29.05.2014, Wednesday, 02:12 pm


We talked about it and I agree that I may have been a little extreme. But Dad assured me that he was only giving me a compliment. All he was saying was that my speech is far superior when compared to the kids of my age group, that’s it.

How could you have expected me to know that?? He DID request me to start talking “normally”, didn’t he??

What he was TRYING to say yesterday was that there’s going to be this dinner party that his boss is throwing and Dad has to make an EPIC first impression with this other Big Dude in order for him to get the promotion he’s been eyeing for a while and what I need to do is hit it off with the Big Dude’ twelve year old daughter, Mavis, so that it makes getting the job easier for my father. Easy peasey.

BUT, Dad –Dear Ol’ Dad, always finding a way to complicate things- says that I need to talk with more of a slang so that it becomes easier for me to “bond” with Mavis. That’s the part I don’t get. I mean, I’m VERY ordinary when it comes to language. I don’t use words like “euphoria” in my everyday interactions. Sure, I have a larger vocabulary than most kids my age, but that doesn’t mean I ain’t NORMAL!!!!

So now, in order to normalize my language, Dad wants me to spend more time communicating with the children in my school who talk all weirdly. You know, that ones who go “Twenny” and “Teachin.’” This is so unfair!! Instead of doing nothing [like you are SUPPOSED to do during your vacations], I will be scouting the area for the children with the worst accents… and then trying to IMMITATE them. Oh yeah, this is TOTALLY how I want to spend the next four days of my life.


26.05.2014, Sunday, 04:39 pm


Apparently, I have more things to worry about than just Brandy’s visit;

Dad had a crucial meeting late last evening so he forced Kathryn and me to go to sleep early so that we wouldn’t disturb him. Is that fair?? Do I make everyone go to bed at SEVEN O’CLOCK [I kid you not!!] when I have a big test the next day?? Shouldn’t he have locked himself up in the guest room instead??

Oh, and THAT isn’t the worst part.

This morning, he was all happy and when I made the mistake of asking him why he was smiling so much, he said, ‘Sweetie, sit down. I’ve got a little favour to ask.’ And from THAT moment, I knew that I could pretty much kiss my Lazy Saturday goodbye.

Daddy told me all about his all-important conference yesterday and ended with, ‘So, about the favour… I need you to start talking like… like normal teenagers.’ ‘Dad, I’m eleven and… WHAT!!??!??’ It occurred to me three seconds later that my father has just accused me of talking ABNORMALLY. Did he just tell me, to MY FACE, that I’m a peculiar speaker??

‘It’s not that you’re ABNORMAL, of course. It’s just that the kids today are a little less…’ ‘Little less WHAT, Dad?? Little less WHAT???’ I asked, already storming out of the room.

I’m all for people expressing themselves, but since WHEN is it alright for fathers to tell their kids that they’re ODD??

That’s it. That was SO TOTALLY the LAST straw. I am NEVER going to LOOK at my Dad ever again and that’s FINAL.

22.05.2014, Wednesday, 08:09 am


I was innocently nibbling a cream cracker, wondering when things were going to start getting exciting around here when Mom called me to her bedroom. Yes, her BEDROOM. And maybe that isn’t such a big deal in other people’s homes. But it is in mine.

When I was six years old [and my elder sister, Kathryn, was twelve], we fought about the possession of a ragdoll. See, it was a SPECIAL ragdoll that Dad won at the fair the night before and Kathryn insisted that it was hers because she was “Daddy’s favourite.” Of course, I got SUPER mad and CHARGED… [which was possibly not the wisest course of action]

Before I knew it, I had a clump of Kathryn’s hair in my hand and a LOT of blood trickling down my face [to this date, I don’t know WHOSE blood that was]. Mom came rushing down the hall and dragged us away from each other, muttering the whole time about how disappointed she was in our behaviour.

Anyway, after that incident [and the many before it], Mom declared her bedroom a no-kid zone, so that there’d be at least ONE place in the whole house where she need not fear running into two children who were ripping each other’s throats out.

So, obviously, I was feeling a bit nervous as I walked up the stairs to Mom and Dad’s master bedroom. Pushing open the thick, wooden door, I marvelled at how much the room had changed since I last stepped into it, which was probably a good five years ago. Instead of flaming red paint, the room was coated in a milky blue wallpaper. The bed was wrapped in a turquoise cover and Mom was sprawled on it, leafing through a magazine.

‘Tay,’ Mom gestured to one of the indigo couches that surrounded their balcony. Seating myself, I waited for her to continue what was sure to be a life-changing speech. ‘I just wanted to let you know that your Cousin Brandy is coming to stay. I know she isn’t your favourite person, but, please, try to be nice.’

DeDe, you must be wondering what was so important about this declaration that Mom actually called me to her BEDROOM to deliver it. But that’s because you don’t KNOW Cousin Brandy. And that’s a GOOD thing, because, the way I see it, the less one knows about Brandy, the better.

The truth is, I’m not even sure about how we’re related. I just know that she comes over a few times a year and I spent the next two or three months recovering from her visit.

I should probably stop biasing your opinion on her, DeDe, but she just gets me SO worked up. THINKING about her sets me in a bad mood.

