Victory?

We got an urgent call from Iran this morning from a dying relative. "Quick, turn on the TV!" he yelled (this is a man who has been bed-ridden with constant chemo therapy). We flipped on the satellite TV and turned to the Iranian channels. "The men's volleyball team is winning!!!!" he cried. Oh brother, I thought, let down. Here, I thought something important was happening. It was just the men's volleyball team winning. I didn't even know men played volleyball. Or that it was a world sport. I guess when all your other sports teams are banned from world competition, that's what you hold onto.

My mom--who knows absolutely nothing about sports--held the remote control in her hand and started tearing up. Seriously? Over volleyball? A sport she has no idea how to even play? Then she turned to me, totally off subject, "Do you have any friends?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, knowing exactly what she meant. "Of course I have friends."

She was silent. I took pity on her and continued, "You mean 'boys'? You mean, do I 'date'?" Never in a million years could my mom utter those two awful words.

"Yes," she said, the remote control still shaking in her hand.

"I do," I said. "But obviously nothing has lasted."

"What does that mean?" she asked. "How does that work?"

She was honestly curious, I could tell. She married the first man she ever kissed. "Well," I started, not knowing how to continue, slightly embarrassed, "You sort of go on a date and see if you like each other. And if you like each other, you keep seeing each other until you decide you don't like each other." That was the simple answer. "This usually lasts a few months for me," I added, so as not to simplify it too much.

"Are these proper men?" she asked.

I sighed. "Yes, they are 'proper' men. They have jobs. They're not homeless."

"Then I don't understand," she said.

I let it stay at that. Because, let's be honest: I don't understand either. We watched in silence as the men's volleyball team received a bouquet of flowers.

Seattle!

I'm in Seattle for a week staying with my parents. I came here because I'm attending my ten-year college reunion this weekend. It's so strange to be in the home I grew up in, the city I was born in, the weather I was raised in--cloudy, gray, drizzly. My old room hasn't changed much. The same books are the shelves, the same posters on the walls. It's like a time warp.

Here's an obligatory baby picture (because, of course, all the baby photo albums are here too):

I believe this was taken on the north side of the Montlake Cut overlooking Portage Bay in the university district. Fifteen years after this was shot, I'd be on a crew team and I'd regularly row through this canal, dodging sail boats. This land has since been turned into a parking lot. For all my talk of heritage and lineage--at heart, I'm a Seattle girl, and this is what I know.

Third installment is up!

The third installment of my Persian "sexescapades" is now up here! Your links, "likes," etc. are always welcome! There will be seven parts in all.

Passing time

This past weekend was another Classic NYC affair--in which you do lots of random things that are amazing and that you wouldn't be able to do in any other city. I have a MOMA membership, so I went and saw the members-only preview of the de Kooning retrospective. It was much huger than I expected, spanning his work all the way from when he was 12 in the early 1900's all the way up till his death in the 1980s. It took up more than eight rooms and was absolutely gorgeous in breadth. I felt like we could really see the evolution of the artist. After that, I caught a train to Queens where I met up with an old friend and we had brunch. We sat in the outdoor patio area since it was probably one of the last times we'd be able to do so before fall really sets in. Later that day, I went on a date at Ten Bells, this great wine bar in the Lower East Side. It's really dark in there and the sommeliers are sort of snooty, but they have no problem pouring you taste after taste until you decide what's right. Saturday ended at Lolita, a bar not too far away.

Then, on Sunday, I did my usual routine of going to Cafe Ost to finish reading all my magazines, then getting my nails done and walking around town getting errands done. This was a walk to remember though: For one, I just sort of accidentally happened upon the Feast of San Gennaro in Little Italy, which is a huge scene of heart-attack food and Jersey accents. Then, as I was walking home along Bowery, I saw a familiar face walking towards me. He was tall and wore all black and had blond hair. The sun shone on his face and he smiled and I thought I'd die on the spot because now I recognized him: IT WAS ALEXANDER SKARSGARD ("Eric Northman" from True Blood), the hottest man currently alive! I am not one to regularly be starstruck, but this time, I had to literally stop walking and catch my breath and ask myself if this was really happening. His smile! His radiance! His strut! Usually, stars are not as hot as they appear on screen, but Skarsgard was at least ten times hotter in person. And here he was, just sort of casually walking down the street. It took the rest of the day for me to recover, at which point I decided it was time to take myself on a date to a movie. Being very romantic, I chose "Contagion" and had nightmares all night.

*

I've been talking about dating and romance a lot on this blog lately, just because it's a part of my life, I guess. I've lately been thinking about how alone it makes me feel because my family doesn't understand it and I'm figuring out the "rules" on my own, but I read an article yesterday about sexual revolutions in past centuries and how each revolution has been able to occur because the current generation is egotistical enough to think they're doing something for the first time.

