Monday, 29 June 2009

I aint no writer or budding journo or anything, but I figured its about time I start documenting my everyday difficulties with life in an attempt to start learning from my mistakes (sha right) and to give me something to look back on and laugh at how much of a tool I’ve been. If we didn’t laugh we’d cry, right?

I’m Niki, I’m 23 and I’ve just finished my degree in Contemporary Art at Leeds University. I’ve moved back home to Belfast and into my mommas house, cause I can’t get a fucking job and my mum provides me with shelter, food and the occasional bottle of rum. I look like this -

In the past, I’ve worked in office admin, as a retail monkey in Claires Accessories, as a visual merchandiser and sales assistant at Gap and in a badge factory. Yeah, a factory that made badges. I’m generally not fussy about where I work, but having just graduated with a 2:1 from a good university, applying for call centre work is crushing my delicate little soul. Expect ‘nuff rants about my job hunt and the idiots that I have to deal with on a daily basis because of it (I’m looking at you, recruitment consultant morons).

My parents are lucky enough to have another house in Millisle (a shitty little seaside town about 45 minutes out of Belfast) where they spend 80% of their time. This means I’ve been living in my nice big house in Belfast with my 18 year old brother since I got home. This situation is slowly making my lose my will to live. He treats the place like he owns it, leaves everything at his skinny little ass and for some bizarre reason he seems to have real difficulty with flushing the toilet. He shows me little to no respect, despite the fact that I wash his shit-stained underwear, throw out his empty Winemark £1.70 cider bottles and don’t complain about the crusty Durex that he leaves in his room.

At the end of August, my mum & stepdad are moving into their house in Millisle permanently, my brother and 3 of his friends are renting this house in Belfast. I’m welcome to move in with my parents, but I’ll be fucked if I’m living in Millisle. I’ve always lived in big cities, I couldn’t deal with having to walk for an hour to get to the nearest shop and I can’t very well ruin my life if I’m not able to go out in Belfast whenever I please. Essentially, I need a job in the next couple of weeks, so that I can afford my own place in Belfast by the end of August.

My life fails mostly come as a result of my love for dark coloured spirits (fuck you, Captain Morgan and Jack Daniels) and intense cravings for a cold beer on a hot night. I go out with the best intentions – have a drink, dance like a hiphop supastar, chat with my mates about how much better we are than everyone else and be tucked up in my heart covered duvet my 2am, alone.

Sadly - my dreams of a civilised night are rarely realised. In the past week I had 2 nights out, one ended with vomit in my shoes and the other ended with the line ‘Seeing eachother again probably isn’t a great idea. You said yourself, youre a trainwreck’. Despite the aftermath of my nights out, I’m not doing myself or anyone else any harm (the only things I’ve damaged in the last week were my own shoes and my mothers opinion of me), so I’ll continue to ruin the lives of myself and those around me for my own entertainment. Why not spread the love?