I've moved!

NEW BLOG

I am kinda published! Sorta...

Hello again Interwebs, Its me here... And I have some exciting news for you! I wrote a piece for a local newspaper's "Pulse" page (a page for young writers/artists/poets to show off DEM SKILLZ!) and mine got in! WOOT WOOT. SO here it is, some things i had to tweak from the original because to put in bluntly, the sucked. I was also forced into writing some parts in it that me, as a free-spirited comedic writer, am not happy with. So yeah... If you want me to post the original, I can.. Just somebody for the love of all Jeebuses POST A DARN COMMENT!

ALSO, they totally spelled my last name wrong... :/

How to (not) be a water girl

A report of Golden Boot Rugby tournament from the world’s worst water girl

Alicia Moores, Grade 11

At McMaster University, an equally-confused friend and I stepped out of Rosie, the 1996 Nissan rust bucket my mum drives, and set out to find this magical “Field behind the Stadium” – the promised land. Luckily, I had a scarf to protect my sensitive skin from the razor-like wind.

Yellow socks on the horizon: the distinct trait of an Ancaster Royals rugby girl. We went over and helped set up camp. Soon enough, the yellow stockings multiplied and we had a whole team of fierce looking girls ready to kick some booty.

I was the newly appointed water girl for Ancaster High girls’ rugby. My (already genetically bad) knee had been rugby-practice injured the week before.

Leading up to the Consolation game at 2:30, I watched our loyal Royals do jumping jacks and a passing drill in which you practice passing the ball with two hands on the ball at all times (except for when throwing it) and get in the rhythm of keeping the ball close to you like it’s your newborn baby.

With the thrill of a recent victory still burning through their veins, the girls then began the pre- game psych-up.

I watched the socks organize themselves in a lopsided circle with arms reaching around each other, then scream “1, 2, 3 ROYALS!!”  Compared to the complex cheers of other teams, ours looks juvenile.  We need a new, more intimidating cheer like this one school also at the Golden Boot Rugby Tournament .  They start quiet and progressively get louder  -- “go, go, go, Go, Go, GO, GO, GO” -- and make the other teams feel like peeing.  

As the game began, the yellow socks set themselves up in an exploded scrum.   A scrum is one horde of girls pushing up against another horde of girls. 

Chaos. Organized, painful chaos is what rugby looks like to the untrained eye. Girls flying this way and that, hard hits, one million and ten scrums and the coaches screaming “RUCK OVER!  GET HER! GO GO GO!” I saw one of the mothers with her brows furrowed and her hands twining through her hair. I abandoned my water girl post to go help a sister out. The mother was watching her daughter get pummelled.  I took it upon myself to assure this worried momma that her cub was fine and that she didn’t feel all the hits, the adrenaline was too strong.

Halftime – my time to shine!  I’m thinking to myself “I got this,” when really, I don’t because, it’s me and I’m bound to mess something or other up.  I get up and my aforementioned bum knee (stubborn like the rest of me) locks in place and I stumble and then I just trudge over to the happy group of yellow socks… forgetting the water bottles completely.

At the game’s end, my failed water girl attempts were all forgotten and all the yellow socks were tired and turf-burned and very bruised but the faces of the girls wearing the still-up-high-and-proud socks had huge, silly grins on them.   We won 2-1.

MIM.

I HAVE A BOOGIE! I HAVE A BOOGIE! I HAVE A BOOOOGIE!!

ON MY PLATE!

MOOOOM, BLAKE…! IS SITTING ON MY FACE…! WITH A…! PILLOW! OW! STOP IT! 

MOOOOOOM!

MOM, WHERE’S THE SOCK BAG!?!

These are just some of the complaints I’ve had and you have attended to every single one of them and more, so I wanted to say first off… Thanks J

I never get you anything for Mother’s day and I’m pretty sure you have enough macaroni necklaces and bookmarks to last you a century. So, this year I decided to write a blog post showing how cool of a mum you are (the term cool is used very  loosely.. you are still not “hip” or “current” no matter how many times you shout TWINNING and ACO TACO… *which both stopped being cool a while ago. Not that I would know, as I am no cooler than you.*)

You are NOT a traditional mum. You don’t hide anything from us (unless you stole $5 from me... because I keep my money “too out in the open”… My room, on a shelf, behind a Kleenex box, safely tucked away inside my wallet.) Which is pretty cool I guess. Also, when Blake comes home with countless pink slips you’re cool with it because you know hes a dinkwad and I know hes a dinkwad, the school system just hasn’t figured it out yet.

