Eight Down, One More To Go!!

Leiah is officially in her 8th month of baby making, and I think it's safe to say that bun in the oven has turned into a full loaf! You think she can't physically get any bigger or else the baby's limbs are going to start popping out of her skin, and then --poof!-- the bottom of her belly fills up. I can't imagine how she'll look at 9 months. Are people really made to do this? Ben's supposed to get here on Sept. 5, so only one month to the day until I get to be Auntie Am!

What I Did on My Summer Vacation (Part 4 in a Series of I Don't Know How Many Yet)

The big day has arrived. The day that I will share our wedding woes and enlighten you with that experience. Best wishes.

Originally emailed June 23, Seriously Enhanced August 3

Our wedding yesterday was pretty strange. Shahin and I went to get our hair done by the beautician, who got her post because she bought a compact of 50 colors of eyeshadow and thus was the most qualified. She colored my eyebrows red and used theatrical makeup to make me white (i thought i already was but apparently you're supposed to be porcelain white, who knew) and started to put a ponytail on the top of my head when I finally had to intervene. Instead of doing what I asked, she tried to sell me on what she wanted to do, which was something out of Boughaz Weekly. I ended up with a lopsided french twist and some brown-red makeup on top of my porcelain skin, which still looked pretty bad but was 1000 times better than what she first did. And i got my eyebrows shaped by a professional, so they look a little better. Oh, and I got a good shave. Yes, she shaved my face with a straight razor sized for women. She got peach fuzz from my cheeks and held it up for me to look at with a look on her face like "oh, see all this nasty hair coming off your face." that's when I decided my degree of maintenance was just right, and that i would from here on out forgive myself for having hair on my face. As long as it doesn't grow in thicker and coarser than before.

I was ready to get the hell out of there as soon as Shahin got her makeup done, so I suggested we just get dressed at home. We called Ali to have him come get us only to learn that he was on his way with Mack and the photographer. We put on our dresses in about two seconds flat, got all of our crap together, and as I started to put my headscarf on and walk out the door, Shahin said to leave it off. I opened the door to a handsome but annoyed Mack, heard the words ACTION, and received a bouquet of red and white roses. Apparently we didn't do this impromptu exchange very well because we had to redo it a couple of times. I walked to the car, the first time I'd been outside without a headscarf in more than a week, and climbed in... with Shahin, Laila, Mack, Ali, and the photographer all in a compact car in formal wear. Let the sweating begin!
I was positively glowing!

We walked into the courtyard and Mack's aunts immediately started singing something. Because I'd been conditioned over the last 10 days I started clapping to the beat of their song... not recommended. I think the bride is just supposed to be still and smile and dance when the people want her to. So I stopped clapping as they brought out some burning sage and waved it over our heads. We took our seats on the marble deck-turned-stage and watched our DJ and singer set up their enormous speakers. It was going to be entirely too loud up where we were so we relocated our chairs to the courtyard amidst the other chairs. Cherries and bananas and peaches were out on all the tables, and as soon as the DJ started up, the dancing ensued.

It started inside, where I was told to sit so my makeup wouldn't melt, but when I couldn't stand it anymore and went outside, the dancing followed. I asked Mack's dad, Tom, if I could have a cigarette... not because I wanted the nicotine but because I wanted the habit that doubles as an excuse to get away for a minute. He laughed, whether it was at my desperation or my dramatic eyeliner, I have no idea. My legitimate smile was morphing into the God-I-Love-Jesus-So-Much-I-Could-Explode one that I see on preacher shows... a little coma stained with numbing mind control. I hope I looked delightful, but I doubt I was fooling anyone. Mack was trying to pull off the same look that I was, and I could see how badly he was executing it, so I can only assume I was just as transparent. Luckily, it got dark pretty quickly and lots of people started showing up.

I got a bouquet of flowers from one of Shahin's relatives and a ring from another. People just kept coming and coming, all of them shaking my hand and saying things I completely didn't understand. I just said, "Salaam" and "Merci" whenever it felt right. Some of the women were really beautiful with hair that went past their butts when they took off their scarves, and the men were all over the place. Young, old, ancient, babies.

