretend they are aristocratic and refined (how many of you were forced to learn FRENCH?), and Arabs don’t mind being diiirttyyy (if you know what I mean) and…well, Arab.

why are their men touching him?

The hottest Persian guy could pass for a girl.

Whatever it is, I personally LOVE it. And if any girl has dated/seen enough Arab guys, they’ll agree with me. And obviously, they have a huge advantage- there are SO many of them: Egyptians, Lebanese, Syrians, Algerians, Morroccans…etc (what’s your favorite flavor ;)?

I remember my earliest crush was on my Lebanese Sunday School teacher, Mr. Al. He had green eyes and brown hair, and was a great distraction from all the BS I had to listen to. It was very unfortunate that he was married with children.

When I was 18, almost immediately after dating an Iranian guy, I started dating a Lebanese guy. It was wonderful. The Arab didn’t complain, he didn’t talk about his MOM, and he didn’t do his eyebrows. He had a take it or leave it personality and he got shit done, and it was such a TURN ON. Even though he wasn’t as good looking as my Persian ex, he was so much SEXIER. I wanted to undress him everytime he walked in the room.

I’m sure there are great Persian guys out there- but you’re all downright INSECURE. Is my nose too big? Are my eyebrows arched enough? Is my doodool too small? Am I too hairy? Look, only girls get to be that insecure– and even then its fucking foolish. Arabs wear their traditional garb, they speak Arabic like they’re about to choke on something, and they grow moustaches and beards– and they OWN it. When’s the last time you saw a Persian guy flashing his lebaseh mahali (traditional village outfit) instead of his Mercedes and Prada?

If Arabs worry about this stuff, they’re good at hiding it because you don’t see them walking around looking like this:

Instead you have this: (soccer players, heirs, and princes- take your pick!)

yeah zidane’s arab.

Hariri, one of the world’s youngest billionaires

Hamdan, Prince of Dubai

How Do I love Arab $$$ ? Let me count the ways:

1. Bad Boys: They are the Persian girl’s bad boy. Siyaah’s (black guys) are the forbidden fruit, but Arabs are the snake. Your parents will not approve of the Arab, and that makes them that much more desirable. When it comes to white and black guys, some may lack flavor and culture— so Arab guys are the next best thing.

2. Aggressive: Like I said, they’re not afraid of getting down and dirty. Arabs are the Russians of the Middle East, and Iranians are the French.

3. The way they treat women: Wherever your Arab man is from, you can expect him to be 100% jealous and possessive at all times– and us persian girls, we LOVE that. Deny it all you want, but deep down- if you’re man doesn’t care where you are and who you’re with, you think something’s deeply wrong.

I’m prepared to take the hatemail for this – I’m expecting some really awesome emails. and hey, I’ll even post some of them :) so feel free to defend yourselves, persian boys.



saaghi  ساقی

Why am I Such a Bitch?

Hello world, Hello 2012.

Our first post in the new year: the year the world will end before Obama can get re-elected. Got any good resolutions? or NYE stories? shareshareshare with us!

Now without further ado, onto tonight’s topic!

Growing up, I always saw myself as the underdog– I was never the pretty girl (puberty held me back), I wasn’t the smartest (sorry dad) and I was never MVP of any athletic sport I participated in. I pictured myself as such an innocent bystander, because most of the time, I was.

In middle school, I volunteered at my public library and tutored kids with learning disabilities. In high school, I logged more than 250 hours of community service and made honor roll.

Then, later in my college years, I realized, hey, I’m actually not such a nice person. 

Actually, I’m kind of a bitch.

I remember the first time someone called me the b word– in that nice joking way people try to be honest–“omg, hahaha you’re such a bitch!” and I was so offended, It went against everything I believed in for myself.  I’m a nice girl– I thought, “but I haven’t done anything, other than say what’s on my mind.”

Then it all made sense- being a bitch was a good thing. It means I have the balls to say what’s real. What’s true.

