I have a story, and it’s filled with drug abuse, lost teeth, and titties.

A couple weekends ago, Julia and I went to Fernie for a night to snowboard, drink and, well…that’s all. We ended up meeting a group of engineers there that were occupying at least 8 rooms to either side of ours. They gave us free beer, and although it was PBR, we forgave them for their incessant ruckus. Our new friends decided to take a journey into the town of Fernie and hit up one of the local bars. I was a bit sceptical at first, but I’m now so glad that I decided to take that journey because at that bar I met the most ridiculous woman ever.

Her name was Sharon. She was probably in her mid-30s and she loved, loved, LOVED to flash her titties about. This is actually how we met Sharon. I’m not really sure how it all came to be, but all I remember hearing was, “OH SHIT, she just flashed us!” For some reason Sharon ended up sitting at our table and I knew right then that she was the type of person great episodes of intervention were made of.

















“My name is Sharon. S-H-A-R-O-N. And I’m an addict.”


I then became so infatuated with getting to know what Sharon was all about that I risked my safety and hygiene to do so.

Me: “Are you from Fernie, Sharon?”
Sharon: “Can I tell you ssssomething? I had to get away. I had to get away from all the dope, so now I’m here and I’m fucking working at boston pizza. SssssHhhh! Don’t tell anyone! And I use to live in the motel, but fucking tonight, I’m just going to sleep in a bush!”

She also pulled out the classic addicts line, “this is the first time I’ve been fucked up in months, is that too much to ask?! To get drunk just this once?!”

Right Sharon. Stop kidding yourself; you’ve been drunk since birth.

This was it. Sharon was going to be the story of the fucking night and I knew it. It was one of those, “this is SO going in my blog!” moments… which meant I had to find out more. Luckily, she thought I was “sincere and beautiful” so she freely disclosed the depths of her personal struggles to me. She told me about where she grew up, her time on the streets, her time in jail, and her gang involvement. She was a goddamn train wreck and I was front and fucking centre to watch the show. After unveiling all her deepest secrets and then trying desperately to kiss me, she moved forward over my lap and this is when it happened…the climax of the story…HER FUCKING TOOTH FELL OUT. And can you guess where it landed. That’s right! ON MY FUCKING LAP! I didn’t really get what was going on, but in the haze I looked up at Sharon with one tooth missing and she chuckled, picked up her fallen tooth and exclaimed, “HARHAR! My tooth fell OUT!” She then proceeded to jam it back it to her gums like nothing ever happened.

Fucking brilliant.

After the tooth incident, things proceeded to go downhill for Sharon… but uphill for my entertainment. She thought it necessary to open her top and flash her boobs yet again. (Below is a brilliant photo taken RIGHT after she exposed herself.)














This time, however, she wasn’t so discrete. The bouncer of the bar came over in a fiery rage and told her she was kicked out. This did not please Sharon. She started yelling and then threw up her leg in a rage, stating to me that she was going to “round house kick this fucker to the face.”

Man, I couldn’t make this up if I tried.

The bouncer tried everything to get her to leave but she was a crazy, angry bitch that just wouldn’t give in. Sharon was right pissed by this time and you could see her prison learnt anger building. She asked me if she looked like she was controlling her anger well. Clearly she wasn’t, but to avoid getting round house kicked in the face by a meth addict, I suggested to her that that she was definitely controlling it, and quite well in fact.

After about 8 minutes of this back and forth unbearable tension, Sharon finally left the bar.

Later that night I stopped the bouncer and asked him what had happened to the beloved Sharon, and with an obvious disgust he proclaimed, “I sent her to jail!”

Poor Sharon. The cycle continues. And even though she probably doesn’t remember a thing from that night, I do, and I plan on holding it with me forever. But really, how often can you say that a meth addict lost her rotting tooth in your lap???

Yea, that’s what I thought.

Congrats on the nuptials

So you all probably know by now that I have a serious girl crush on Mandy Moore. Don’t ask me why, because I can give you no definitive answer. I just think she’s awesome. So it came to my attention while reading Jezebel the other day that she got married! And to whom you’re wondering?