Everyone danced. And danced. And made us dance. And we are not dancers. I wish I could upload video because there are some dance moves on there from Jaffar that are youtube worthy. They also do this fantastic shoulder shake thing that basically vibrates their shoulders without moving their chests. I tried it and my boobs were flopping like a stripper on The Sopranos, so I decided just to stick with the wavy arm move. And to try to dance as little as possible. At one point, we had a belly dancer girl who was about 14 with quite a tank butt but a good dancer perform for all of us. She was wearing a white mini skirt, a shirt that accentuated her pointy bra boobs and some white thigh highs that peeped out from under her skirt on certain movements. I was proud of her outfit, but after a few dances she was asked to put on some pants. That kind of made me mad, but she didn't seem to bothered by it. An Iranian tradition is for the groom's family to give money to all the people dancing, so when Shahin walked out with a wad of tomen, people got out of their seats and started shaking even more. I'd earned enough gold this trip, so I didn't dance for dollars.

At one point we had to do our first dance together as a couple. We took dance lessons at one point a few years ago and learned the waltz and the box step and the swing and the foxtrot. The music came on, Mack started doing a box step that was robotic even by my standards, and our attempts to loosen up and have a good time failed. I kept telling Shahin if she could get us a few beers we'd dance our heads off, but alas. While we were sharing this forcibly intimate, awkward moment, Mack mentioned that the song sounded really familiar. It did. I got visions of shootouts in a restaurant setting. Where had we heard this? Then he said, "It's the song from the Godfather!" How appropriate.

We knew dinner was on the itinerary, but we'd already been fed fruit and cookies and ice cream, so we were thinking maybe the itinerary had changed. Not quite. We were herded into the neighbors' courtyard where tables had been set up with soda and lamb kababs and rice and salad, and we all stood around the tables and pigged out. It was pretty good food, but it was quite a challenge to shovel rice into my mouth from 2 feet away. I filled up pretty quickly, snuck back over to our courtyard, and snuck into the bathroom to pee one last time while no one was around.

The music, which rubbed my tolerance for techno completely raw, resumed, and I danced one final time for the remaining guests. It was so funny. I can't dance the way they do, so when I stood up, I just did my typical arms-in-the-air, I-can't-care-what-you-think-this-is-how-my-body-moves dance. Then everyone else started trying to do my dance. They all tried to imitate my move and I thought, "Dear God, don't let them think I'm a dancer to be copied."

About 11:30, that would be four and a half hours after our nuptial soiree began, we snuck into our bedroom and hid behind the door so no one would see us. I practiced the shoulder shake, realized it would just be one more dance move I'll never absorb, laid down on the floor behind the door, and fell asleep. About 30 minutes later, Shahin woke me up, told me to wash my face, which was one of the most painful things I've done, and the day came to an end.

It wasn't at all the wedding I would have made for myself, but it was really wonderful to be able to get Mack's entire family together and to celebrate our relationship with them.
Shahin, Me, Bobba Bezorg (Shahin's dad)
Me and Momma Bezorg (Shahin's mom and the hardest working woman I've ever met in my life)

What I Did on My Summer Vacation (Part 3 in a Series of I Don't Know How Many Yet)

Alas, our trip Persepolis and Shiraz, which was my favorite experience in Iran. Up next, the wedding. I promise.

Originally written June 23, embellished August 1

We went to Shiraz and Persepolis a couple of days ago. Shiraz is where the wine was born, from a special grape variety that grew there (Bobba Basorg has a grape vine in his backyard that has delicious grapes too, as an aside) and made wine so wonderful it inspired poets Sa'di and Hafez to become poets. They don't make wine anymore, but the town does have tombs and gardens set up for each of these men for visitors to read their words and celebrate their lives. We visited them and one had the coolest underground river going through the middle of a tea room. It was something to be in a town where the poets are that reverred and honored instead of the politicians.


Shiraz is where Shiraz University is, so we think that is why it's more progressive. Our first night we went out for dinner in search of an authentic Persian restaurant that Mack's dad recommended. On the way, as we were walking through town, we came upon this huge castle that took up an entire city block. It was surreal. All these modern day people playing soccer and laying around next to this enormous ancient building with 30 foot walls. (Turns out, this is the Arg-e Karim Khani, duh. It was used as a prison in Pahlavi times.) Only in Iran.