The endearing terms of “whore” and “slut” that shower me with love and respect every morning... I really should have less self-confidence than I have (which, by the way, Blake insists is a “me” problem).

The TURN UP Friday nights we have, when B has a social life (social life… pfft… who needs friends when you’ve got food and internet). The party-party fun nights that entail you watching some obscure history program and me watching Minecraft  videos on YouTube and smiling stupidly into the screen (again, no social life). The nights when we turn the coffee table so that it reaches both couches to hold some delectable confection of milk-free euphoria you have baked most recently. Those are the best.

There was this one time that I am remembering now, a really long time ago, we were having one of the aforementioned “turn up Fridays” and you were slightly over tired so, naturally, you were giddy and kind of “spacey” so you threatened that when I got a boyfriend, and I brought him home, you would run around the house screaming “where’s waldo?” in your blue-striped housecoat. This, is why it took me forever to let you meet “Joe”.

My holy grail, going out for sushi without B and trying to figure out the menu, eventually resorting to asking the waiter how to pronounce Edamame.

PUSHEEN. The way we can communicate over Facebook is amazing. All that is needed to communicate emotion is to simply send an adorable Pusheen. Then after the initial shock of the cuteness we can decipher it.

What else?

Well, you let me get a tattoo, so that makes you superdy dooperdy cool. You know what would make you even better? Letting me get another...?

You help me with my writing and encourage me (after you’re done making fun of me).

*people of the internet, my mum really is awesome, it’s just my family is… well... Special? 

And we have different ideas of how we show affection (teasing)*

Ok, so you always point guys out in stores, as most mums do. But then you whisper to me “he was totally checking you out” when he was actually just looking at the pretty girl behind me wearing no clothing. Not me. Guys don’t look at me. Just trust me on this one. Or, he was checking out the iceberg lettuce on sale behind me, thinking “why won’t those weirdos move so I can get me some iceberg lettuce!?!” you don’t want to deny growing boys their tasty, green Iceberg lettuce do you? No? Then stop pointing them out so we both can move on with our lives. Thank you, Sincerely, ME and all dem boyz who like themselves a nice hunk of Iceberg lettuce.

No clue where the second half of that came from…

I AM STILL MAD AT YOU FOR NOT SAVING YOUR PROM DRESS. Enough said.

Apparently I got my whore-like dancing tendencies from you so that’s great :/

CHEESY COUPONS

1) Okay no.

2) "Sadly", you do not get these ones, you get “special” ones.

..Excuse the size, technical difficulties:)

AND lastly, since I am an amazing daughter, I think you should let me get my Peacock feather tattoo earlier than discussed :)

LOVE YOU MIM!

The Library.

Okay so, I am currently sitting in the library and I feel obligated to at least seem to be doing something useful. This, is my useful.

It is currently 12:56 and the library is only filled with old people and scholarly college/university peeps. And then there's me, the random high-school-er (?) who is just sitting there with her tattoo, combat boots and ridiculously loud keyboard. Seriously could I get any more awkward?

The reason of which I am at this library, destroying people's silence is because I just got braces  (Invisalign) on across the street. 

Back to me being the most disruptive ever, Everyone here looks so focused and smart, meanwhile there is me, looking like a high school dropout writing to nobody on her blog.

Yup, that's me!

My laptop sounds like it is going to blast off into space, the fan is so loud on this ol' triceratops.

Also, there is this older lady beside me who keeps sighing and mumbling to herself, she looks to be in her late 40s - early 50s, wearing a navy blue sweater, a particularily colorful neck scarf tie thingy and her blonde hair is covering her face from my vantage point, making me unable to tell her true age. She is signing again, apparently this later-in-life schooling thing is very stressful... Now she sits, contemplating life whilst staring into her computer. Me and my curiosity want to know what shes doing!!!!!  She appears to be signing up for a lecture at a college? Or maybe shes applying to college...? Little late-in-life schooling happening here? Who knows. 

*clickity click click click clickkkk* 

that is what i sound like right now..

OOOH BISH PLEASE, ITS NOT MY FAULT I HAVE A DINOSAUR FOR A COMPUTER!! (stressed blue sweater lady just glared at me a mighty glare.)

I've realized that the small town I live in is extremely trusting of others. Maybe too trusting. Some guy just.. left... his MacBook on the table just there waiting to be stolen, Except it wont, because there is no criminals in a public library of a small town at 1:00 in the afternoon. He left and has yet to come back. *Did he get abducted? CONSPIRACY!!* This leaving-of-the-MacBook would never ever never no happen in a city like Toronto.... Someone wouldn't leave tenir muffin unattended, let alone a 1000+ dollar laptop. *sigh.. small town probs*

Oh look he came back! And guess where he went. Timmys. To get a coffee, how very Canadian of you sir. 

