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

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. 

FIRST EVER BLOG.

So hi. I'm Rachel. I want to go to University in America. 
Yeah.


I know. 


It's crazy expensive. Yeah.


Today my father told me that I needed to write a letter to every Admissions director guy at every university I have applied to, explaining "what makes us Berkowitzs so poor".


How could anyone ever take this task seriously?
I mean, writing a letter explaining how you think your family are so poor compared to other people is not a common topic of writing. 


However, I came up with a really convincing letter.

Dear Financial Aid guy, 

THE BERKOWITZ FAMILY ARE POOR. 


Here are the reasons why Rachel Berkowitz should receive a generous amount of financial aid:

1. The lock on the bathroom door in the Berkowitz household has been broken for almost two years and no guests are able to use the bathroom if they want privacy. They simply can’t afford to buy a new lock.  
2. In order for Rachel Berkowitz to go out the house, she is normally forced to take a bus. A single tube journey is unaffordable for Rachel. 
3. Rachel’s brother, Stevie B, has started to wear his mother’s jeans due to his sudden male-teenage-growth. Shopping for new clothes is out of the question.
4. The Berkowitzs have one of those old TVs that look like a hand painted black cardboard box. And it’s not even theirs. They got given it by their relatives as a sympathy gift. 
5. Mike Berkowitz was contemplating setting up a “Feed the Berkowitz” charity fund, but then he realised he’d have to purchase charity logos in order for his case to be verified. To do that, he must take the tube. Again, out of the question. 
6. Rachel does not own straighteners. Rachel has no laptop. Rachel is still on pay-as-you-go. Rachel relies on food provided from her synagogue as her weekend lunch. Rachel has not shopped for new clothes in over seven months. Rachel can not afford to read weekly, or even monthly trashy magazines. Rachel will never have a driving lesson. Rachel will never own a car. ((The normalities of a feminine teenage life are wholly absent.))
7. The Berkowitz family have never gone skiing.
8. The Berkowitz family do not own a car. Shocking right?
9. Deborah Berkowitz eats salad as her staple diet due to the expenses of British meat and carbohydrates.
10. The Berkowitz family will go/do/say/eat ANYTHING for freebies. “Do you support Chelsea?”       *We support Tottenham, you idiot, we are Jews*                                                  “YES! Favourite team ever!! Free tickets to their game and VIP lounge with all you can eat buffet? Don’t mind if we do!” 
11. Mike Berkowitz has not bought a new briefcase in thirty years. Stuff falls out. All the time.
12. Mike Berkowitz travels two hours every Sunday to buy bagels from the East End as they are 27p cheaper than those from Waitrose.
13. The only things the Berkowitz family can afford in Marks and Spencer are the swiss milk chocolate bars. Those are always good days. 
14. Rachel Berkowitz can never print out her essays at her own house. The cost of paper in bulk has simply become too expensive. 

Lusms! 

Rachel x

well, my dad laughed.