New York, Sunday, February 27
Whoever said domesticity is bliss, if anyone did in fact say that, hit the
nail right on the button as far as I'm concerned. I have come to this realization
as I sit here writing to you dear diary, my back against fluffy pillows,
tangled bed sheets wrapped around my body, wearing a pair of sexy silk tank
and shorts which I have officially exchanged for my Scooby sleepwear, and
listening to Peerooz humming in the kitchen while he prepares us a nice
Breakfast in Bed.
I have loved playing house for the past two weeks, going for groceries
together, choosing a menu and cooking it when we are not having foodfights
in the kitchen... Renting three really good videos and never watching a
single second (Couch is too comfortable!). Reading The New York Times
to each other in bed, when we come to funny stories which we think will
interest the other. Going for walks in the evening, braving the cold because
we have each other to keep us warm. At one point, while I was brushing my
teeth in the bathroom (a brush that Peerooz bought for me "for our
place"), I heard some banging and clanking noises coming from the bedroom.
Running in with toothpaste still foaming on my lips, I saw that my honey
had taken out the two first drawers of his dresser and emptied their contents.
-- "Peerooz! What ever are you doing?"
He looked at me with puppy eyes.
-- "Oh... I just thought... Maybe you could use the top two drawers
so you don't have to keep carrying that heavy overnight bag..."
This is one of those moments where I feel like Xena Warrior Princess.
I seriously consider doing summersaults in the air and uttering my victorious
warrior princess cry (ULULULULULULU). Have I really tamed this Iranian playboy?
Was he EVER a playa anyway? It is hard to believe when I look at him standing
there with his yellow Happy Face drawers (a horribly ugly gag gift from
me that I never expected he would ever use!) with his deer caught in the
headlights expression, holding a half-empty drawer in the middle of a messy
Thursday March 3
Last night, I couldn't get to sleep but I stayed as still as I could because
Peerooz is such a light sleeper. After about 15 minutes of me playing dead,
he finally exclaimed:
-- "Azizam, cherA khAbett nemiyAd?"
I was stunned.
-- "How did you know? I wasn't tossing and turning in the slightest
-- "No, you weren't honey."
-- "Then how did you know?"
-- "Your breathing, sweetheart, I could hear that you are not asleep."
Another Xena Warrior Princess moment. Are you ACTUALLY telling me my
Peerooz can identify my various breathing patterns? Is this the sign of
a selfish egotistical playa or the ultimate evidence of Love and Attention?
Feel so ecstatic... Right, this deserves a BIG reward... I mean... as long
as we are both awake... hehehe...
Saturday March 5
Whole gang went to see Manny's gig at this basement place in the West Village.
Her style is so simple yet haunting, electrifying. When she is on stage,
sitting on her chair, playing her guitar, I almost don't recognize her.
Gone is the sarcastic mouth, the steel will, the unflinching and unforgiving
attitude. This Manny is so vulnerable, so fragile. Every word of her songs,
every note of her guitar, is raw, naked truth. Between the things I have
discovered in Peeroz and that performance last night, I wonder if we truly
know anyone, even our closest friends? Just when you think you know them
better than they know themselves, they manage to surprise us!