26.07.2014, Thursday, 09:56 pm


My back is aching all over from the very bumpy couch I had to spend the night on. Do my parents even UNDERSTAND the physical abuse I am going through just because Brandy has come to stay?? I mean, if she wasn’t here, would I have had to lie down on a lumpy mattress that’s full of year-old food?? Would I have had to try to make myself comfortable among the alarming amount of dog fur it houses??

The answer is a ear-splittingly loud NO.

All I have to say is that no way am I going to sleep on that filthy chair again. Not in a million years. Not if my Mom swears she’ll do my homework till I graduate [not that THAT’S ever going to happen]. Not if you PAY me.

And while I may be slightly exaggerating about the cleanliness of the sofa, I have to confess that the pain is real. My shoulder is actually throbbing. THROBBING.

It was SO HARD concentrating on my Frosted Flakes due to the way my back was sending these sizeable ripples of agony down my spine.

I couldn’t even brush my teeth properly!!

The war between me and Brandy has just gone onto a whole new level. At first, it was purely on a mental level [and that was bad enough]. But now?? Now, it’s gone physical. Now I can really FEEL the pain, not just imagine it in my head.

I can’t wait to plan a revenge scheme, however childish getting even may be. I can’t wait to pay her back for the way my arms feel like they have been through a violent minute or two in the mixer. But most of all?? I can’t wait to end this battle.

I can’t wait for Patty to come back from the Egyptian holiday she has gone on with her parents. She and I are going to have so much to discuss.


21.07.2014, Saturday, 04:02 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 VOLUNATRILY 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.




19.07.2014, Thursday, 12:38 pm


The situation in Taylor Town got worse as the night progressed, if you can believe it.

I was getting ready to snuggle into my warm comforter and exploit its extreme fuzziness when Mom walked in, her face all funny. So I went, ‘Good night Mom,’ thinking that she’s probably come to tuck me in [even thought the last time she did that, I couldn’t draw a cursive A to save my life].

Instead of fluffing the blankets and singing me a lullaby, though, Mom stared me in the eye and says, ‘Sweetie, I’m afraid you’re going to have to spend the night on the couch.’

Of course, it takes a few moments to digest this.

‘What?? WHY??’ I whined, brandishing my arms is despair. The couch is the only piece of furniture we let Fudge sit on. The couch is where Marty sleeps when he comes over [Yes, the Marty who picks his nose when he thinks no one is watching]. The couch is where we eat when something’s wrong with the dining table.

And now Mom expected me to SLEEP there??

‘Why can’t she sleep in Kathryn’s room?? It’s bigger than mine!!’ I continued, adding more place for her to spread her evil in in my mind.

‘Taylor, Brandy specially requested to sleep in your room,’ –of course she did- ‘and you are NOT going to disappoint her. The poor girl is still missing her mother and just asked to stay here for the night.  You’re acting as if I asked you to switch to an Only-Broccoli diet.’ Mom argued, wagging her finger.

‘Fine, fine, I’ll do it,’ I grumbled, snatching my diary and a green sparkly pen from my bedside table as I dragged myself to the couch.

Now I’m sitting here, on the dreaded sofa, and I’m not liking it one bit. Sure, it’s managed to retain its velvety-ness even after all it’s been through [which is quite impressive, I must say] and it isn’t PARTICULARLY uncomfortable…

But it’s not MY room. MY room with all my glitzy awards staring down at me while I read. MY room with the cool Hunger Games posters cloaking the walls. MY room with its futuristic window that displays a sick view of the Hudson.

It’s not fair!! Why don’t we have a guest room like all other normal people?? I get that real estate can be pricey in the heart of New York. But my parents are DOCTORS. Don’t tell me we can’t afford another fifteen square feet of space.

19.07.2014, Thursday, 11:57 pm


Like I said before, down here, stuff is going from bad to WORST.

Today’s family movie-night [you’d think my parents would have understood that I’d rather be preparing cow manure wearing nothing but a two-piece than spending EXTRA time with my self-obsessed sister, but they haven’t caught on yet. I sometimes wonder where my superior intellect has sprung from] and instead of catching the latest spy flick [like I’d suggested], we ended up watching Barbie: Mermaid Tale 2 [guess who wanted to watch THAT??].

I had to sit through one and a half hours of high-pitched voices, lame plotlines and a whole lot of fish fins. I mean, the dolls are super cool [mainly because they shut up when you tell them to. And even when you don’t, actually], but Barbie movies are in need of a fresh new makeover. Pink is SO outdated.

15.07.2014, Monday, 07:25 pm


I cannot believe that she [you know who I’m talking about] hasn’t even been here for a full twenty-four hours. I mean, it sure seems like an eternity.

A blood-bathed one, but an eternity all the same.

The only person I have left to turn to, in my hour of need, is you, DeDe. You and a few dozens of friends, but mainly you. Because I can’t tell them some of the stuff that I’ve written here. Like how I’m ever so slightly intimidated by an eight year old. Even though I’m convinced she’s Satan’s bride descended on earth to test our tolerance to the cutest of smiles, being cowed by someone a full three years younger than you is something to be… not proud of, at the very least.

And I can’t tell them about my Mom being so defenceless at the sight of extreme adorability. She may be kind of weird [especially about the no-BBQ-chips thing] but she’s still my MOTHER, the person I love the most in the whole entire universe [as dorky as that sounds]. I can’t tell them about the ONE flaw my Mom has.

Besides, even though I tell Patty practically everything [except the whole diary thing. And the Brandy stuff. Oh, and how Mom can’t resist dimples], there’s some point at which you draw the line.

Now I DEFINITELY can’t take this to school. If ANYONE figured I was rambling about Geometry in this thing [on top of the “Pee-Her-Pants Girl” pics], I can kiss my Oxford scholarship goodbye…

[Who wants to offer admission to half-mental, nerds with bladder-issues?? Not any institute I want to someday be a part of…]







10.07.2014, Wednesday, 11:12 pm


I just went through my previous entry and have to ask for your forgiveness, DeDe. I have soiled your pages by –almost- stating that Brandy can do anything she wants by casting a shy smile or two.

It was all written in a fit of mental instability.

06.07.2014, Sunday, 04:34 pm


Things are getting out of hand here. Brandy is taking over my house, my family, my mother [who, until recently, I had penned down as an un-takeover-able person], my LIFE!!

At her slightest request, Mom has stocked the kitchen cabinets with barbecue flavoured crisps, something I have been BEGGING her to do for months now.

I’m telling you, if people in our society ignore wise, intellectual preteens like me and opt to listen to cranky, always-get-my-way under-tens, then I shudder to think of our situation in fifty years.

At least Dad’s still unconverted. At least he’s still normal [well, as normal as he can get]. At least he won’t surrender the T.V remote control at the sight of Brandy’s puppy-dog eyes. At least he won’t drive around eighty miles just so that Brandy can eat at some wacky restaurant [that also happens to be the only eatery not available within a yard’s radius of my apartment, tucked in the heart of NYC]. At least he won’t…

Ah, who am I kidding?? He probably would if he had half the chance.

I probably would, too, if I were a little less awesome. Even Kathryn would, if she had the ability to think beyond the next Prada sale.

The world would be at her feet, if only she wanted it. Face it, puppy-dog eyes RULE!!