Photons have mass? I didn't even know they were Catholic

Starbucks lady:
"And may I take your name for that order m'am?"
"Beyonce"
"Er..And you sir?"
"Usher"
RachyB and StevieB strike again. 

My brother, Stevie B, is basically a dry-humoured Eminem. Because he is white. He has Gangnam Style like never seen before. By this I mean he picks up Korean chicks with no butts. Just kidding!

Who turns up to a UCBerkeley-themed Party wearing a Stanford University hat? 

Stevie B

One day we were walking down the street and we saw a street sign. And I dared Stephen to take it. Now it's in his room.  It was a cool had-to-have-been there moment.

But anyways, the point of this blog is to share with you the remarkable wisdom Stevie B has said to me throughout my life.  It hit me deep in the core of my small intestine his words were that powerful. In moments of sadness, moments of despair, moments of fragility, I turn to Stevie B and his comments lead the way. His insightful teachings have changed the way I live my life. And I hope they change yours whoever is reading this...(I'm a really nice person) (Sharing is caring)

"Everyone who's ever taken a shower has an idea. It's the person who gets out of the shower, dries off and does something about it who makes a difference. 

Moral of the story:  If you showered more, Rachel, you'd have more ideas."

"I have a simple philosophy: Fill what's empty. Empty what's full. Scratch where it itches."

"Those that forget the pasta are doomed to reheat it."

"Never go to bed angry, stay awake and plot your revenge."

"I used to be a lifeguard, but some blue kid got me fired."

"To love is to risk not being loved in return. To hope is to risk pain. To try is to risk failure, but a risk must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing. El oh El just kidding. The greatest Hazard in life is jumping off a cliff. Trust me Rachel, don't try it."

"Some people can sit through life regretting every minute, and hate all the years of their life. Or you can get hit by a bike. Your choice."

"Life is short, art long, opportunity fleeting, experience treacherous, judgment difficult. But it's okay for you Rachel, because you are going to live forever."

"What is this?"->

Stayin' Classy

So. I did it. 

I'm here and have arrived safely in the U S and A, just like Borat did. But hopefully a lot less messy. 

Meeting various Americans throughout my San Diego/LA experiences these past two weeks has been a pretty entertaining experience for me.

Here are snippets of some conversations that Californians said when I met them:

"Oh my GAD. So wait. You're from LONDON? Like that place in Europe? They speak French in London cos it's close to France, right?"

"That's awsome that you're from London, dude. You're so exotic that's so hot. Hey have you met Hermione Granger?"

"Europeans don't shave right?"

"So, like, do you think that, like, I have an accent? Like, to me, do I sound like weird? Like, cos like I think I just speak normal."

"London as in LONDON ENGLAND?? Oh my gad. So like my best friend's uncle's sister in law had a son who moved to london!!!!!!!!!!!!! (!!!!!!!)"

"NO WAY My friend called Paul lives in London! Do you know him?"
      "Well, what's his surname?"
"What does surname mean?"
      "A last name"
"Oh. I don't know I can't remember. I just thought you might know him"

"So do you guys have posters in your house of the queen and stuff?"

"Wait I can be so good at British. Hey don't walk away...listen!!  Wuld you lek a cuupo tey? How was that? Huh? Huh?"

The funniest thing ever was when a group of Chinese people walked up to me and started speaking English in cockney accents:

"maaaate I love brits man how you doin bruv?"
    "Oh wow! Are you guys from England too?"
"Na lav. We just learnt our English from watching skins."

I laughed so hard at them they just walked away from me thinking I was some rude bitch. But seriously. What the hell.

"Dude you look so cute, is that a romp? I totally love rompers. So in"
        "Erm...what's a romper?"
"The thing you're wearing. A one piece? Why, does romp mean something different in London?"
       "Yeah, to romp someone usually means to have hardcore sex."

"So is your house super small cos you live in a city?"
"Yeah, tiny. I live in a terraced house."
"Wait you have terrorists living in your house?!"

Magical Baby Lotion

So recently, I had a major starring role in a YouTube parody of “Call Me Maybe” 

Not really, I’m just the main “cover” of the video.  --->

Yes, it happens to be lesbianic activity, but...

1. We did it to shock teachers as a final leaving HOLLA
2. We’re best friends and, no, sorry fellas, it is not a full out snoggalicious kiss
3. It’s sexy

There’s one gay teacher at our school, with a partner and kid, and he isn’t afraid to wear pink and demonstrate his ‘camp abilities’ around our all-girls school, which I think is great.  However, he feels particularly strongly about both gay men and lesbians.

So when he watched this video, he muttered to the teacher next to him (extremely audibly for many girls around him to hear), 

“I can’t BELIEVE there’s an out-there lesbian couple in the year! I had no idea!” with a huge grin the size of a cloud (?) on his face. 