RYAN FUCKING ADAMS!

Man! She’s just the luckiest bitch in the whole world! I’ll bet he sings her his pretty acoustic version of Wonderwall all the time.

Sigh.

Where’s my Ryan Adams?


















As a sidenote. I LOVE that she's taller than him. Even with flats on!

Managing your disappointment and surviving the post-graduate blues.

So I’m thinking I should probably write a self-help book. I had an idea for one a couple years ago, but I never really went through with it. It was intended to be more of a pessimistic view to life. For example, my first helpful tip was going to be “expect nothing out of situations and you’ll never be disappointed!” Sure, it sounds horribly depressing, but trust me, it’s not! Lets look at a couple examples.

For one: first dates. If you go into a first date expecting absolutely noting out of it, then even if it’s just moderately fun, you won’t be disappointed. Now, if you expect for it to go really well and are really optimistic about it, and it turns out to be, once again, only moderately fun, well, then you’re going to be really disappointed.

Another example: job interviews. You can’t go in expecting you’re going to get the job because then if you don’t you’re going to be, I repeat, disappointed! (Are we seeing a trend here?) Rather, if you go in expecting nothing, you’ll walk away unaffected. Now, I’m not telling you to expect the worst out of situations...I’m merely suggesting that you learn to expect nothing.

Obviously this is not a helpful tip for the majority of people who are “glass half full” type folk. But for people like me, who like to avoid the perils of disappointment, it’s a rule I try to live by.

But this is not what this post was destined to be about.

I decided yesterday I’d write a self-help book for lost university graduates. I even researched on Amazon to see if there were already a lot of these books, but to my surprise, it appears as though all the self-help books directed at my peer group are about how to succeed fiscally post-convocation. None of them were about how to deal with the sheer boredom you face without term papers and classes, or about just how lost you feel in the real world.

Though, I’m thinking I’m going to have to get myself through these post-graduate blues before I start throwing out advice to other sore losers. Though! I'm on the right track because come April 6th, I'm going to be officially employed at a 9 to 5 job, business casual clothes and all!

Though, if I started writing the book right now, chapter one would be still be something along the lines of:

“Save yourself the grief and disappointment…JUST FUCKING STAY IN SCHOOL!”

Nick fucking Carter is back.

Now lets get a few things straight here. I use to love the Backstreet Boys. Nay, I still love the Backstreet Boys. Nothing warms my heart more than “As Long As You Love Me” – and nothing makes me want bust out some rhymes like “Get Down” – we’re talking about serious classics here people! Nick, AJ, Brian, Howie, and regrettably Kevin, made songs that will forever be the soundtrack to my preteen years. Ah, what a beautiful time that was. Actually, it wasn’t. I was tall, lanky, and dare I say, a bit ugly. Thank god I grew out of that*!

*What I bet you’re now thinking: NO YOU DIDN’T! You’re still ugly! Hahahahah.

There, now you don’t have to think of that clever insult yourself. Look at me, such a fucking Samaritan.

Ok, back to Nick. So times were rough for BSB after the wonderful 90s left their side. They had to resort to having families or trying for solo careers. Nick decided on the latter, though he should have really just started performing on broadway (I hear that’s what all the washed up pop idols are doing these days). But apparently Nick just turned into a drug addict. Oh! What’s that? You didn’t know he was an addict?! Well neither did I, until I stumbled across this little video of him on Ellen:



Oh, and here's a better look at that nice little picture of him in People:











Like what the fuck Nick Carter? Where did those abs come from good sir? Maybe you’d like me to rub some oil on them??

ANYWAYS!

He’s always been the one that was on the verge of being fat, but now he’s kind of hot, and ripped, and I hate myself for having to say that. But really, HE WAS NEVER AN ADDICT! Sure, Aaron Carter was addicted to meth, but in all that time I never once heard that Nick was any kind of addict.

I’m calling a publicity stunt. He got hot and now he needs to play the sympathy card so he’s going to throw out this sad moronic story about his no good parents feeding him beer when he was two. Yea right Nick, you’re such a liar.

