Posted in Writer's Craft

Something a little different…

This is something I wrote for my Writer’s Craft Class and I just really like it.

The Kiss.

There we were, in my purple and green childhood bedroom. The hard surface of my dumpster-chic twin bed sagging under our weight. The sound of an obscure movie playing on my laptop is a constant. A curious scent of pizza wafted up the vent from my stepbrother’s basement apartment. He, the boy that I magically tricked somehow into becoming my boyfriend, looks at me with his big, brown doe-like eyes. I see the strange dimple on his forehead twitch. The smile that accompanies it could be radioactive. My stomach ties itself into a knot and drops to my feet. Naturally, I start blabbering meaningless words to fill the silence. In a desperate attempt to keep myself occupied on other things than the gorgeous boy sitting on my bed, I start to tidy my dirty clothes pile into a more organized dirty clothes pile. Having something to busy my hands with helps to differ the tension elsewhere. I hear him chuckle behind me at this ridiculous cleaning ritual and hear him leave the bed with a creak. His hand crosses from the small of my back up to my shoulder and he turns me around. A pleasurable prickle shoots up my spine. Both his hands are on my shoulders, I can practically hear those mahogany eyes of his burning my face like the hiss of a summer campfire, a comfortable burn. One of his hands moves from my shoulder, past my collarbone, and rests on the back of my neck. The subtle weight of it tugs at my copper strands. His fingers move smoothly, just a hair’s width away from my skin but somehow the electricity from them is igniting my soul, a flame that has been put out for quite a while now. His other hand moves to my hip. His cool grip rests on my warm body, just underneath the soft corner of my Ed Hardy t-shirt. One final glance and it’s like I’m vinegar and he’s baking soda. The kiss explodes into it’s full glory, an intoxicating touch of his winter-chapped lips crash against mine which are bitten raw. I deepened the kiss, it was not new, this feeling awakened something older and more powerful than the pyramids themselves. I moved my hands to his face and felt the familiar scruff of his stubble underneath the palm of my hand. I would say my heart skipped a beat, but at this rate it was more like my heart had gone and run a mile. The rest of my body just hadn’t caught up yet.

Hey, so it’s over.. tell me if you guys (guy.. there is one of you, I keep forgetting) liked this something a little different from me and I think I’ll continue posting things I like from my Writer’s Craft course.

Be gentle, I am trying something new. Please don’t slaughter me where I stand.

Alicia, (your overlord).

Posted in comedy

I told you I was serious this time…

You didn’t believe me did you?

No, you didn’t.

Shame…

Anyway, to start off this week’s post, If you want to know what goes into me writing each post, read this article by Buzzfeed (a.k.a. the ultimate boredom-quenching website).

There. That is what I do when writing blog posts. It’s not as easy as you think.

SO, I start school next week on Tuesday, September 8 2015 and I PHYSICALLY CANNOT HIDE MY EXCITEMENT.

Yes, I am a strange little potato. I love school and summer break is like torture for me. I start counting down the days until school starts again the day summer vacation begins. I have always been this way, finding joy in strange things such as the feeling of writing with a pencil on a piece of paper being a near euphoric experience for my strange mid-summer self.

AND that’s not the only strange thing about me and my mild addiction to school, cooler weather, SWEATERS, and basically the whole fall season.

So that is what I have decided to write about today.

MY UNHEALTHY OBSESSION WITH ALL THINGS FALL.

Fall, the glorious season. When wearing sweatpants outside of the house is perfectly acceptable, the smell of pumpkin in the air, the fact that you know you are maybe 3 weeks away from a beautiful time called THANKSGIVING when you get to stuff your face with all the turkey, stuffing and cranberry sauce your little potato-person stomach can handle. Its a wonderful time and anybody who says they hate fall is lying. HOW can one hate turkey and mashed potatoes and pie and pumpkin spice everythangg?

One other wonderous thing happens in fall, well for Canadians anyway, and it’s a little thing called BACK TO SCHOOL.

Okay so have you ever been watching television mid-summer and all of a sudden a staples commercial for back to comes on. Your heart starts beating, pulse rising, all logical thoughts leave your mind. This is it. This is the moment its is somewhat socially acceptable to start getting excited about going back to school. Yes. The time has come.

Alright, I do admit maybe that was a tad dramatic but I cannot be the only person who ever feels something similar to that when I see a back to school commercial. I refuse to believe that I am alone in thinking this way.

Just realized that if I ever have kids, they are soooo screwed having me as their mother, I’m going to be like “Okay it is the second week of summer vacation, better start prepping for back to school. Pencils, check. Binders, check. Crayons, 64 pack, check”

… and my children will probably then tackle me and duck tape my mouth closed like “NO mum, you did this last year.. no back to school until the end of August”

I don’t know what I’m going to do when I graduate this June.

Probably cry.

Yup, I will most definitely cry.

*** My inner “devil-you-suck-at-writing” self is saying that this post is a piece of s**t. Therefore I am a piece of s**t and I am not funny and there’s a reason why nobody reads these things.

*** Kinda don’t want to post this.

*** Kinda do, because there are some good parts.

*** Decisions, decisions…

This always happens around the 500 word mark. I decide that this post sucks and everyone is going to hate it. There’s another little insight into how I write.

My mum told me to post this just how it is. So here you go… this is raw, uncut, unboiled, unmashed thoughts from my little potato brain.