Yadda yadda shut up Rachel it’s no biggie if a random gay teacher thinks you’re a lesbian right?

                                No. And here is what makes this situation hilariously awkward:

L)    He is the deputy head teacher of our school. He therefore promotes the school in many various ways, and, to him, this “lesbian sixth form couple” would be a solid promoting method for enticing those parents who are liberally hippie and wish for their child to be in an open-minded environment. 

E)   He happens to show visitors around our school all the time, particularly snooty, important deputation men and women. 

S) Emilie and I are always together

B) Cos we’re best friends yeah

I) We really like to exercise together. Like have sex.  As in play tennis together and go to the gym. 

A) So, last week, we were in the gym, getting all sweaty from running. And because a gym is a personal school environment, we felt safe to take off our shirts and carry on exercising in just our bras and short shorts.  

N) And guess who happens to walk in showing around a visitor?  Yes.  HIM.

                      But the worst thing is, 

              we had no idea he was there in the gym with us as we were facing the wall. 

       A girl present in the gym had to tell us after he had left. She said he had been standing there solidly for ten minutes with the visitor whilst gawking at our nakedness and “apparent sexytime”.  Coincidentally my bullet points spell out lesbian. That's really very funny. ha.  ha ha. HA

The next day, we bumped into him in the corridor. Emilie and I had just been having sex playing tennis and she was handing me her racket as we bumped into him, so he blatantly thought we had been holding hands. He smiled broadly at us and gave us a creepy ‘I-know-you’re-gay-and-that’s-cool-cos-I-am-too’ look, and we ran out of his sight faster than you could say dildo. 

Looking back, we probably shouldn’t have run away, as he would assume that our run was a ‘we-are-running-away-because-we-have-done-something-sexual-and-we-know-that-you-know-and-now-we-are-running-because-it’s-awkward’ But ah well. On the bright side, I bought magical baby lotion. 

It has special drugs in it that make babies fall asleep soundly at night. 

It’s a really fun game to put it all over my body in the morning and see how long I can stay awake for. 

The smell of the lotion is particularly enticing. I miss it when I don’t have it on.  I put it on every day.

                                      And if I don’t have it on one night     I      get      urges. 

                Some might say this lotion procedure has turned into a drug addiction but others may say that I am the perfect Johnson’s baby lotion baby.  

Whatever you think it is, you can tell me but I’ll probably be asleep. 

Friends are like potatoes. When you eat them, they die.

Admittedly, I have not blogged my blog for a long while. This is because 

1.   I have been busy writing school assemblies on urban dead animal sightings
2.   Exciting things have been happening in my life. Such as visiting Dumbledore’s office
3.   I lost my retainer
4.   My computer was stolen by Mormons. Caj
5.   (As if)

But do not fret my little fairies!

Exam time is finally here. Best time of the year  (!!)

Exam time => Revision 

Revision => Rachel has a lot of spare time to write blogs, draw inappropriate pictures in her English books, and jump in murky ponds

Something pretty intense happened on Sunday. 

Last Sunday morning:

(In the kitchen:)

(Everyone is wearing pajamas  - just in case you wanted to visually picture the scene)

Deb:   “Michael, why do I hear Christian services playing on the radio every Sunday?!”

Mikey B:  “Debby!  I like to keep up with what’s going on. I hate missing out on things.”

Deb: “Missing out on WHAT? CHURCH GOSSIP?”

If you personally know me, and are currently thinking along the lines of ‘wtf’ or ‘I don’t give a shit about her dad’s religious views so I will stop reading this blog now even though it might change my life if I carry on reading’ , then

YES.

My Dad is a Jewish historian. Yet he wishes he was at Church every Sunday. As soon as my mum leaves the house, he takes out his hidden bacon and salami stash. 

And get this...

get ready....

                                     his kippah doesn’t even fit his head!

He has to use a CLIP to keep it falling off his head when he walks. Not just any old hair grip. One of those metal ones that girl with frizzy hair use that clicks and bends obnoxiously loudly. If you're gonna be a Jewish historian, at least get an appropriate kippah man!


Na. He's great.

Religiously paradoxical I like to call him. 

Luckily, these genetic traits have been passed down (by blood obviously) to me. I love Church hymns. And I’m pretty sure Jesus existed and was overly sexy.

MORMONS

Disneyland is a place that is only transient in childhood years.

But imagine if you could turn this short, mind-blowingly happy experience into your home. 

Well, you can. 

Well,

I can. 

See, I have a plan, far greater than any plan ever. Thing is, this is MY life plan, so if you steal it I will come find you, hunt you down and probably move in with you. 