Just you wait. Give him 6 months and he’ll have a solo career, a clothing line, and a cameo on Extreme Makeover: Home Addition. Then he’ll yap non-stop about his fucking fake addiction and how it changed his life.

Puke.

What? Another post about your lack of career...

You know what would really spice up my life and my blogs…a really interesting job. Now I’m not talking about being an events planner for Alberta Arts or anything, because albeit that would be an interesting job for me, it wouldn’t be one that conjured stories. I want a job where ridiculous shit happens. Stories so good that when you come home from work and your darling significant other asks you how your day was, you can reply with some fascinating tale about incest and adultery instead of replying with the same old...

“well, omg, Sue was being such a whore today! I asked her to staple these timesheet documents and you know what she said to me... No! SHE SAID NO! WHAT A WHORE!”

But say you didn’t work as a receptionist and you worked instead as a counsellor at a high security prison, or a nurse at an insane asylum. You know how many amazing stories you’d have about people hurling fecal matter, or lunatics thinking they’re the saviour?? The answer is many… you’d have many.

The best part is... people actually want to hear those stories! People really like hearing about fucked up shit. Well, I like hearing about fucked up shit, so I’m assuming that everyone else does too. But really, we wouldn't have the news or 20/20 if people didn’t! People don’t care about Don the accountant that eats too many Snickers and smells potently like steak. They care about the crazy woman that's in love with a fence*, or the dude that killed his whole family while high on meth.

*Actually, there is a woman out there in love with a fence. My friend showed me this documentary the other day called “Married to the Eiffel Tower”, and it was about objectum sexuals which are people who fall in love with objects and have sexual and romantic relationships with them. No, seriously, I’m not even shitting you. This one woman was in love with the Eiffel tower, the Berlin wall, a fence and the golden gate bridge (clearly she’s a polygamist). It was seriously fucked up shit. Seriously.

If you feeling like spending 40 minutes being shocked and insanely disturbed then definitely watch it (the link is below). But I’m warning you: it’s highly unsettling; so don’t yell at me after you’ve watched it and been creeped out beyond all repair.

Seriously messed up shit. Part One.

I love cutting Barbie's hair off and making her a man.

This underemployed deal sucks. I thought that I’d be able to make the most of it and take my time to write my novella or make a film or read a few books, but instead I’ve used my time to watch an unnecessary amount of Felicity and bake… oh god do I ever bake. And then what do I do? I sit down and eat my calorie saturated creations. Which means I’m officially sad. I sit at home eating baked goods and watching 90s dramas about college life. If I keep this up I’m not only going to be a bored underemployed graduate, but I’ll be fat.

Maybe it all just comes down to the fact that I’m incredibly lazy. Most people would take this time and I don’t know, run a marathon or reorganize their house or volunteer, but I use my time to lament about my lack of career, my useless degree and my strange desire to overwork my oven. Seriously though, I’m even too lazy to post regularly on my blog!

And if you’re wondering, yes, I’m applying for jobs. I’m even applying for receptionist positions, which after working as a receptionist for a summer, I vowed to myself to never sink that low again. I really don’t want to be hired to be the bimbo at the front desk who wears a headset and answers the phone in a chipper, high pitched, “GOOD MORNING! (insert lame company name here). HOW MAY I DIRECT YOUR CALL?...(pause)...ONE MOMENT PLEASE!!!"

God. I'm going to end up turning into one of these hussies...









"Look at my fantastic computer skills and the ficus behind me! It's also my job to water it! I'm so blessed in my career. Receptionist work is real rewarding!"











"CALL ME! hehe! Not only am I marginally competant at answering the phone, but I've been know to fellate to get ahead! No pun intended! heheheheh!"

**************

God help me.
(And by God help me I mean... God, find me a job!)

Because I’m bored and underemployed

Aren’t you excited?!* Here’s my “25 random things you might not know (an probably don’t care) about me list”!