"The reason sex can be revolutionized again and again is that we're reluctant to believe our ancestors could have known and felt what we know and feel. Yet what has been will be again; what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the covers"

~Ariel Levy, "Novelty Acts" (NYer, 9/19/11) 

The main gist was that it's all been done before. We're not the first to feel the way we do. Past generations have probably dabbled even more than us. And, for some reason, that actually makes me feel less alone. Yes, people didn't "date" in Iran, but if my grandmother was murdered for some sexual dalliance, I have to think that there have been sexual adventurers for generations in my family past, and that I am not embarking on new territory but only furthering a tradition of longing that makes my blood mine.

Part 2 of Don Juan Perversion's Adventures

And also... "Part 2" of my sexperiment is here. (I must warn the girls that I went to Vegas with that there is one slight exaggeration because there was a space limitation: I know the guys we met did not stay at the club with us and that I met with them later, but in order to cut wordy explanation, I had to make them present at the club. EVERYTHING ELSE IS TRUE. You've been warned.) Once again, please "like," "comment," share, whatever... I'd be very appreciative.

Wayward acts of commemoration

My mom called on Sunday.

"I'm about to call the embassy to check up the progress of your papers."

"Thanks," I said.

"How are you?" she asked. I told her I was okay. I tried not to reveal how upset I was, because I can't talk about guy stuff with my mom. She wouldn't understand. Nobody ever "dated" in Iran. I never even told my parents I had a "boyfriend" until I was 21 because they forbade it. Now I am alone with these kinds of problems.

This probably isn't the place to write about it, but it is a part of my identity and very much a major part of What I'm Doing While I'm Waiting To Go To Iran. I always say I want to be in a relationship, but then I find myself going on dates and eventually becoming infatuated with guys who are totally not ready for relationships. I think I do it on purpose because I'm the one who is scared of a relationship but if I can say that I'm physically going on dates and "trying", then I can tell myself that I am doing "my best." This latest guy is a total WASP in the most J.Crew catalogue/I-weekend-on-Cape-Cod-and-wear-loafers-without-socks sort of way--not my type in the least. But he was creative and funny (and he had a washer/dryer!) and we had this very electric tension and I loved the shear improbability of it. So I went over the cliff until he--inevitably--pushed on the breaks. I think I've been lying to myself that I can do this casually, secretly thinking he will change his mind, but this is an awful situation for a woman to put herself into, ultimately making one feel worthless and low.

Last Thursday, I went to a Friends of Firemen fundraiser with my girlfriend. Firemen from around the U.S. had come to New York for 9/11. The L.A. firemen contingent struck up a conversation with me and my girlfriend and, before I knew it, I was seeking a little therapy in the form of community service (a.k.a. I took an LA County Fire Department captain home). I know this sounds incredibly cliche, but what is a girl in distress supposed to do? He was the sweetest, gentlest, nicest guy I've ever met and if I never had a thing for firemen, now I do. (I'll be the first one to laugh at the fact that an Iranian hooked up with a fireman for 9/11.) And this encounter reminded me what it's supposed to be like. (He leaves back for LA this evening, despite his infatuation--again, did I pick him on purpose because I knew he wasn't going to be around?.)

Me and the WASP are not exclusive, so I told him about the fireman to get it off my chest. He suddenly became jealous and quickly made plans to hang out (after avoiding me for a week). Of course, the day we were supposed to hang out, he blew me off and said he was sick. I got upset. He repeated that he was "not in a place to be in a relationship" (when I have children--IF I ever have children--I will tell them that this is a line that means, "I am not in a place to be in a relationship with YOU"). I accepted this. Then he texted me that we should get together and work it out (adding a smiley-face emoticon to the message). So up and down goes the roller coaster. This is an addict's behavior, constantly seeking the rush.

I'm a confused person romantically. I often wish I could plumb the collective wisdom of the women in my family for their advise, but that is impossible culturally. I wonder what they would have been like if they had lived in the U.S. in my generation? Would we have shared some of the same traits? Were they ultimately happier in their arranged marriages, avoiding all dating nonsense? I'm the first female on either side of my family for all of known history to have these options, and I feel compelled to take every route possible to make up for it. Things have not turned out as black and white as I was raised to believe: There is no such thing as "bad" girls who are sluts or "good" girls who are angels. Sometimes, good girls have wayward sex. Sometimes bad girls want commitment. If only I had the stories to string it together.

Fall arrives

It's an awesome day in the universe when you can get arrested for organizing a waterfight.

"This is not simply a game with water [said spokesman of the Iranian judiciary, Gholam Hossein Mohseni Ejeh]. This act is being guided from abroad!"  

Ha. Totally. In fact, water guns were specifically invented as a covert strategy to topple foreign governments. Anyone can see that, right?

The days have gotten dreary and rainy in New York--one day it was summer, then bam! Autumn. I don't feel okay about it, I'll be honest. Suddenly, I'm buying coffee from my donut cart guy in the morning instead of the usual iced coffee. What happened? Where did it all go?