I want sushi.

God, my teeth hurt. 

Ow.

Okay, we are going to end this before it gets much worse than it already is.

(My laptop)

No, It did not hurt.

Hello interwebs... Me again. 

So today I was a badass and decided to get a tattoo. (No, this was not an impulse decision, no need to worry... I have been planning this for months) 

My tattoo is a Celtic (pronounced sell-tik) knot, which basically is a giant, fancy infinity symbol. It is all one continuous line and it represents basically what an infinity symbol does. It means, like, forever and continuity. KEEP GOING really, or that's what it means to me...

To answer the most asked question, and to explain the title, NO it did not hurt. It was like someone with the self restraint for NOT biting their nails incessantly (long nails) dragging them on the area you are getting tattooed. Not a big deal really. Honestly, the dentist is worse. 

So yeah, I got a tattoo and i love it! 

I got it from this really talented guy named Roger and he's really awesome and I would highly recommend him! 

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Lords-Ink-Canada/233836682474?fref=ts 
           ^^^^
His Facebook Page

and yeah, it took about an hour, it was $140 and if you have any more questions... put them in the comments! (I'm looking at you... on person who reads these things)

It.

Me looking dorky.

It getting done.. FACE OF STEEL.

I am a big old crippled, smelly, tomato at the moment.

This is a problem and I feel like some complaining so, as always, I am going to tell one person on the Internet about it.  

Hey bruh.

So. How has your life been? Mine could be better but it's also not horrid.

THE HORRID PARTS: 

First order of business is the fact that I play rugby, and I am so bad at it that sometimes it's comical. So I've decided to complain about what happened there first (and also clarify the "cripple" part in the title). I was practicing like normal, not really having a clue what was going on and doing a drill I've done 1000 times it feels like. So I started with the ball and was supposed to try and avoid my teammates who were going to try and tackle me.. Well, I started running, and running, and I was doing well if I say so myself. But then i got tackled by this teeny little girl. She fell on me with all her weight on my knee which was very exposed and very unsupported and just genetically bad too so, naturally with my luck  it got very painfully injured (It felt like it was popping out of its socket.) So that hurt. 

It's still weak and I can't really do much of anything let alone play again. So I'm kinda pissed that me and my "entertaining" (clueless) playing is not to be showcased for at least half the season. 

WOOT freaking HOOT 

Second order of business is the "tomato" explanation 

Well, I am a redhead, so therefore I have sensitive and fair skin that reacts to everything because why would any part of me be easy to take care of? 

And so I was WATCHING (still injured) my AWESOME team play some kick-ass rugby all day an it was soooo windy. It felt like little icicles pelting my skin at points. I admire them for only having shorts and a t shirt jersey. Looked so cold! Meanwhile I was on the sidelines like a wimp in pants, a coat and a big scarf... Still freezing.  In April. #canadaproblems

And the smelly is just that I probably should have a shower because my hair smells like wind and pizza for some reason.

THE GOOD PARTS: 

1. I AM GETTING A TATTOO. 

Yes, a real life tattoo and I'm so insanely excited and terrified all at the same time. 

(I'll do a more in depth post after I get it... On Saturday)

2. My best friend got herself a boyfriend and I'm so happy for her because this one isn't a 100% jerk for once! YOU GO GIRL.

* Wow, I just realized that you, my one amazing reader is going to start this and be like... NOPE this chick has got WAAAY too many problems.! Run. But if you're reading this thanks for staying. *

OH THAT FEELS GOOD

*insert dirty minded thought here*

Get your mind out of the gutter, one, lonely viewer (I need to make up a more interesting name for you..) as I am not saying that in a dirty way... It just feels nice to complain about everything and then post it on the Internet for wveryone to see and read and judge..? 

Wait. Why do I do this again?

Okay....

Sorry this isn't very funny, I'm just not in a super funny mood. 

Bye :) 

*Disclaimer*

Hello blog readers of the internet, I am about to put up a whole bunch of "school-related" posts (6 or 7 to be exact) and they are quite different to my normal, insane, choppy writing style so don't panic, I am not changing or going through a mid- teenage life crisis or something... It's just a school project.

Nobody cares as, yet again, I am writing to nobody.

Great.

*New disclaimer - I took all the posts down because they were annoying me and the aesthetic of my blog. trying to keep it professional here (LOL)*