*(You don’t actually have to be excited. I’m not really that excited about it. But here it is anyhow. Plus, because of my underemployment I have no funny adventures to speak of, so this will have to fill the void…)

1. I absolutely love Mandy Moore. I own almost every single movie she’s in and I can pretty much quote all of them by heart. It’s pathetic really, and I’m not really sure why I’m so infatuated with her. I think it’s because she’s tall.

2. I use to despise being so tall but now I’ve just learnt to embrace it. I actually think it’s one of my defining characteristics. “HI! I’m Nicole, and I’m tall!”

3. I wear Britney Spears perfume. I love smelling like a twat-exposing, awesome music making tainwreck. (I guess also, 3.5 would be that I really, really like Britney's music.)

4. I’m way too sensitive for my own good. I’ve been known to cry during commercials and Disney movies.

5. I’ve always wanted glasses but sadly I have the most acute vision ever. Like I’m talking shoe-in-entry-to-the-airforce quality vision.

6. I still don’t know my multiplications tables by heart. This embarrasses me more then it probably should.

7. I love the thought of being in love.

8. I have no clue what I want to do/be in life. Mostly, I just want to be happy.

9. I love hanging out with my family. They’re an insanely fun bunch of people.

10. I was popular once in my life. It was in grade 6.

11. I really want to go on the Real World. I'm curious as to which one of the archetypal characters I'd be.

12. I got in a fight once in grade 8. I beat up a boy who was in a grade below me, and who was also smaller than me. The next day his biker gang mom chased me down and threatened to kill me (literally). I said sorry but I have no remorse. Her kid was an asshat.

13. I try to avoid talking about my parents with people I don’t know so they never have the opportunity to ask me about where they are now.

14. I feel sorry for ugly babies and their parents. Mostly because they’re constantly being lied to… “ohhh, what a cute baby!”

15. I actually really enjoyed high school even though I was, by definition, unpopular.

16. I regret ever quitting piano lessons.

17. I lived in the same house for the first 19 years of my life. Leaving it was heartbreaking. Sometimes when I drive past it I’ll sit out in front of it and stare in to try and catch a glimpse of what it looks like now. It’s seriously creepy.

18. When I was a kid I was certain I was going to have 2 kids and name them Austin and Kerry.

19. I’ve recently discovered my love for avocadoes.

20. I tried being a vegetarian once after seeing this really horrific peta video. Unfortunately it only lasted a few weeks. Though, I still don’t eat veal.

21. I judge people I don't know more than I think is ordinary or healthy. I can’t stop though.

22. I lose a retarded amount of hair. When I’m in the shower I have to stick it to the wall to ensure it doesn’t clog the drain. I’m certain I could make at least 10 toupees a year with my rejected strands. Sometimes I wonder how I’m not bald.

23. I want/need a full time job desperately. Not only for the money, but to keep me from wasting away on my couch.

24. I've never seen a single Star Wars or Indiana Jones film. I know it's weird. I'm going to watch Star Wars soon though, I promise!

25. Getting blog comments makes me the happiest girl in the whole world!

The tale of my journey through Europe.

After 3 intense weeks of train catching, sightseeing, partying, and skip-bo playing, I’ve finally returned home from Europe. I had a blast to say the least, and now I’m dreading being home. Though, I can’t imagine spending another week living out of my backpack; it would have undoubtedly killed me. I seriously don’t understand how people backpack around for 6 months. I’d feel so incredibly dirty all the time…in more ways than one! WHAT UP!

Anyways. I’ve decided instead of posting a very long drawn out tale of all the places I saw and things I discovered, I’m going sum up every place I went in one line. Ok. Go.

Paris – I didn’t like it the first time, and it provided me with nothing better this time round. Leaving it was the highlight.

Nice – I want to live here in a marvellous French villa overlooking the ocean with my insanely attractive French lover. We’ll spend our days writing our respective bestsellers, eating cheese and he’ll help me with my French.

Barcelona – Fell in love with this city and drank dehydrating Spanish beer with some amazing new friends. Discovered that Spanish men are ridiculously attractive. I want to bone them all.

(I know what you’re thinking, “Nicole you idiot, you’ve gone WAY over your one line limit!” So you know what, because I can, I’m changing my limit. UNDER 10 LINES. GO.)

