First and Last "Gangsta" Lesson

Here's an old video that always cracks me up. My siblings and I were trying to get our parents to "throw up the West" which is basically a sign everyone in Southwest Houston puts up to "represent" their "hood" (I've since lost what little street cred I was given being born in that part of town, hence the quotation marks on "represent" & "hood")

Basically it's just making a W with your fingers. Like…..super easy, right?

No. Impossible, actually:

Although my brother took this photo a few months ago and I gotta say, it kind of makes up for the video fail. You can clearly see my dad is actually putting up the peace sign -- but my brother hilariously cropped the photo to make him look like a thug with my mother as the ever-so-adorable video groupie. 

Please no one ever tell them this photo exists. 

Whose most embarrassing moment was it?

When I was in the 7th grade, I pissed my pants.

Yes you read that correctly. No this post isn't about the details of that horrific incident, but since I'm sure you want to know how a 13 year old couldn't control herself and wet her pants like a toddler, I will make this long-story-short and do it in one breath.

<Takes big inhale> I was in drama rehearsal we were doing You're A Good Man, Charlie Brown I played Sally and I had to pee really badly but my scene hadn't started yet and so I had to wait and then during our break rushed to the nearest restroom which was locked and I couldn't find a janitor so I ran to the gym and bolted to the girls' locker room and as soon as I closed the stall door my body couldn't hold on so I peed my pants, my socks, my shoes, pretty much everything shirt down and I tried to wash my clothes in the sink like an idiot until the girls basketball team walked in after practice and saw me standing there ass out washing yellow socks and holding pants under the dryer to which they ridiculed me and I went to my gym locker to grab my p.e. shorts I left my soaking clothes in the locker room and walked, barefoot and commando, to a nearby teacher's classroom and asked to both use her phone and for a trash bag then called my mother to come pick me up because I couldn't go back to rehearsal.

<Exhales>

Okay so yes, terribly embarrassing, right? It was a entirely different walk of shame. I was sticky and smelled and had to carry a bag of wet dripping clothes, while I waited outside for my mother at the curb, still barefoot mind you. I didn't even bother to let my drama teacher know what happened. 20 minutes later my mother drives up, and as she pulls around, I see my dad's truck behind her. Umm I definitely didn't call him, so what was he also doing there….in a separate car?

He pulls around IN FRONT of my mother, rolls down his passenger window:

"I am so embarrassed by you. How could you do that? Why would you do that? You should be ashamed of yourself Sara!!!"

Then he drove off.

And I got in my mom's car.

Here's another wrench to throw into the mix, my dad owned his own electronic repair shop during that time. So, he had to have closed his shop down temporarily in order to drive to my school.

MY DAD CLOSED DOWN HIS SHOP TO DRIVE TO MY SCHOOL TO TELL ME HE WAS EMBARRASSED BY ME. 

Why couldn't he wait until he got home from work?! Was it THAT necessary to tell me to my face right then and there? Also, in regards to the question, "why would you do that?" -- NEWSFLASH dad, I didn't piss my pants on purpose. I didn't do it to tarnish the family name.

I ended up getting a lecture when he did come home from work and then he made me tell my teacher and cast mates that I had thrown up and went home. Which of course no one believed because of the whole girls-basketball-team-in-the-locker-room reveal. (Middle school was rough, y'all.)

So thanks dad for always telling me how you really feel. In real time.

School Lunches

My mom packed my lunch about 75% of the time in Elementary school. And it was always some combination of Lunchables, a sandwich she'd cut into the shape of a star with a cookie cutter, Oreos, and a Caprisun. And it was awesome because it was very American and I enjoyed fitting in.

My dad packed my lunch the other 25% of the time. I laugh now because Persian food is my favorite food, but man at 7 years old, the last thing you want to do during lunch is open your lunchbox to some kabobs and rice.

Kids didn't get it! They asked questions. They asked why I was, "eating dinner for lunch?" and "why does it smell like that?"

Oh you mean like garlic and onions and dill and sumac and saffron?!?!

Yeah, maybe not a good idea to air that out after it's been sitting in my lunchbox in my backpack in my cubby for 5 hours.

Once he packed me torshi, which is the Persian equivalent to kimchee, which is basically pickled vegetables and smell like…well, pickled vegetables.

Or the time he just gave me a bowl of yogurt to dip with pita bread. WHAT?!?!

Again, TOTALLY fine to eat at home. Not okay to eat in the classroom when the kid next to you is eating two bags of Flaming Hot Cheetos for lunch.

I remember asking my mom to please pack my lunch always I don't like dad's lunches kids make fun of me. Fast-forward to a few years ago when I told Alex this story and he called me, "garlic chicken girl," and I burst into tears. So, you see, it had some sort of weird residual effect (or my hormones make me insane, Alex will probably argue the latter).

In my defense, when you look like this growing up you try really hard to not stand out anymore than your already do. 

It's so stupid now, who cares what I ate for lunch? It's my food, I wasn't forcing it down anyone else's throats. Also lunch in Elementary school is allotted what -- a seemingly 9 minutes? Everyone can CHILL THE FUHHH OUT WHILE I SECRETLY ENJOY MY EGGPLANT STEW AND LIMA BEANS then go outside for recess and run away from me because beans make me gassy.

