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

BARN DANCE

“Rachel, you and James should go to a barn dance together. Tell James I have a bandana he can borrow!”  - Deb.

It’s nice that my mother tries to contribute to my love life. But socially I think she is inept. The highlight of her months are her book club nights. And yes those only happen once a month.

See, here’s the thing with American parents; some are the “cool” kind and some are just ridiculous. 

I know many who are fortunate enough to be graced with the cool types. The cheerleader marrying the football captain with cheerleader graduating with a degree in fashion and the football captain going on into business. 

Sometimes I wish my parents had more friends. 

“Rachel, I really wish you played lacrosse instead of singing in choir. I played lacrosse and it got me so many girlfriends!”   - Mike

“Rachel I was so cool in high school and college. You just don’t believe it. I was on the mathletes, I was treasurer of my senoir high school class AND I participated in intramural gymnastics.”   - Deb. 

In British terms,

Treasurer= The poor kid who has to count up money for charity events and shit. 

Intramural= A team that is too crap to be coached by an actual sports teacher.

Barn dances would be a laugh, let’s not lie. But then so would trips to the Natural History Museum and watching animal mating documentaries on the nature channel. But those are things no one admits they’d wish to do. 

-One time in biology our teacher showed us a video about Lonesome George the turtle in the Galapagos . He was the last of his kind and the biologyistical people were trying to find ways of continuing the giant turtle species.  Just as the video was about to show a hired porn star toss off George to collect his male sperm to make more lonesomegeorge babes, the teacher bloody turned it off.   Pa-

Snow Snow Sno.w has finally hit us. As I tredge through the snow (yes I just made up at word I’m fucking Milton init), I realise how snow can be a brilliant ass toner. I took an hour walk today to my best friend’s sauna and by the time I’d reached the top of the hill I could literally feel my muscles burning.  Felt the burn baby. 

Go walk in the snow. But don’t wear normal shoes because that would be stupid.  Wear the cool kind that your parents make you wear. The kind that hikers in Australia wear when they don’t want to be bitten by jungle snakes.

            I hate snow. 

Today in choir I was asked to do a solo. OMGWOWSOLOREALLYNOWAY No. I was asked to read out a line of Hebrew in a song that didn’t even have a bloody melody to it just because I happened to be the only jew in the room. 

And so 

I whispered it seductively as a joke and was told by the choirmaster to sound more dramatic. Next week it’s interpretive Israeli dance move time,    you dickhead. 

(lol jokes lusms I'm singing in jazz band thurs come watch n show sum luv n tingz)

v.LOG  coming soon...

DREAMS

My Auntie called me on the phone today and told me to post pictures of my parents after my "financial letter" so that people realise I am telling the truth. A photo of my skinny mother with my dad who regularly gets mistaken for a hobo. What a joker eh 

AnyVES I have some pretty crazy ass dreams. Especially if I go to bed drunk. I even have the ability to dream when I am awake. I can have Ice-Dreams *copyright alex briggs where I dream about ice cream whilst wide awake. It's totally MAD. 

But I’m talking about the kind of dreams that people have when they grow up. Dreams for future life. Aspirations. Wishes. Shit like that.

I’ve always wanted to be a ballerina. Ballerina’s are beautiful.  But then I was told that ballerina’s have to be tall and skinny. Well, I have an ass and I’m 5ft 3 and even that’s pushing it. Then I watched the film Black Swan and had a dream about dancing in the nutcracker and literally getting crushed in a nutcracker during my performance.  Rough

Being a spy is my ultimate ambition. But I’ve never understood how spies become spies if all spies are top secret. To get to be a spy you must be in with a spy in the first place. It's like the chicken and the egg story. One must have gotten there in the first place but NO ONE friggin knows the answer!

Bakery has always appealed to me. Yet, every time I bake a cake, I manage to set something on fire. Burning the metal pot. My own hair. Even the cake has been set on fire once. The possibilities of what destruction I could potentially cause to my household items and myself are endless.    Just today, I merely OPENED the fridge and a glass pot of pesto fell out onto my toe. Purple toe = saved messy glass clear up. So I guess it was fate.

Police women, astronauts and professional footballers were also considered future dream careers, but then I was advised by my father not to commit myself to a job that involved tremendous amounts of training, effort and bodily exhaustion.  "It's like the army Rachel. You'd get shot for messing about."

Thinking about what I want to be is overly stressful and now my brain hurts just from the thought. Today we learnt about brains in biology. I asked me teacher if we could dissect  a brain and she answers with "Are you actually joking?". Every time I ask inquisitive questions teachers always seem to get mad. Asking to sleep over at the science museum for a class trip didn't go down too well either. Safety hazard shit


So instead of deciding on my future career, I shall write about a favourite nut of mine. 

Ode to Pistachios:

They aren’t given enough credit in this world. 

  

Even to those little pistachios at the bottom of the pot that are impossible to open, I love you all.  Every one of you. Opening each shell is like opening a new Chanukah present. 

Amen

SHOUT TO RUKI

To my dearest friend Ruki, 

You are my inspiration in life. Keep flying cos you'll soar high. And you'll always reach the top.

WATCH THIS SPACE FOR YOUTUBE VLOG OF R&R COMIN SOON TO A COMPUTER NEAR YOU.