We made it to the restaurant, which was an old bath house that had been converted into a restaurant. We sat at the tables, but there were carpets laid out on raised floors for people to have that just-like-home experience if they wanted it. After enjoying our wooden chicken (don't ask, I still don't know, but it was good and served with potato sticks), we ordered a hookah.



It was delicious but a lot stronger than what we're used to here, and only two puffs into it my head started to get buzzed. We left and wandered back to our hotel and on the way, Mack stepped of the curb onto what I assumed was a sloping road but which turned out to be a 2-foot deep drainage ditch (they have those here on the side of every road without any barriers to them for some reason). He fell into the road and took a while to get up. I was worried he'd broken his leg or something, but it turns out he just sliced the top of his toe halfway off somehow. (No, Jennifer and Shannon, I did not push him!) We asked for the first aid kit at the hotel and got a bottle of ethyl alcohol. I suggested he drink half of it before we pour any on, and then he decided he'd just walk with it in the air and it would be fine until his mom, the nurse, could take a look at it. Good thing, because I almost puked and then cried for being such a wuss when I looked at it. And when I consulted the Iran travel book we brought to see what to do if you need a hospital, it said most things like stiches and general procedures were done at home. Not at my home.

We also went to Bagh-e Eram (a botanical garden that is incredibly beautiful) and realized that is where the students go to hold hands and be young and hang out. They had rock gardens and paths and the most incredible irrigation system with the freshest cold flowing water I've ever felt.


We also went to Bazar-e Vakil to look around and got hassled by a guide. This was the worst one yet, because he was less obvious. What they do is ask if they can talk to you for a minute and you assume it's because you speak English and they want to practice. Then they want to show you a 400-year-old theology school and you assume that's because the people here are just so fantastically hospitable. Then when you finally get tired of following the guy but you're up on the roof and he leads you down a dark staircase that you didn't go up while telling you that the school now serves a lot of Afghanis and you know that there are al qaida recruiting places in the middle east and you're imagination starts spiraling into darkness as fast as the staircase and suddenly daylight brings you out of your nightmare where Bin Laden was videotaping your decapitation and showing it on CBS and you get back into the street and then the guy asks for money. That's when you shrug and say, you tricked me and he tries harder and you say i'm sorry no and walk back to the good time you were having before.

The bazaars here have some of the most stunning stuff I've ever seen. They have these incredible carpets that look like paintings and the booths showcasing spices and herbs are so unexpectedly colorful.


Outside of the bazaar we went into a mosque (Regent's Mosque) that boasted a staircase made from a single slab of marble that was brought to Iran from Azerbaijan, a neighboring country. You had to wear a full chador to get inside, but luckily they had some you could borrow so we could go in and look. I must say, I make an adorable, sloppy Muslim.


Persepolis is just outside of Shiraz, so we took a taxi out there early in the moring and that was something to behold. The walk up to it was a wide gravel road, boughaz as expected and hotter than hell, but once we got there the whole trip was worthwhile.


The ruins, which date back to before 500 BC, are massive and back up to a mountain which now holds the sarcophagus of Arteserxes I think. It's unique because the city was built on a foundation of rocks that are easily four stories tall. Like, they stacked up all these rocks and the shaped them and then built their city on top. Some of the rocks were taller than us!

There is carved script that is in three languages throughout the city, so it's kind of like a Rosetta Stone. The museum has deciphered the writing and it's basically a message from the king talking about how he is fair and awards men good fortune based on their character rather than their lineage and how he was a good horseman and swordsman and athlete. People have also left more recent marks on the place by carving their names and the dates they were there. It was neat to see the names and where people hailed from and when. Carvings from 1500s, 1800s, you name it.

The structures themselves are enormous. All that's left of most of the walls is a mound of dirt along the edges, so you really have to use your imagination... if you can wrap your mind around it all. There was at one time a treasury that held all of his gold and silver, a harem that held all of his flesh and bone and a few other rooms that held all of his guests that came to call.