Maybe in my 20’s, I’m more vocal than I was in my teenage years but overall, I’ve always had a pretty bad bitch mentality. I’m sorry I see things as they are.

If you don’t own a mirror and walk out of your house, I SEE THAT BECAUSE I HAVE EYES and I AM SORRY ABOUT IT. If you make stupid decisions, I WILL CALL YOU OUT ON IT because I HAVE HALF A BRAIN. And finally, if you call me a bitch, it means you just couldn’t handle THE TRUTH.

Now, I’m not saying HONESTY is always the best policy, but I really believe that as humans, our first instinct is to tell the truth. Our second is to lie. I know most of the time, it is to prevent people’s feelings from getting hurt but have you ever thought you’re doing more harm then good?

Exhibit A.

I know when I wear a dress after ALLL that holiday feasting, I’m not going to look my best. Yet my friends (MY METH remember?) insist I look GREAT- AMAZING- BEAUTIFUL.  And I buy into it, because I want to believe eating a lot of food will not change anything.

See when you LIE to me, friends, it makes it easier for me to stay fat. SO STOP.

Exhibit B.

When your friend asks you if a guy is interested in her, when clearly he’s not– you usually give into your second instinct and lie. Now your friend is the desperate loser, investing her time and emotions, waiting on a call/text/message, and you’re the person who PUT HER THERE.

So stop.

I think I’ve proven my point a little bit- that being a bitch is actually about being nicer to the people you care about. And I’m sure we’ve all heard of the book- WHY MEN LOVE BITCHES– and its true. I can sum it up for you right now so you can save $24.95 and time:

Men like women who prioritize themselves, aren’t afraid of losing them, and don’t put up with their bullshit.

Basically, men like women who PMS 24/7

because that means there’ll always be a chase.

So are you sold yet? Are you gonna start speaking your mind?

Don’t decide just yet.

It’s a thin line between Bitch and BULLY. And you don’t want to cross it. Because I have– and it is not so pleasant on the other side.

People respect bitches, People hate bullies.

My freshman year, I had an AWFUL living situation. I roomed with two other girls, who I had nothing in common with– one was from some farmtown, the other had parents who had matching mullets (I am such a bitch, arent I?)

i wish i was kidding.

Anyway, it was a long year, one of the girls turned out to be one of those clingy roomies that wanted to be BEST FRIENDS FOREVER.  Unfortunately, it just wasn’t going to happen- she needed to be on meds and I needed to get out of there. When she realized I was not trying to be anything more than roommates with her– she went BATSHITCRAZY>>

She would play the soundtrack to Alvin & the Chipmunks while I’d be studying in the room on full blast.

She claimed she was allergic to my perfume (WHO THE FUCK IS ALLERGIC TO DOLCE&GABBANA?) — so I had to go outside to spray myself, even though for 6 months she had been fine.



So, sh!t hit the fan and I moved out. And when I did, everyone who knew the situation was on my side. They thought she was absolutely insane. And this got to my head a little. Instead of moving on, I decided I’d make her life hell. Why? Because I could. It started out pretty mild, my friends and I’d just laugh or say something insulting when she’d walk by — then I went a little crazy, and accidentally spilled milk on her one morning, in the dining hall. I started laughing as I walked away, expecting her to storm over and scream at me or something. But she didn’t.

She just cried.

And that’s when I became the bully, and she became the victim. That’s when no one took my side.

Sometime’s being a bitch can give you a power complex, and that’s when its NOT about honesty anymore, it’s just about hurting.

Just because you have the balls to do & say things other usually can’t, does not give you the right to overpower them.

So I’ll end off on this joonies…

I am a bitch because I value honesty over false compliments and flattery. NOT because I take pride in hurting others. Let your inner bitch out because the witch needs to breath, but keep a leash on her!

I really need some of these cards.

Any Bitch/Bully Stories to share?


your favorite bitch,

saaghi  ساقی
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