Weekly Life Plan

I don't know how I'm going to die, but I'm pretty sure my eventual death could have been easily avoided by the use of common sense. To that end, I've always thought I might end up the tragic victim of a suspect cult. My natural weak-minded, unquestioning nature coupled with a crippling inability to make decisions makes me a shoe-in!

....But last night I watched a documentary that changed my mind about cult life forever:

Jarvis didn't dream small; he dared to DREAM BIG. I may not be freakishly lanky but I've got big hair and I can DREAM BIG too!

I'm not going to just join a cult; I'm gonna be a cult leader!

And my cult's gonna be the biggest, bestest cult ever! Know why? KNOW WHY? 'Cause I'm not gonna pretend like it's not a cult. Too many cults make the classic, "rookie cult" mistake of hastily rejecting the "cult label." This gives miserable outsiders the chance to cry outrage over "human rights" and less-dedicated members the chance to feel confused, betrayed or bankrupt. Here come the lawsuits! And there goes your undeserved millions. It's a cultleaders second-greatest fear.

At Do What Rachel Says Farm we won't sugar-coat things. There's a no bullshit policy*. And drugs, lots and lots of drugs.

Yes, the happiness we offer illusory. We're upfront about that. But you won't care unless you resist! And why resist, really. I mean seriously, why? To preserve your individuality? Well I hope you enjoy your doubt-filled autonomy with its scary choices and consequences. Meanwhile your Cultmates™ will spend bliss-filled days literally ecstatic to shell peas for the Righteous Cause.

And anyway, can you prove strenuous, unpaid labor isn't the surest way to achieving serenity? No, no you can't. I'm doing everyone a favor by making me rich! So that's my life plan for bettering the world. This week.

*Initially. Policy may change based on Cultmate™ ranking

Tulie: That's French for F@#King Anger Wafers

YOU want a blog update?

I wanted to impress someone and now my kitchen floor is covered in a thousand sugary shards of frustration and impotence. My fingers and palms are burnt and blistering. I'm dirty but also too tired to shower so it looks like I'm going to stay that way.

The worst part is that I've made tuiles many times with roaring success. Roaring! They were my sophisticated standby and now I have nothing. NOTHING! Not even an alcoholic flatmate to scream at.

Now I'm going to watch clips from Withnail and I (instead of going to bed) and panic about the direction my life is heading.

Making Mole Babies Out of Mountain Hills

When I gained control over the initial blind rage I felt at thought of having to share my Libbie Time™ I was able to see that us* having boyfriend might actually be good for Libbie’s emotional well-being. Not because she’d form a meaningful relationship with another, fully-realized human(Man!) but because she’d finally be allowed to have emotions. One of the demands I make of my friends is that they do not allow themselves to feel. This might seem selfish but it's actually for their own good. Managing the overwhelming enormity and intensity of my emotions requires the skill of at least one superhuman (Libbie) and one barely human (Me). It’s a two person task. If I allowed my friends to feel, even the tiniest bit, the immense weight of our collective feelings would create a black hole of womanly hysteria.

Unless...a man could save us! With a boyfriend, Libbie would have the support of a competent, capable chap she could burden with her lady troubles. Problem solved! EVERYONE GETS TO FEEL!

However, Libbie's last post reminded me that having a boyfriend doesn't necessarily make her life less confusing. So even if I’m not going to stop relying on Libbie to fix the daily chrysies I create for myself, I could at least be clear about when I’m having a meltdown. Here is a graph to clarify when I’m joking and when I NEDD YOOU WRFIGHT THE HELL NOW!!!!!!!!

Can You Explain Kate and Leopold without Using the Phrase “the Devil’s work!”?

I have a summer job! How deliciously plebeian.



I may be middle class enough to be aware of human suffering but I hope the children I buy with my eventual celebrity will never be.

I hope they go to rehab instead of summer camp.

I hope they go their whole lives without ever discovering the taste of tap water. Nothing that is a EXTENSION OF ME should be subjected to Tempe tap water. Actually, no person* should be subjected to Tempe tap water.

*Aw, c’mon guys! Meg Ryan’s not a person! She’s a hellbeast summoned by Satan to entrance movie-goers so they won’t leave in fits of outrage, demanding not only their money back but also a movie industry that doesn’t believe they’re boorish enough to actually enjoy Serious Moonlight.