Thank you dad for packing me lunches that made me embarrassed to stand out and desperate to fit in because I needed to learn to get over that crap. I'm proud of my culture and I bet I now have way better health than Cheeto boy. I'd eat your food ANY DAY. It's delicious! And nutritious! And..suspicious? (that last rhyme didn't work) and I would 100% trade a Berry Cooler Caprisun and a DIY Lunchables pizza for some kabobs and rice. The Oreos can stay.

Cats and Tigers and Grandma, oh my!

My mother is afraid of all animals. Maybe with the exception of flamingoes who she likes because they're pink, she is afraid of animals.

I remember (fondly) an instance when my dad had set a mousetrap in the attic, caught one, and brought it down. Upon showing my mother, she shrieked and ran away. Dad, thinking this was hilarious, chased her around the house with a dead mouse in his hand until 10 year old Sara had to intervene because mother had crawled under my baby sister's crib, crying and begging for mercy.

I never understood why my mother was such an animalphobe until I hung out with my grandma 12 years later. My cousin was talking about getting a cat for his apartment. He showed me the photo of the  kitten, and it was just the cutest. Soft gray with blue eyes! Looked a little something like this guy:

I mean!!!!!!! 

Then he showed my grandma the photo.

To which she SHRIEKED and responded with, "Ay Dios, un tigre! No que miedo!!" 

Which translates to………"OH GOD A TIGER! HOW SCARY NO!!"

I'm just going to leave this photo right here:

                                                                            tiger.                                                              

and now this one:

                                                                      kitten.

and again this one:

tiger.

and one more time this one:

TIGER??????????

Terrifying.

Biscuits

My dad is a stickler for good customer service. And understandably so, you pay for a service you expect to be taken care of, right? But one night my dad outdid himself in demanding-better-customer-service-than-he-received.

He left to pick up Popeye's for dinner and upon his return, realized they had forgotten to put in his biscuits.

My dad was livid. You don't mess with his biscuits. He weirdly loves biscuits. Also he loves being right and doing the right thing always and hates being "wronged." If I were to bring this event up to him today, he would say, "It is the principle Sara Jan,* I ordered a combo and it came with biscuits, I am a paying customer I deserve respect!!"

(*Jan is Farsi means "dear," no my middle name is not Jan)

He toyed with driving back to get them and at my mother's insistence that the food would be cold by the time he got back and it wasn't worth it, my dad sat down at the table.

For maybe 5 seconds.

Before he got up, fished for his receipt, and decided he would CALL POPEYE'S CHICKEN.

They didn't answer.......probably because they were busy, so my dad hung up and ate his meal and we had a lovely night.

NOPE WRONG HE LEFT A VOICEMAIL.

"Hello, my name is Ali I am customer order #25825, you forgot my biscuits!”

Now, my dad's punishment of choice (and as his daughter, I know this) is lecturing. Good ol' fashioned 30-60 minute lectures.

Yes, he proceeded to lecture Popeye's chicken on customer service, or lack there of, as well as forgetfulness, ethics, and that him and his wife "really like their biscuits but will go to KFC if you do not learn your lesson."

I can just imagine some 18 year old kid manager playing that message the next morning and cracking up at what probably sounded like a drunk call. Or he probably never heard the message because they probably never actually get voicemails because they're POPEYE'S CHICKEN.

But let's all pretend my dad taught them a BIG lesson that day.

Needing autocorrect for real life

When I go back home to Houston, my mother will call my grandmother who lives in Colombia so that I can catch up with her. I went home during holiday break back in college and she called my grandmother so we could say Feliz Navidad y Feliz Ano Nuevo (Merry Christmas/Happy New Year).

My abuelita doesn't speak English - except for the occasional "Hi baby" - and I of course do speak Spanish but over the years due to my mother speaking 90% English to me, I can forget words here and there. But the majority of the time we tend to manage just fine.

I called her and we caught up about my semester in school. Then she proceeded to guilt me for not calling her on her birthday:

Tu no me llamaste para mi cumpleanos, Sarita.
     You didn't call me for my birthday, little Sara. 

Abuelita, perdon! Olivde. Estaba ocupada con mis estudios.
    Granma, I'm sorry! I forgot. I was really busy with my studies.

Esta bien.
   It's fine.

Lo siento, abuelita. Estoy muy embarazada.
   I'm sorry, grandma. I'm very......embarrassed?

She paused. Total shift in her voice.

Oh, si????
   Really??

Si abuelita........
    Yes, grandma.....

She then asked me to pass the phone to my mother, which I did.

CUT TO: 5 minutes later when my mother is screaming at me with tears in her eyes.

"YOU'RE PREGNANT?!?!?!?"

PUMP.THE.BREAKS. Screeeeeeeeeeeech.

             "Wait, what?!!?!? NO! What are you talking about?!"

You told your grandmother you are very pregnant!

              "I did not! I said I forgot to call her because I was busy with school and I felt very embarrassed and sorry!"