Dad’s calling. He wants some… roasted raspberries with spicy CURRY???? Oh, Gawd, PLEASE let me have heard wrong!!

21.05.2014, Tuesday, 11:58 pm


Read a quote this morning in the READER’S DIGEST by a certain Brene Brown, who states that “We’re all so busy chasing the extraordinary that we forget to stop and be grateful for the ordinary.” Easy for him to say, he’s already a PROFESSOR [or so it says next to his name]!!
Actually, I’d rather spend the next three months of my young life oiling/waxing the backs of seventeen thousand, very hairy, middle aged men than realize that, when I grow up, I’m going to be stuck in some boring classroom with a bunch of dumb students who talk behind my back. And then be expected to TEACH them. I mean, isn’t the point of graduation to get the hell outta’ school?? WHO would VOLUNTARILY want to get back to there??

I’ve just thought about it and, maybe being an educator isn’t that bad, y’know?? I would have the opportunity to train the future of tomorrow and ensure that only the brightest of minds emerge from my class. Who knows, I may even get the renowned “Most Amazing and Brilliantly Talented Tutor of The Rest of Eternity” award. Which,
granted, isn’t really a prize. Yet. After the staff and students grasp how much potential I have as a mentor, they’ll introduce it, I’m sure.
Think about it. I’ll be able to ignite minds, create genii, help children learn about… Nah, I’m WAY too selfish for all of that.

19.05.2014, Sunday, 09:45 pm


Celeb relationships are so hard to follow. I have more important
things to do that bother investigating who’s dating who, of course,
[like acting as Fudge’s official poop picker-upper] but my bud’s
don’t. Whenever we meet up, they spend at least half an hour updating each other about Hollywood’s newest couples;

‘OOOOOO!!! Can you believe THEY BROKE UP????’


‘Are you KIDDING me?? How could THEY have separated?? I was so sure HE was going to propose!! And buy a new HER apartment so THEY could live happily ever after in THEIR very own palace!!’

>Chorus of dreamy Sighs<

‘Um… guys??’ –This awkward person talking is me- ‘Who are THEY??’




‘SAY IT AIN’T SO!!!!!!!!’

‘How can you possibly NOT KNOW who THEY are??? You MONSTER!!’

‘Wait…Girls, girls, calm down. Tay, are you saying that you have no idea about who we’re discussing??’

‘Um… No??’

‘Let me give you a hint, they’re the IT couple right now…’

‘Listen guys, the ITTEST couple I’m aware of is Romeo and Juliet…’
>Chuckles to Self<

‘OK. Girls, GET HER!!!!!!!!!!!’

I am not joking. It happens EVERY SINGLE TIME. According to them, I am “abnormal” for not knowing how many times Elizabeth Taylor has

The point is, I decided to do a little researching today. Try to
surprise the relationship gurus. Maybe even beat them at their own

Didn’t happen.

We met up for ice cream at Double Dip and, halfway through my banana
split, I casually said, ‘Hey, have you heard?? THEY are back

‘They as in…??’

‘WHAT are you talking about??’

‘Tay, there are SO MANY “Theys” out there. My Mum and Dad are a
“They!!” Gross, but true.’


‘Be specific, girl!!’

And that was the last time I am ever going to so much as THINK about
beating the pros at their own game, especially if a key word of their game is “BradJelina.”

16.05.2014, Thursday, 12:16 pm


I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I actually kind of miss school. Well, some parts, at least. Of course, I haven’t suddenly developed a craving for Mr Powell’s math classes [I firmly believe that’s humanely impossible], but I wish I could meet up with my buds every day, you know??

It is SO BORING around here.

So boring that even Kathryn, dim-witted, party-going Kathryn, realised that the most fun thing we did the past week was have a “let’s see who can stare at the wall longest” competition [I have no idea why I took part in that pastime]. I won, because a second after the contest commenced, Kathryn squealed ‘Time out!!’ and started texting her friends.

So boring that even the ice-cream I bought the other day slapped me right across the face and told me that NO WAY was he/she going to be eaten by a BORING person like me.

So boring that I’ve watched SEVENTY-EIGHT straight cat-videos on YouTube [give or take].

So boring that, just yesterday, the Guinness Book of World Records gave me a ring and asked me when I wanted to collect my “Most Number of Consecutive, Eventless Days By Any Person In The History Of Mankind” medal and certificate.

SO BORING that I I’m actually listing out reason after reason to help my journal understand how boring it is.

12.05.2014, Sunday, 11:12 am


The irony of summer breaks:

All through the academic year, I can’t get my mind off the summer vacations. Then, once the holidays roll around, I can’t WAIT for school to reopen.

I’m not sure what’s wrong with me, but I know SOMETHING is. And I’m pretty certain it’s not genetic… [Which is the lame excuse I use whenever someone points out a mistake in my otherwise-flawless being; “Taylor, you can match clothes for NUTS. I’m sure that spending all your pocket money on a stylist would do more good than harm,” “It’s genetic,” or “Hey, a PB & J sandwich is THREE dollars, not TWO!!” “It’s in the genes, dude, it’s in the genes…”]

Reason #1 why you should never put your head into a lions mouth: What are you, stupid??

Just read this diary entry from beginning to end. I have no idea who wrote it, but it definitely isn’t me.