My plan of greatness and eternal happiness involves mormons. Yes, Mormonism. The cult of people that consider JOSEPH SMITH to be their most recent Jesus. If you don’t know about Joseph Smith, I have copied some reliable historical context from wikipedia. It’s pretty sexual:

“In 1823 Smith said an angel directed him to a buried book written on golden plates containing the religious history of an ancient people.[17] Smith published what he said was a translation of these plates in March 1830 as the Book of Mormon, named after Mormon, the ancient prophet-historian who compiled the book, and on April 6, 1830, Smith founded the Church of Christ.[18] Smith began establishing an outpost in Jackson County, Missouri,[21] where he planned to eventually build the city of Zion (or the New Jerusalem).”

An angel?  Alright then babes.   Sex. 

Mormons do not drink alcohol. Or tea. Or coffee. And tend to only marry within the family. 

So let’s just say the children are pretty fucked up.   (Genetically)

But what I find most intriguing about mormons is their amazing temples. See, their temples are so fantastically wonderful looking that there must be GOLD or golden goose eggs or something of wondrous wealth hidden inside the mystical walls. 

So once I tried to walk inside one. And oh joseph smith would not let me in. I had to be part of the temple. A mormon. 

STEPS ON HOW TO MAKE DISNEYLAND YOUR PERMANENT HOME:

1.   Find a mormon temple somewhere. They tend to look like disneyland.                                                                   --> 
2. Make sure you have two friends of different skin colour to yours on either side of you and that you are very comfortable with them. 
3. Go outside a mormon temple with these friends. 
4. Make loud shouting noises to attract the mormons’ attention. 
5. Have bottles of beer lined up on the floor in front of you, each bottle separated with a cup of coffee. Light some cigarettes as well and scatter them around the floor just for effect.
6. As the mormons gather around you from your shouting and are lured in from the smell of addictive substances, passionately kiss both of your friends as if having a threesome. Every so often take a swig from the alc&coffee in front of you. 
7. Laugh at their reaction. 
8. Watch them run away from you as fast as they can. 
9. Go inside their abandoned temple. 
10. Live there. In disneyland. Make your profile picture of you holding a golden goose egg inside disney land...
11. ...until they return with pitchforks.      

In which case,  run.    

Peacock

Dedicated to Chloe Abrahams.   


With love and devotion. 


You rock.


Chloe's daily inspirational pictures:
www.blipfoto.com/chlo107 <-- check it out mofos

Caj.

Caj = New abbreviation for casually. 

See it’s awkward, casually. I always tend to write ‘cash’, ‘case’ or even sometimes ‘cashu’.  But those are all actual words and, in fact, I would never, ever use any of those three words in my daily speech unless I put the word ‘has no’ in front  of them all. 

So the other day I was walking down the street with my dad, holding hands, as normal fathers with 18 year old daughters do (I know shut up he still calls me his ‘dolly girl princess’ and once told a family friend that I was 11).

We saw a hobo-type maniac across the road screaming at people to buy his BIG ISSUE. I looked over at him and quickly avoided eye contact and carried on walking with my dad. Then my dad goes, 

                                “Rachel, have I ever introduced you to my friend?”

“No. Who dad? He’s not another rabbi is he?”

                                “He’s that guy over there across the road, can you see him?”

Mikey.B points over to the crazy shouting hobo, now jumping in front of passer-bys to grab their attention. 

“Wait, dad, are you pointing to that hobo? The one across the street”

                               “Yeah, who did you think I was pointing to? The one selling that great                                  

                               magazine. I buy it from him all the time. His name is Peter. He’s a great 

                               guy, Rachel.”

So not only does my father befriend hobos, he also reads the BIG issue as his daily read. Caj. 

Yesterday I stole a doorknob from a classroom. Caj. 

So, you think you have problems?

Well. 

          I agree. 

Want to know how to solve all of your problems?

                           Enter online competitions. That’s how. Caj. 

Not only might you be able to win free stuff with a few clicks of a button, but you will also get spam mail and feel fucking popular every time you open up your email. If you have a snazzy phone it's EVEN better; you get vibrations from new emails all the time  (!!!)

Emilie, my best friend, always enters competitions but puts my phone number down instead of hers. I always get calls from foreign men now and crazy texts like “UVE BEEN HIT BY A CAR. TXT BACK YES TO PAY £200 OR DON’T RECEIVE FREE CAR INSURANCE FOR YOUR ACCIDENT”

So one day I got a call from a man telling me that I (Emilie) have won a free makeover/ photoshoot session in a top of the notch london studio.  All the man needed was my credit card details. 

So, being girls, we chirpsed a boy (chonu) to tell us his pin details, saying we needed it for artistic purposes. As he read off his card details to us over the phone, we didn’t have any paper handy at the time so scribbled down his long ID number and pin on a Primark brown paper bag. 

We then, without realising, travelled all around London later that day with our coats in the Primark bag, exposing his personal card details to anyone on the street who happened to cross our path. Funnily enough, we later lost the bag on public transport.