One of the walls is decorated with carvings of what each country in the Persian empire brought to the king (my history here sucks because it was too hot to read all the info, but I do know that like 4 kings lived there, so I'm using king to cover all of them, okay!), and they're all a little different. Like the Afghanis brought a camel and pottery and goats, so there'd be a guide holding an afghani looking guy's hand and three or four other afghanis who had all the presents they were bringing for their king in their hands. There are drawings of all the countries in the empire and their gifts. What was so awesome is that every drawing couldn't have been done by the same sculptor, but everywhere in the city where it was repeated it was identical, like they had a mold or something to carve the stone.


The gates were enormous and it's easy to imagine how imposing this place must have been at its pinnacle. The White House looks like a broom closet compared to Persepolis. I used to think we've come a long way with our civilization, but seeing what they were doing more than 2000 years ago and acknowledging that we could never accomplish something of that magnitude now out of sheer will and determination without any of our technology crutches makes me wonder if we've really come that far.

(a stone well in the side of the mountain... the water was so far down!)

Just down the road from Persepolis are four tombs of other kings, called Naqsh-e Rostam, and another tomb called Naqsh-e Rajab (named after a man who once had a teahouse there). The stone carvings at Rajab depict much beefier types than the one in Persepolis. At Naqsh-e Rostam, you can wander forever looking at the carvings of jousting matches and war scenes. This is the only place I saw any depiction of a woman, and I wouldn't have known it was a woman unless the little info slab told me so.

(she's the queen on the right)
We also so a zorastrian temple there, which I think was built so the kings could get into whatever was there eternity. I wonder if Islam incorporates any zoratrian traditions.


That trip to Shiraz and Persepolis was a great trip, sealed by four kisses by the taxi driver who took us to the airport and tried to park and walk us in. I would absolutely love to visit Shiraz again someday. The Hotel Eram was great and the staff was really friendly (yes, that is a plug if you ever make it to Iran). (We didn't have to be temporarily married to stay in the same room together because we have American passports, and they're cool with Americans living in sin.)

Heaven's to Betsy

My darling baby sister just left today after having a two-week Hollywood experience that kept me laughing in whispers. Just to recap, and to show her the evidence, here is a dose of her hilarity.

The first or second night we watched Hedwig and the Angry Inch, an endearing musical about a botched sex change operation. I love it. In it, a black man named Luther seduces Hansel (who later becomes Hedwig) and takes him from East Germany on the condition that he become a she so they can get married. Hansel agrees, while he's not singing in the oven. Here is Luther (also known as Maurice Dean Wint):

So the next night, we rent Requiem for a Dream, a troubling honest look at the rise and fall of heroin addicts with the mom from the Exorcist making an award-worthy appearance as a speed addict mother. Betsy, with all the passion of a know-it-all 18-year-old who prides herself of remembering faces boldly proclaims, "That's the guy from Hedwig!" about the pimpish guy who hosts sex parties for girls who need drugs but can't find them anywhere. "That's not him," I calmly countered. We bet $20 on it. This is that guy (also known as Keith David):

A few days later we headed to Melrose to do some shopping and stopped in to Johnny Rocket's to satisfy the hamburger cravings I've been having since being around Betsy. She is a feind for hamburgers to the same degree Seth is a Philly Cheesesteak junkie. While we ate, Wayne Brady, of Whose Line Is It Anyway? fame (and also of that hilarious skit on the Dave Chappelle show), sat at the next table, and Betsy got a few glimpses of her first real life celebrity. This is Wayne Brady:

So the next day, after spending a few hours watching the waves crash and reading about Fergie and what men want from sex in the latest issue of Cosmo, we headed to the bus stop to go home when Seth succumbed to his Cheesesteak addiction and we landed in a restaurant. On the way out, Betsy spotted an autographed photo and said, "Oh, look, it's him... that guy we saw yesterday." This is who the photograph pictured:

That's right. Cuba Gooding Jr. Who, it turns out, looks nothing like Wayne Brady.

Finally, during our last supper together at an Italian eatery, Betsy saw a celebrity she actually, truly, correctly recognized. Don Cheadle, who played the adorable cowboy radio salesman/porn star in Boogie Nights and Paul Russessabagina in Hotel Rwanda, sat back to back with Betsy.