Bern – 13 Canadian dollars for a McDonalds meal! PREPOSTEROUS! This is how I’ll forever remember Bern. It was also quaint and relaxing, a great place for skip-bo and German language MTV. (That should totally be their slogan.)

Prague – Wanted to swim naked in the Danube but sadly my dreams of re-enacting my favourite Mandy Moore film were crushed with that dreaded season commonly referred to as winter. So much beauty and cheapness in Prague, I loved it all. Absinth even allowed me to invent a new language called Henglis. And its motto: Bringing last letters to the forefront.

Berlin – I had a fabulous, party hard time in Berlin. We met a handful of really interesting people and even though there was a certain incident with a certain German boy, it was all worth it.

If you’re curious about said incident, it basically boils down to this: 18 year old German boy and an ugly stupid girl are dry humping and making out in a very empty bar (they literally started making out after knowing each other for 6 minutes). Once finished, girl looks terrified and tries to signal her friend. Friend doesn’t respond because friend (who’s equally ugly) is trying to hit on cute British boy. So I, being a fucking good Samaritan, whisper in ugly girls ear “do you need help getting away from this guy.” She then yelled “yes” pleadingly in my ear and proceeded to grab me in the most consuming hug I’ve ever been apart of.

While we were hiding out in the washroom the crazy German burst in and proceeded to scold me in broken English for taking away his woman. Finally, upon returning to the dance floor he then decided it appropriate to call me a “dumb bitch” over and over. I replied with a “listen here fuck head, don’t you ever call me a dumb bitch again! SHE DOESN’T WANT YOU, SHE THINKS YOU’RE AN ASSHAT!” The language barrier really didn’t help because his weak English didn’t understand what I was trying to say. The ugly girl then proceeded to hit on another dude, and, if I could take a wild guess, I’m going to assume she made out with him too and then realized her mistake after it was too late. I’m not really sure why I took all that abuse to save her dumb ass. Ah well, hopefully I’ll get some kind of karma point out of it.

The next night he decided to follow our group around again, but this time he thought it appropriate to hit on me in the creepiest way possible. There was a mutual dislike of the creepy German shared amongst the people in our group, but no one knew how to make him go away. I won’t be surprised if he ends up in jail for rape charges in a few months. Dink.

That explanation turned out to be a lot longer than expected. Sorry.

Besides creepy 18-year-old German rapists, Berlin was, again I say, amazing. Recent and compelling culture and crazy industrial techno clubs that open at 2am...what more do you want!?

Amsterdam – I don’t really know what to say about Amsterdam. I think I thought I’d have more fun there. Lots of pot was smoked though. Oh, and I turned 23. Man, I’m old.

Nottingham – The last leg of my journey. I got to spend time with a far away friend (Sean!) and go to clubs that have not yet realized the sheer stupidity that is carpeting in a bar. I can’t even begin to imagine the volume of vomit absorbed into those babies. UK boys made me squirm; they were unbelievably “fit”… in all respects. Lentils, cheap vodka, Heart, shirtlessness, and poor quality air mattresses will also be remembered.


And that, my friends, brings me to the end of my European tale. I hope you learned nothing and everything at the same time.

I'm 500 meter dashing it to Europe!

After one failed interview attempt, I’ve given up on trying to find a job. That’s right, I’m that lazy. No, really though, they basically told me that my dreams of becoming a journalist are few and far between. First, I have to go back to school for at least another 2 years. That’s right, because 5 and a half weren’t quite good enough. When I finally get out of school I’ll have competed 7 and a half fucking years of post secondary. I COULD’VE BEEN A DOCTOR!

Anyways, then I’ll be right back at the bottom drudging away to find an internship where I’ll make… wait for it…$8.40 an hour. That’s right, I’ll be making $5.60 less than what I make at my current place of employment. AND, the best part, I’d actually have to do shit! Then, upon completion of said internship, I’m not even guaranteed a job! And even if I do get a job I’ll probably only make 30,000 dollars a year. (This is what she told me in the interview, like, how friggen depressing is that?!) Want to know how much that works out to an hour? $15.62.