So yeah. The next day I got a phone call from photoshoot man telling me that I (Emilie) could not be eligible for the prize if I had minus £30 in my bank account.

Turns out the boy who gave us his card details just had no money to begin with. Caj. 

Peas.

Rachel:  “HI EVERYBODAY”

Everybody:  “Hi Doctor Nick”

That’s my entrance greeting as I enter rooms. Mind blower that one. 

It’s ironic really. Because I’m not a doctor. And my name isn’t Nick. 

Which is why today I decided to pronounce myself a cowgirl doll belonging to Andy. Now the world will know that I’m a fucking real-life toy. Weeeeeeee

I know.   You wish you had an owner like Andy. 

Nina Rauch is my fellow toy. She makes me appreciate that being nice to people will earn you freebies.  Kind of like mormons. But not really.          Sex. 

On Valentines Gay I was on the bus (alone)   (just kidding)  (but I was actually alone) when a crazy drunkard man thought he would be super cool and stand up as the bus was in fast motion holding his open beer can of beer.  He stumbled, and as the bus shook and shack, he spilled his beer over a beautifully-dressed lady sitting down on the bus with her date.               

           The lady looked down at her silk blue maxi skirt and began to sob. And I mean big, fat, baby tears rolling down her face.

                                                                        It was sort of hilarious.  But not really. 

          Her “date” laughed his head off, whilst a mother standing with a pram handed her a sympathy baby wipe.  

The drunkard, on the other hand, looked as if he had been stabbed in the stomach and made a ranting speech about how washing machines are great at removing stains. 

“When I ga ga ghad a washin machin .. ga ga it gatta ridda stains from ga ada ga”

The poor silk blue lady told the drunk man to piss off and take a seat before he spilt beer over someone else. Then that bitch POINTED HER FINGER AT THE SEAT NEXT TO ME and told him to sit next to 'that sweet-looking girl'.  

Sweet-looking girl my ass. What a total mutherfucker. 

So I got off the bus. And bought myself a pack of sour skittles with two twenty peas I found on the floor. 

Ha. Peas. 

Ixtili the Axolotl

‘What is an axolotl?’ one might ask.   

I shall then point out an A3 picture of an axolotl pinned above my bed and one shall stare.  For at least a few minutes. And then say, 

‘Is that like...computerised? That’s not real Rachel. Are you an idiot?’

Oh yes. Like I’d really make up a flipping animal and send it to the metro to publish. 

Adding that to my to do list though. 

Yes. You better believe it.  It’s real alright.  Yes it looks like a neopet.  Yes it looks like it is see-through and glowing. Yes it looks like a fucking alien.   

And those are the precise reasons why I have it on my wall.

Only available in Mexico they say. By they I mean scientists. By scientists I mean Wikipedia. 

Have no fear axolotls, Rachel WILL find you. Hunt you down. Touch you. Feed you. Gwahajkhjdsnkj

Luckily I didn’t have to travel far. And I didn’t have to do it myself. In fact, I didn’t have to do anything at all. 

My flexible friend Danielle decided to buy one herself. Assuming this would be an incredulous task (assumption made by biology teachers themselves), Danielle proved to the world that anything is possible when you just believe. And by believe I mean type in ‘buy axolotl london’  on google.     Don't get too excited now, I will never use colours again. 

Fifteen pounds poorer, axolotl in bag, with tank then installed into maison, Danielle Tang was the first and proudest axolotl owner in the whole of the peopleintheworldIknowandtalkto.

Deciding on a name was the fun part. Axolotls, living in Mexico and all, were assumably Aztec pets.    -I just made that up-    Henceforth,  we looked up Aztec names for a good few hours. One great one we found translated into English as ‘Fire Navel’ but Danielle decided on one that meant ‘Face’, as Danielle simply loves faces of various colours, sizes, shapes and forms. And with that,  Danielle christened her axolotl by the name Ixtili.

Surviving off blood worms and other slimy shit, the axolotl grew and swam spastically around Danielle’s tank for happy months. When I visited Ixtili, I wanted to dive into the filthy green, murky tank and swim along with it. Ixtili’s movements fascinated me greatly, just like fascinating moving objects. 

Sadly, just last week this axolotl passed away. Let’s hope it wasn’t the flash photography that caused it’s death. Fame takes away lives eh?

Danielle buried her little treasure in the garden and I cried. The axolotl was the only animal I have ever cared for in my whole life.

--------  Two minute silence please.  --------

Apparently they are supposed to have a life span of fifteen years says the internet. PAH!  

Ixtili lived the happiest life. We miss her from this world already.  Ixtili, if you’re reading this,  we love you. And appreciated you so much. 

Thank you for putting such excitement and happiness into my life.

R.I.P

נוח על משכבך בשלום

                                                                                             reposer en paix

                                                     Er ruhe in freiden

             Allah Yarhamak