Come to find out, "embarazada" WHICH SOUNDS A HELLUVA LOT LIKE IT WOULD BE THE ENGLISH WORD FOR EMBARRASSED - actually means pregnant.  So basically I told my grandmother I forgot to call her for birthday because I was with child.

After calming my mother down and assuring her that her 19 year old daughter was indeed, not pregnant, I had to redial my grandmother to explain to her that my Spanish wasn't that great anymore and I was very very sorry and very apurada,  aka the real way to say embarrassed.

Talk about being lost in translation.

Dadpak Chopra

I always look forward to opening my dad's emails. He rarely does email me, but when he does he takes every possible moment to remind me just how wonderful it is to have him. He can never just send an email, it's always some lovely words of wisdom out of an inspirational-quotes-coffee-table-book you'd find at Paper Source.

Often I realize the moments I get his messages are the exact moments I needed to hear his words. He's a constant flow of positivity, perspective, and gratitude - my very own little "Dadpak Chopra."

Here are some of my favorites -  

The day after I filmed my first short film:

Thanking me for a birthday card:

When I was down about a job I didn't book: 

And my favorite, when I just emailed to tell him I got to Canada safely:

I need to be sending people replies like this! Talk about brightening someone's day (or possibly having people think you've been doing too much Yoga in Silverlake) but who cares?! Love + Light to all! 

Dad buys Designer

My dad hates shopping. He also hates when my mother shops for him. Unless she is buying him figs, he makes her return everything she buys him. That includes all clothes. Even if he desperately needs it. Always the minimalist, he believes he can get by on one of everything. He can't that's weird but he insists so we don't push it.

But one day he came home with a huge grin on his face and told us he bought a shirt for himself! After the initial shock, we all wanted to see the shirt. Proudly, he brought it out of the bag and began to boast. "I couldn't believe it, I found a Giorgio Armani shirt for only 9.99! What a great deal."

Always the observant one, I noticed he had pulled the shirt out of a WalMart bag.

Umm dad, where did you get the shirt?
WalMart.
Dad, I don't think they sell Armani at WalMart?
They do! I bought it.
..........................

I check the tag, just to make sure. 

Yeah, NO.

This brand is just called GEORGE. Not Giorgio. Not Armani. JUST GEORGE.

It wasn't like WalMart claimed it was an Armani shirt and my dad got conned into a knock-off a la Chinatown (or Harwin if you're a Houstonian) my dad just up and thought George equated Armani! And since he NEVER shops, it's not beyond him to know that Walmart would never ever carry that.

No one had the guts to tell him and when he put the shirt on the next day, we even threw him a "Looking sharp, dad!' "Whooooaaaa check out George-io over here!"

Bless his heart.

Patty vs The Possum

So, my mother sent me a text a few months ago of this photo:

To which we had the following conversation:

My mother, who as far as I'm concerned is a very sane woman, IS CLAIMING A POSSUM THREW A CAN OF BEANS AT HER. Specifically, a can of GARBANZO BEANS.

I'm so fucking confused. I mean, my mother isn't a liar, she's like my own little Mother Theresa. She wouldn't lie for the sake of comedy. Which is this why this is all the more hilarious.

I DON'T GET IT.

Me, always trying to rationalize everything, tried to make sense of her strange allegations. Was a possum maybe out by the garbage cans when she took the trash out one night? Maybe she scared him and as he was running away he like kicked an empty can of beans somewhat in her direction?!

OR did an angry possum, with a vendetta for little Colombian women, strategically wait until my mother was alone at night where she was an easy target, and attack her - using his weapon of choice, a can of (again, specifically) garbanzo beans?!?!!?

I'll never know what really went down that November night. But for the sake of it making me laugh every time I remember it, I want so badly for my mother to be right.

Mama + Baba

My parents are awesome. They are the two most hilarious (90% unintentional) people I've ever met in my life. I attribute my desire to go into television comedy to them, not just because we watched a ton of American sitcoms growing up (which we totally did) but because when you take two people who are so different on paper and put them together for almost 30 years, comedy just ensues.

My dad was born Muslim, my mother was born Catholic. His form of fun is watching BBC news and eating cucumbers -saltshaker in hand, hers is dancing to Marc Anthony and collecting African-American angel figurines. When I booked my first TV job, she cried and lit her Virgin Mary candle, he responded with, "well at least you finally got something!"

They met at a swimming pool in Houston, TX, where they still live today. (Houston, not a swimming pool) She had just moved from Colombia and didn't know how to speak English. Coincidentally my dad had lived in Spain for 6 months, spoke Spanish fluently, and they were able to communicate. They dated for 2+ years before his proposal and have been married ever since.

I look to my parents for many things - love, patience, compassion, support, patience, compromise and more patience. How two people from such different backgrounds could complement each other so well, and do it with humor along the way is beyond wonderful to witness.

At the encouragement of friends who have met my folks and heard the stories, I have decided to blog about the #shitmyparentssay because...............sometimes I just.cannot.deal. Also I'll probably end up writing a sitcom about these two in the future so I might as well get my thoughts together now. Get ready!

Here they are, on their 28th wedding anniversary, upon being asked by me what the secret to a long-lasting marriage is: