tig-o bitty productions is born

Last night I was laying in bed with this AIDSfluepidemic that I have, and I couldn’t sleep. The sound of my heart pumping was loud in my head and I needed distraction. As I am borderline retarded not good with technology, the cable we just got has not been set up on my TV yet, so I had two options: An old episode of Moesha, or Carson Daly.

I normally would have passed Carson and his uuber skinny body by [his weight fluctuation is worse than Oprah's!]-but he had Gym Class Heroes on, whom I love.

As Carson said goodnight to the crowd, and I began to drift to sleep, I saw something horrifying. A logo … for CARSON DALY PRODUCTIONS. I nearly vomited up the SpaghettiOs and tea I had consumed hours earlier.

How was this possible? Not only is this d-bag making bank every night by hitting on young movie stars and making jokes about pot and his “best friend Kid Rock” … but he gets to be a production mogul too!?

I want to be a production mogul! ME!!

So I started thinking about this idea – and realized that a lot of actors/comedians/models/douches have production companies [read: often a platform for them to produce shitty films that their drunk college buddies write]

Examples:

• Clean Break Productions (Tom Arnold)
• Irish Dreamtime (Pierce Brosnin)
• Saturn Films (Nicholas Cage)
• Dualstar (The Olson Twins)
• Estevez Productions (Emilio Estevez [real fucking original])
• You Go Boy Productions (Martin Lawrence)

… and the cream of the crop…

• One Race Films (VIN.DIESEL.)

So – I have made a decision, folks.

I’m starting my own production company. Yep, me. If Vin Diesel can get someone to back his movies (because you know he’s broke as Martin Lawrence!) — then I can, too.

I will call it: Tig-O Bitty Productions. I think that will get me some investors reaaaaal quick-like.

So, my lovely internet friends — pull out that screenplay you wrote back in ‘98 about the girl that broke your heart, or the action/smut you wrote [starring yourself].

I should have picked Moesha.

my roomie pretends to be straight, and i hate winter

First off: random photos from Vegas!

OK – GLAD THAT’S OUT OF THE WAY.

———————————————————

Well, incase you don’t live in the pacific NW, or watch TV, or live under a rock and have missed the memo – IT’S SNOWING IN OREGON. My Nana can’t even remember the last time it’s snowed this much for this long (over a week now). Some of you readers in otehr parts of the country might say “You’re a pussy. This is us every winter” — I’m sorry, I say. I’m not used to it! My delecate fingers and toes are colllllldddd.

It’s just just snowing – it’s like Oregon is a pile of french toast, and God is powdering us down. But, my work has been closed, and I’m out of school until January, so there’s been a lot of sitting on our couch and eating food. Yesterday, I tried to get to the store and it took me THREE HOURS to get a mile up the road on the bus and back.

That horrifying ramp is actually nine stairs and a concrete landing — which I fell down last week.

Meagan is not used to this. Meagan usually drives when it’s yucky. Meagan is still learning this urban ‘public transit’ lifestyle. Luckily, I have been able to meet some kindly ladies & gentlemen who offer me bus tickets, booze, and wedding proposals.

Roomie and Roomie’s Lady have been going to work while I stay at home. They come back, and we play outside. Then we take pictures, where they try to look straight.

That is roomie trying to be a straight girl. Apparently my mouth is always agape.

But, the up side is that my apartment is badass, and my roomie is the bomb [which I already knew].

I will now attach photos because I want you to see the glory. Background: Owls are a secret sorority thing that roomie and I share. We both collect owls. And our house kind of looks like the room of a crazy old woman at a retirement home. Whatever.

Hello, Bathroom Owl — I love you.

Kitchen full of owls (please note that there is an owl cookie jar and owl lantern near the coffee pot. And yes, there are more owls on the wall than you see here.

So, who wants to come visit?

Eh, eh, eh?

PS – ROOMIE, IF YOU READ THIS AT WORK, LEAVE A COMMMENNTTTT. oh – and i’m about to go lay in your bed and watch a movie. mwahahah.

ELF MYSELF

and Melissa Lion and Kiala and Intern Nathalie.

http://elfyourself.jibjab.com/view/aPx2vCFKijJBaC0ViqeE

We’re all in love.

I have cabin fever.

Fucking snow.

no more!

I made a decision last night.

Thanks to the recent shenannigans in my life, I have decided that I need to get rid of all the assholes. Of which there are many.

Exs. Old friends. Enemies. Frenemies. Flings.

They all must go.

So, chances are I won’t be getting rid of any of you interweb people. Because I love you. You make me feel smart, and witty and important.

Except you.

Yeah, fuck you.

yes, i’m alive

Because I’m at work and without internet at my new apartment, here is a short rundown (which I will follow up tomorrow)

-Vegas was bomb. I only lost $10 in the penny slots

- I drank a lot of yard-long iced beverages

- I went to M&M world and accidentally walked out with a pound of peanut M&Ms

- My feet still hurt

- The attempt to make it home from the airport in the freezing ice & snow was hellish, and I thought I was going to die

- I met a “repeater” — details later

- Moved into my new apartment. Come visit me.

That is all. More in the next few days.

JNCo jeans? Yep – had ‘em.

As I’ve said here – I consider myself a fashionista of sorts. A fashion Queen, really. But last night, whilest reminiscing with an old friend, I was reminded that I did not always have this impeccable style.

Though this is very embarrassing for me, I feel that I need to show that not all fashionistas start out top notch. We go through phases like the rest of you Poor people.

First of all, I will say that I started out well. My Grammy always bought me the finest linens from Laura Ashley & Nordstrom & Saks Fifth Ave. Here is a photo to prove how effing cute I was.

Don’t my Mom (L) and Aunt Sue (R) look perfect? Just perfect and WASPY and perfect? That was probably a $200 child jumper. Which I undoubtedly hated.

I was even approached at the mall to be a tiny, baby model. I like to think I would have ended up like this

No, no, not the girl — the badass kid BEHIND her. Yeah, him. He has QUITE the fierce-factor. But – I didn’t look Norwegian enough for them — apparently my Welsh roots make it impossible for me to model for Hanna Andersson.

That’s okay, I mean, I’m not upset about it. I mean, it’s not like I wonder what would have happened to me if I had modeled for them. I don’t wonder if I’d be driving a sweet car instead of the 1998 Dodge Intrepid that I got from my Aunt. I don’t ever cry myself to sleep that maybe today I’d be working for a modeling agency doing recruiting, because it’s not like that is my dream or anything. No, I’m fucking fine. Seriously.

But then, around twelve, I rebelled against my cute clothing. I wore JNCO Jeans and oversized t-shirts. I refused to brush my hair. And I tried to cut my own bangs (I don’t want to talk about that one — it’s still too soon).

And I made horrible purchases. Like these awful velour hot pants that my friend reminded me I owned yesterday. Somehow, these have never been thrown out.

And I’m not sure I want to.

I mean, I should keep constant reminders of where I’ve been to keep me from going there again. It’s like keeping a picture of you at your heaviest on the fridge to keep you from late-night binging. Or by the toilet, in my case. Either way — it’s good to keep memories.

So, I will keep you, velour hot pants. And one day down the road when I haven’t done laundry in weeks, I will wear you to the grocery store with a long-sleeved shirt and Converse.

And I will remember a simpler time when it didn’t take me an hour to get ready in the morning. When I had less self esteem than I do now. When I had yet to touch a boy, unless we were playing basketball and I was kicking his ass.

To cleanse myself of the shorts, however, I need to go buy something I can’t afford before I leave for VEGAS! Mwahahaha!

i’ll be there with bells on …

BackFence PDX is tomorrow! I’m so excited, I could spit!

Last time, I got to meet some of you for the first time there, so now that we’ve met – we can like, make out or something this time. I’m looking at you, Aisha.

Since my mentor/love of my life, Kiala has run from me – Melissa Lion lets me help out Intern Nathalie during BFence and lets me pretend I’m important.

Also, you should come to it because I’ll be premiering my new red dress. Its style lies somewhere between this

And this

Intrigued?

Good.

Come and see Nathalie & I. We will give you hugs. And there will be laughter and joy and tears and it’ll be splendid.

Buy tickets. NOW.

my new life as lullaby collins …

When I was a little girl, my friends wanted to be cowgirls.

I wanted to be an assassin.

Not like Kim Possible, or some other Disney crime-fighter bullshit. I’m talking the real thing. At the age of six, I was reading up on ways to kill a man with my thumb. Turns out, there are quite a few. I started watching MMA to get some grappling education.

Every time a new Bond, Bourne, Jolie or Transporter movie comes out – I get a tingle in my loins. A tingle that tempts me to kill a man.

Now – of course, I understand what becoming an assassin would mean. It means a serious costume change. Which I’m cool with. See – if I were a dude, i would (obviously) have to wear a suit — something like this:

But I don’t like to be that scary. I mean, a female assassin has to be a bit of a seductress. She has to make someone think she’s weak – and then BAM! they’re gone. Thanks to the website TheFemaleAssassin.com, I now understand where this wardrobe will have to go. Straight to this:

That website, by the way, is outstanding. Whoever writes it — is quite a prize piece!

I also realize that my life will have to be a bit different. The Female Assassin needs to break ties. So, sorry kids – but I have no friends anymore. Only enemies I keep close, and men that I sleep with to slip into their underworlds. If you fit either of those two categories, we’re still on.

Also, I know that I need to have some sort of great love. He will probably be another assassin, or maybe just a man I’m supposed to kill. Either way, he will make me want to leave the field and settle down (because that’s what women do, right!? Thanks media!).

Before I have the chance, however, he will be killed. Brutally murdered.

And I will have but one mortal enemy. Who I will dedicate my life to finding. And when I do, he will not only know the wrath of my gun, but the wrath of a woman scorn.

So, what I’m trying to say is — I’m an assassin now. I’m obviously a freelancer, so I’m not committing to an agency yet. If you know of anyone, hear anything, just let me know.

Also, I realize I’m missing a piece.

My assassin name.

Don’t worry – got it covered. Just call me

Morgaine “Lullaby” Collins

Thank you, Assassin Name Generator!

i wonder why i’m not dead yet …

I want to re-cap the last two nights:

FRIDAY:

After one of the weirdest/worst weeks in a long time, I headed to see ‘A Christmas Carol’ at Portland Center Stage with Julian Chadwick, of PDX Pipeline fame – a humble review by me will be here tomorrow. Then he took me to some hipster club where everyone is sweaty and tattooed and hump each other pretending to be uninterested. We left immediately. Then we went to the CyborgCamp pre-party, where I ran into a few of you lovelies. Then to GoodFoot, which I had never been to before. Me likey.We met this guy:

I professed my love for him. Obviously.

SATURDAY:

My BFF Rian and I went to Holiday Ale Fest. This happened:

And then this:

And finally, this:

And now, I have a hang-over, an unexplained injury and a muscle cramp that has crippled me.

Overall – great weekend. Phenomenal, even.

See you kiddies tomorrow! <3

FINALLY – IT IS MY JOB TO ANNOUNCE THAT SACI WON $9 IN BINGO – CONGRATS, M’LADY!

you learn something new every day …

As a twenty-two year old shopping addict- I like to think that I know a thing or two about purchasing fine goods. And piece of shit goods, for that matter.

But I’m having a hard time understanding how I missed the most amazing collection of trashy products out there.

Rite Aid.

I haven’t been to one since I was like eleven, but today I needed my Lorazepam prescription filled … like … ASAP. And what I found was more than relief from anxiety and an increase in my overall euphoria.

I found the ‘Natalie Three Foot Walking Doll’ for $9.98!

I found sleep pants and sweaters from a company called ‘Beverly Hills Polo Club’ — which I can only assume from the title — is an upscale clothing company for only the extremely rich!

I also found a DIAMONDlike necklace and earring set for $7!!!!!!!!!

They also carry THE most extravagant wall of boxed wine I have ever seen in my many years on this Earth.

But the most wonderful thing I found… The thing I have been saving up for since I was twelve [I currently have $9.74 in my fund] is this …

The Phantom — i.e., my dream ride — is basically top of the line. And at Rite Aid – it is a meer $278!!!

My real statement here is: I love Rite Aid.

And also – why hasn’t Oprah tapped into this resource for her Favorite Things Show!?