LOL! This Is Gold.

My feelings (by that I mean pure jealousy) towards hot-shot bloggers who “travel”. Yeah yeah, they worked hard for it, too. Whatever.

WHY I QUIT MY JOB TO TRAVEL THE WORLD

By Joe Veix, JUNE 6, 2016

On paper, my life seemed great. I had a dream job, a swanky apartment, and a loving girlfriend. But something was off. I couldn’t bear being chained to my desk in a stuffy office any longer. So I decided to quit and travel the world, bringing only my passport, a small backpack, and my enormous trust fund.

My co-workers were shocked. How could I so casually throw away everything I fought so hard to achieve? But I don’t expect everyone to “get” me. I’m a free spirit, whose father owns a South American rubber empire.

I set to work packing my bag and throwing out most of my possessions. Whatever didn’t bring me joy went straight in the trash. You don’t need to own a lot of “stuff” to be happy, especially when you can buy whatever you later realize that you need with your massive inheritance.

Then I reserved a business-class seat, sent a quick text message to my girlfriend telling her that I was leaving the country forever, and was off.

My first few months roaming the world were life-changing. Every day, I updated my Instagram with photos of my favorite sights: cones filled with scoops of glistening gelato; my hand lightly resting on a café table, near an early edition of “On the Road”; selfies of me hugging depressed tigers too stoned on sedatives to drown themselves. Still, I needed to see more. My wanderlust had turned me into a wanderslut.

As a citizen of the world, I rarely get lonely. Everywhere I go, I meet such diverse groups of people. In hostels, I’ve shared beers with friendly British and Australian twenty-somethings. In hotels, I’ve sipped wine with friendly British and Australian forty-somethings. We all became lifelong friends, despite the language barriers.

Once, outside the train station of a small fishing village, I met a humble man named Greebo who sold flowers and various cheap trinkets for a living. Unburdened by the trappings of modern life, his hospitality was unlike anything I’ve ever encountered in the States. Greebo was happy to open up to me about his life, as long as I kept buying roses. Intrigued by our easy chatter, some of his friends wandered over to join the conversation. All of our superficial differences soon melted away. Inside, we are just human beings, after all, exchanging a powerful global currency.

As I left town, I cast one final glance back at Greebo. One of his friends playfully tossed him to the ground and thumbed his eyes as the others snatched all the money I had given him. I couldn’t help but smile. It felt good to make a difference in the lives of these simple people.

Of course, this “no reservations” life style isn’t for everyone. In many ways, it’s harder than the old corporate grind. Many stores don’t accept my Centurion card. Sometimes it’s difficult to get even one bar of cell service, which makes Instagramming more gelato a real struggle.

But don’t worry about me! Whenever I start to get homesick, I remember the old rat race and shudder. All those bleary-eyed suckers packed into the subway, going to their lousy jobs, wasting their whole lives to afford useless things like “rent” and “health insurance” and “student-loan payments.”

That life style isn’t for me. Maybe I’m just a crazy dreamer who also gets a monthly no-strings-attached sixty thousand dollars deposited into my checking account, but I won’t be tied down so easily.

Italian Pasta in Japan

Basically, the Japanese LOVE noodles. Like, more than NZers love alcohol or bacon or Iranians love kebabs or rice. Though probably even more. Cause they have noodle festivals! Entire festivals dedicated to noodles! Noodles of several kinds but mostly there are 4; ramen (the thin and yellow fast-food Chinese noodle), soba (the healthy brown one made of buckwheat flour), udon (round and thick like moi) and somen (supermodel thin like moi in the future). Which are eaten hot, cold, on their own with dipping sauce, in a soup, in a stir fry and even as a patty in a burger bun! So you’d think after a life-time of living and breathing mamas home cooked Japanese noodles, they’d venture out when it came to dining at Bona Petito… No. What do they order? What SOLE pasta CAN they order? You got it, SPAGHETTI.

It’s funny, even their supermarkets, only sell spaghetti in their Italian/pasta isle. To be fair, on the odd chance, I might see shells or bow-ties, though I’m sure it’s not the Japanese buying those. As for all of the other good pastas; fettuccine, ravioli, tortellini, gnocchi etc they are only usually found in international import stores. Oh and when it comes to lasagne sheets, only the tiny square sized ones are sold because Japanese don’t have full-sized ovens in their homes.

So you go to an Italian restaurant and the only sort of pasta you can order is spaghetti.Which is fine… only a firstworldproblem and all but like, they’ll have packets of tagliatelle displayed around the restaurant for fun or as decoration to tempt you but they don’t actually serve that, no. Or any other pasta for that matter. Just spag. Just more fu&king noodles. #myjapanlife

Meet the Patels: A Movie Review

I’m gonna be honest with you. I’m at that stage in my life where every-time, literally every time I have a phone conversation with my mother, she ends it with inshallah (God willing) you’ll soon find a good husband. But that’s Iranian culture. A culture where marriage is just that big and that important. Where parents won’t really sleep until their children marry and procreate.

Meet the Patels is a rom-com documentary on exactly this. The film co-directed by siblings Ravi Patel and Geeta Patel explores the raw and honest expectations of Ravi’s parents (and extended family) surrounding his quest for love and marriage.