Boy oh boy! I can’t wait to have 7 and a half years of schooling and 2 degrees behind me and then make a whole 1.62 more than I do right now!

I think I might just become a lifer here at my nice little concierge job. The title sounds pretty cool so why not, right? This way I figure I’ll have time to actually write blogs, and maybe, just maybe, someone will see my little publication here and think “boy, that Nicole’s marginally funny, maybe we’ll pay her to continue writing random, useless personal anecdotes.” Bingo! I’ll have it made.

But because life doesn’t ever do shit like that for me, I’ve decided to run away to Europe. I’ll come back of course, but the whole thing sounds so much crazier if I say I’m running, sprinting even. Oh, I like that. I’m sprinting away to Europe! I’m going to pack my backpack, hop on a transcontinental flight, and fall in love with some buildings. Oh, and I’ll drink. A lot. Because if drunkenly traipsing through Europe can’t set my life in order, I don’t know what will.

Angsty teen love is so hawt.

I'm really worried for teenage girls right now. Their visions of love are probably incredibly skewed and idealistic. Hell my visions of love are skewed and idealistic, but that’s mostly a result of teenage melodramas occupying my formative years. I’m probably just as guilty as they are for absorbing myself in dreams of whirlwind romances and youtube-montage-inspiring love, but I’m apt to think there is something doing even worse things to the fickle teenage girl heart. The culprit you ask? Twilight.

Now, I began reading the book because the hype was inescapable. My 13-year-old niece and my 23-year-old friend couldn't get enough, and the conversations I had with both were almost identical. They both said something along the lines of:

"OMG TWILIGHT IS SOOOOOO GOOD! I LOVE EDWARD! OMG! I WANT AN EDWARD! OMG! YOU HAVE TO READ IT! OMG! I READ ALL FOUR BOOKS IN A WEEK!"

I was convinced; I had to read these books and I was almost certain I was going to fall in love with them. I'd then become deranged, obsessive, and google Robert Pattinson on a daily basis. I'd join every Twilight devoted facebook group and glitter glue "I heart Edward Cullen" onto my faded jean jacket... but I never did.

First off, the book is poorly, poorly written. And not only that but why does she consistently try to interject big frilly words into her shitty writing? It doesn't make the book sound sophisticated. Like how many times can you possibly use the word “incredulous”?! IT’S NOT EVEN A GOOD WORD! Just think how many teen girls are going to start using the word “incredulous” in their papers about polar bears or the West Indies. The answer is many.

I also couldn't deal with how insanely unrealistic their love was. Really Bella? You were completely and irrevocably in love with him after 6 fucking days?! You were willing to DIE for someone you knew for mere months?! God. Give me an effing break.

And then there's Edward. If I could give 13 year olds any advice it would be that no man is like Edward (well maybe there’s 3 or 4, but they’re probably gay). You'll probably never find a ridiculously HAWT god like chiselled rich boy that wants only you and says the most perfect things at the most perfect times. He's not going to spend an entire day asking you questions about yourself, nor will he fall head over heels in love with you in 6 fucking days and tell you so. HE WON'T, OK! Just like he's never going to take you sailing for an entire summer or brush your hair before you have sex by a fireplace. It just won't happen, so give up the dream.

Granted in the book he's what, 100 some years old? So I guess he existed in a time where chivalry meant something, and as much as I want it to still, it doesn't anymore and teenage girls need to understand this. If he were actually a 17-year-old boy he would've already fucked Bella silly.

I will admit right now that a good part of me enjoyed reading it and I definitely found myself consumed by it. It was seductive, yes, and strangely addicting. And now I'm just so involved that I NEED to find out what happens. Will he make her a vampire?! Will they finally bone?! I friggen hope so!

I guess it is a teen romance so I probably shouldn’t spend too much time tearing it apart, but for the love of pete we need to think of the children! THE CHILDREN! I can't have my niece waste 30 years of her life looking for the Edward she might never find.

But hey, what the hell do I know anyway? Maybe the universe will send me an Edward to prove me wrong.

God, let's hope.