The Girls Are All Grown Up...

A few minutes ago, desperately needing a break from my Death by Power Point, I decided that a little procrastination was in order. What's my favorite way to waste a bit of time? Google, of course. For some reason I was inspired to look up old friends from elementary school. I discovered that Kate, who was somewhat of an archnemesis of mine, was a cross-country star in college and spent a year abroad in New Zealand. I found some photos of her breaking through the finish line in a race and smiled: Kate looks exactly the same as I remember her.

Free associating, I thought about the other kids that went to school with me and Kate at The Montessori School in Albuquerque. In 5th grade, two new girls joined our class. They were sisters, Nicole and Kristy Austin, who had moved from California with their hot, single mom Tina. In the midst of all the other moms in jeans or business suits, Tina Austin used to show up to school to pick up her girls wearing a leopard print tube top, spandex leggings and patent leather stilettos, her bleached blonde hair pulled back in a high ponytail with a matching leopard print scrunchee.

Nicole and Kristy were like junior carbon copies of their mom. Sure, they wore all the same 80's fashion as the rest of us girls, but there was always something different: their pants were a little tighter, their shirts showed a sliver of midriff, they wore red lip gloss to school, and they always had their hair styled as if participating in a pageant. Nicole and Kristy were my introduction to Valley Girl slang, to Paula Abdul, and to the wonders of the spiral curling iron. Part of me chalked it all up to the girls being from California, but even at the tender age of 10 I knew Nicole and Kristy were on a very different path from the rest of us. They were sweet girls, and we would have sleepovers and go to dance class together and share cherry coke slurpees from 7-11, but differences in our values, upbringings and interests kept us from being really close friends.

A few years ago, an old friend from The Montessori School sent me an e-mail with a link to some Hott Girls Swimsuit Edition calendar out of Phoenix, Arizona with the accompanying message: "Look closely at Miss October and see if you don't recognize her." I opened up the site and took a good look at the model. She had a disproportionately huge boob job and bright dyed blonde hair, but there was no mistaking it. "Coco", the bikini-clad testament to silicone, was Nicole Austin, larger than life and on the fast-track to soft porn. Kristy, her sister, was featured as an extra in the group photo on the calendar's cover and looked equally boobtastic.

So today in my quest to look up old classmates, I remembered the e-mail about Nicole and decided to google her. Imagine my surprise when all of the results that came up were for Coco, Ice-T's skanky wife that I always read about on Perez Hilton. Initially I thought, "No, that can't be Nicole. Ice-T's wife is, like, 35 or something." I don't know why I had this impression. Mabye it's because Coco smacks of some washed-up Hollywood "actress" who desperately clings to her youth by wearing stripper gear and being generally tasteless. Someone like Kimora Lee Simmons, perhaps, or Bai Ling. Whatever, the fact that both women are named Nicole Austin must be a coincidence.

But then I saw a snippet of a biography and my eyes locked on the phrase, "...born in California in 1979, moved to Albuquerque, New Mexico at the age of 10." Holy shit. I started browsing the photo galleries on Perez Hilton and imdb. It took me a while to see through the nose job, the cheek implants, the ginormous 39DD boobs and the butt implants (yes, butt implants), but after a while I saw it. Her eyes are still the same. Oh my God. I used to go to elementary school with Ice-T's Playboy-featured wife. The girl that went trick-or-treating with me in 1990 and taught me how to peg-roll the bottom of my jeans is now the woman with a perma-camel toe and a pound of silicone in each ass cheek. I'm shocked, but honestly not at all surprised.

Somewhere in a storage unit back in the US, I have a photo album full of pictures from 5th grade. I wonder how much a gossip rag would pay for pictures of Coco wearing a puffy paint sweatshirt and playing Twister in my backyard?

For some examples of this woman's class, click here, here, here, here, here and here.