And, it is possibly the greatest film EVER.

And not because I can relate to the story. Even though I can (big time) but because some of the absurdities that come out of Patels parents are identical to the shizz my parents would, and do, say. However; amongst the ridiculousness are also a rich array of lessons on love and family to be learnt and cherished.

Ridiculousness include conversations like this where Ravi’s poppa describes the first time he met his wife through the Indian arranged marriage system:

“I go upstairs she’s sitting in a chair, stool or something
probably a little intimidated because this guy is from America…(his wife interrupts: “right away, I’m like, he’s short and he’s a little chubby.”) I was the one who asked the questions and she never asked me any questions which was a big set-up because she never opened her mouth there but she never shut up after the marriage.”

To adorable truths from the same man like the following:

“Bottom line is Ravi, i still believe when you are ready.. you will find a girl. just like a guru… when you are ready for a guru, you’ll never look for a guru, guru will come to you.” 

And…

“The girl you get married, you will never know her enough. Never know enough. Even after 35 year of marriage (his wife interrupting: he still doesn’t know me) it’s still a discovery. So you think I want to know her enough. That’s impossible, that is why you get married and that’s the fun of getting married because you keep discovering…you know, after 35 years we tell each other, “Oh, you don’t understand me!” Now after 35 years, I don’t understand her and you gonna know somebody in two year?!” 

All in all, a sweet and hilarious little movie with Ravi’s parents being the true stars of the film; old-fashioned yet charming and good-humoured – just like my own parents.

6/5 (a first on Iaccidentlyatethewholething)

Watch this if you’re hopelessly single

Which I am. Actually, (I have a confession to make – since honesty is essential to this movie and all), I watched Man Up (2015) whilst eating chocolate mousse straight out of a blender last night. Yes, that dear friends is what goes on behind the scene of a food blog. To my defense, it was just cacao powder and banana but still, it was pretty freakin’ wild for a school night.

I’m not good at movie reviews and yes, you there, in the fleece zip-up, I heard your sarcastic comment: “I thought this was a food blog” and it is, but frankly, it’s nice to take a short break once in a while. Man Up stars the dude (the internet tells me his name is Simon Pegg) from Hector and the Search for Happiness which I absolutely loved. You know, the one where he announces he’s going to China and someone happens to drop a metal tray which makes a gong sound at the same time. The one where his girlfriend is that disturbed chick from Gone Girl!

Anyways, I liked Man Up because it’s not like your conventional rom-com. For one, the lead lovers aren’t Hollywood attractive or young. Instead, they’re flawed, quirky, intelligent, awkward and fun. Don’t you think there’s something so appealing about border-line real people falling in love? Which brings me to the greatness of the screen-play/dialogue:

Jessica: It’s an international bestseller.
Nancy: So is The Da Vinci Code.
Jessica: Oh, another excellent book.
Nancy: Not…not an excellent book.

Nancy: I’ve got a confession to make. I’m not really your blind date, Jack.
Jack: What?! Are you even twenty-four?
Nancy: Ah. Add another ten.

Nancy: I met a man today. For the first time in ages, I put myself out there. And I took a chance. Blah, blah, blah, the end.

Tehehe funny right?

I liked it. It made me LOL and it made me feel better for being single.

4/5 

These HEALTHY four ingredient pancakes will change your life!

I have a confession to make. Sometimes (okay, most-times) I day dream about waking up to the smell of pancakes being especially made for ME by a lover. And, if he resembles Channing Tatum’s character from The Vow, well then, that’s a bonus but really who am I kidding, I just want the pancakes. And luuurrrrve. But, this ain’t that type of food blog. Here at Iaccidentlyatethewholething we (and by “we” I mean me, just me, one, uno, ichi,) don’t like to mix the personal with the recipe. So here it is, the recipe that will change your sad, lonely, wherethefuckishe single life. For this is a NEW age (apparently) where I don’t need no man and definitely not one to cook for me (and rub my feet, and listen to my worries, and hold my groceries) cos I’m an independent woman who can do all that for herself (or so my mother tells me).

Shit. Did I just mix the personal with the recipe? My bad. SO THE RECIPE is sugar-free, gluten-free, dairy-free and vegan. In other words, it’s broccoli.

1 large banana
1/2 cup of quick oats (use GF if GF)
1/2 cup of milk of your choice (I used naturally sweetened organic almond milk)
1/4 tsp baking soda

Blend all ingredients together until smooth

Grill in a skillet greased with a little coconut oil for a minute or two until golden on both sides.

I served mine with yogurt, blueberries, raw walnuts and honey.

Please stop attaching “ass” to the end of my name

This is a short post on bums.

In Japanese Kun (君) is an informal honoric title. It is mostly used for males, such as boys or juniors at work.  However; in business settings, junior women may also be addressed as “kun” by their superiors. Making yours truly, sometimes, “Anisa-kun”.

In my mother tongue; Farsi or Persian, Koon کون pronounced in exactly the same way, means BUTTOCKS, yes, as in ASS.

Good morning “Anisa-ass.”

Please come here “Anisa-ass.”

etc etc

lit bums

How can one stress
about boys
weight
money
and deadlines
when there are
billions of fireflies
sporting lit bums?