He, his wife, and his two adorable daughters paid no attention to our stifled admiration, and Betsy and Seth posed casually for a photo with Don Cheadle's back in the background. We were so cool you'd never know we were getting a photo of him (even if it was just his back). I'm not sure if Betsy would have known who he really was if I hadn't told her, but I'll give her the benefit of the doubt... mostly in appreciation for the laugh I got when she saw the Tupac impersonator in Holly wood and practically exploded and said, "Why is Tupac standing right there? Why is Tupac standing right there?" I still don't know if she knows he's dead, but I'm going to assume she does. I couldn't take it if she thought that guy was the real Tupac. Then she'd be so cute I'd have to eat her.

What I Did on My Summer Vacation (Part 2 in a Series of I Don't Know How Many Yet)

I know, I know. You're all anticipating the wedding photos, updates on the stubble, and other Iran-related material, but you must be subject to the same stuff I already sent in the order I sent it. Deal with it.

Originally emailed June 18, revamped July 28

Salaam all the people I love,

Hope this finds you well. Life in Iran is ticking by as expected. We've tasted boredom, only because all the fun available is G-rated or sweetened. We've also tasted pizza, which is peculiarly enough served without any sauce but with packets of ketchup. I think it's better without the sugary paste, but everyone else seems to be a fan of the modified pizza. Mack's been wowing audiences with his magic abilities... until their Iranian natures ruin the magic and start messing with his tricks.


And we've been enjoying demonstrating our mastery of the "bounce a matchstick on the carpet" trick that we learned on day one and that has been shown to us every day since then. Oh, I've also been painting flowers on toes and fingers with my Sally Hansen French Manicure kit and a bobby pin. Good times.

Today we went to Mack's mom's sister's house. Marzia and her husband, Hamid, have a house a lot like his grandparents, only more modern. We basically sat on the floor for six hours, breaking up the time in 15 minute increments to take in fruit or tea or ice cream or sunflower seeds or rice or tea or tea or tea. Hamid turned on the tv at one point and you should have seen my face light up when he flipped to the Croc Hunter movie. Then he changed the channel to some music video with a blonde Iranian acting all a floosie, and we went back to sitting on the floor and eating and drinking tea. Marzia and Hamid have two kids, Razia, who is a little chubby, shy, sweet 11 year old girl who stares at me like I am a movie star, and Amid, who, sorry for Seth, has agreed to marry Betsy. He's cute if you ignore the broken front tooth and the occasional bursts of BO. Everyone is incredibly sweet and the way I talk about them now really is a direct result of sitting on the floor for six consecutive hours.

I have rediscovered the thrill of the bing cherry, which Sarah first opened my eyes to during a road trip to somewhere. Cherries are everywhere here and man are they good. A couple nights ago we sat on the back porch (read marble slab coming off back of house into courtyard) and spit probably 100 cherry seeds into the 4' by 4' plot of dirt in the middle of the courtyard. Good times. Marzia gave me a ring today as a gift. Brides get gifts here. I'm still waiting for my 15 goats but until then, the ring is really sweet looking. Gold with a stone that I think is probably cubic zirconia, but it's sweet looking nonetheless.

Yesterday we went to meet with a hairdresser, which was totally bizarre. I had to look at an album to pick out a hairstyle I liked for our party and whoa. I told Mack's mom I ought to get something exotic, and i was being sarcastic in response to the ludacris eyeliner and purple eyeshadow and pink lipstick that a lot of girls here wear that make them look like dangerous kitty cats high on cotton candy. I think she took me seriously. Some of the make up on those girls was so thick they were white. And the woman who does the make up had about 1/4" on her face and the most fried hair I've ever seen. I just told Shahin to tell her I'd stop her if she did something I didn't like. It should be an experience. I think we also get to do Henna. Shahin's sister Fedeshtah knows how to do it, so she's going to do it for us. I'm excited for that because I've never seen it done in real life and never had it done to me.

We've been eating a lot of good food. Rice and soups and lamb and fruit and kababs. Last night we stopped at a park and ate falafel sandwiches and sambusa from a street vendor. He had a little fry pit and everything right there next to him. That was some amazing food. The falafel sandwiches were like a foot long with pickles and tomatoes and some parsley onion spread, but they were nothing compared to the sambusas. They were little fried triangles of goodness. Mack's mom said they were vegetarian, but I swear they had chicken in them. Whatever it was, it was delicious. Veggies, meat, whatever all fried in a little bread casing, and then you take the teddy bear shaped hot sauce dispenser to your picnic spot and coat every bite. Yum. Yum again. That and the orange (colored, not tasting) soup have been my favorite things to eat here so far, and seeing as how I haven't thought anything here was even mediocre, that's saying something.

We took a couple falafel sandwiches home for Momma Bazorge and Bobba Bazorge (Gma and Gpa), and BBZ refused to eat his. He started spouting off in the most hilarious way about how that food can't be trusted and how eating it coats your mouth with oil and has cat pee and dog poop in it. Turns out the man, who is 68 years oldish, has never in his life eaten in a restaurant. Never had fast food. Only eats what he has made for him at home. Well, once he got on his little rampage, he couldn't be stopped. I laughed so hard I drooled. I had no idea what he was saying, even though Shahin was trying to keep up with him and translate it, but his gesturing was so funny I couldn't contain myself.

Everyone was laughing so hard. He has the most amazing stories. Like he used to smuggle cigarettes from Iraq and Pakistan taped to his body while he trekked through water. Then, when he wanted to be a cab driver but he couldn't read and write to take the test, he went to the shah's palace and said, "I've got five daughters to feed. You can either give me the license or feed my daughters." Like a week later they changed the law so you could take a picture test and then just drive the car for the other part of your test.

At one point Tom got up to go have a smoke and on his way out he shook BBZ's hand, and he grabbed hold of it really tight. Well, that led to another story that was confirmed by MBZ. BBZ had an old Paykan car that had 8,000,000 (not a typo) kilometers on it (like 5,000,000 miles... not a typo) and he just got rid of it last year when the govt bought it from him because it was such a polluter. Shahin bought him a new car that he now covers even if it sits in its covered carport, but that's another story. Well, one time this motorcylce guy hit his Paykan and he got out and grabbed the guy by his britches and wouldn't let him go, even as he sat on his bike and tried to drive away. Finally the guy said, for the love of god man let me go. I'm sorry! and BBZ just raved about how strong he was. At which point it was revealed to us that he went to have back surgery six months ago unbeknownst to anyone until it was over. He said, I'll see you in a little while, and next thing they know he's had fused vertebrae surgery! He's so cute when he tells the story.

Laila summed him up best when she said, "He's a man on the top, with a round belly, but he has little kid legs." He does! His legs are so scrawny and bendy and it just makes when he's really bombastic even funnier. We've had the most fun just watching him tell stories we don't understand. He grabs my head a lot and pulls it over to kiss it when I sit on his little day bed. He's very sweet and funny and animated. I'm forgetting half of his hilariousness since I'm trying to think of it, but he is a character that I'm glad I got to meet. His favorite thing is watches. We were here less than a day when Mack traded his Fossil watch for BBZ's old man looking watch. He didn't like the metal wrist band so he took it up to the watch store to have a leather band put on it. Then today, when we were at Marzia's house, he pulled out another watch and wore two on one wrist. Apparently he hides watches at other people's houses.

(No idea what Marel's V-sign means, don't think she has any idea either.)

Tomorrow night we're going to Shiraz to spend the night (since we're foreigners we get to sleep in sin together in the same room, but for a minute we were worried we might have to get one of those temporary marriages that people get so they can sleep with whores) and then going to see Persepolis, which I am very excited about. I'll send out an update after that. Hope everyone is well. Love you!
Amber

PS. Sarah -- I'll be gone by the time you get to KY, but I hope you and Kristin and Will have lots of good stories to tell when we all get together again. I love you!

Movin' and Shakin'

There's a picture of me with my old friend Leslie Smith (and I think Mark Barmore, Ryan Babbit and Leiah are in the photo with me, but who knows) standing over a For Sale sign at our old house on Blossom Lane in Louisville sticking out our turkey lips and acting sad that the For Sale sign means it's time to go. That time it took us to Lake Charles, LA, so it turns out that was a little sadder than I expected. But even that armpit brought me two of the best friends I've ever had... Miss Elijah Do Good and Miss Lamy LeDoux Better. To mark the occasion of my first move, I had Mack grab this shot and wanted to share. Not as many neighborhood rats around me this time, but the animals are still represented by one of the best friends Lexington gave me.