Twiggy

I'm saving this post on here instead of myspace. Since myspace is so dumb and totally not cool anymore.

Twiggy. Named for her long slender legs and tree dwelling. Since my house has been in the process of being repainted and I currently have no screens on my window, Twiggy has come to visit me three times. Not totally sure of how Twiggy has made her fine entrance into my kitchen each time, I decided to document the process a la camera phone.

Exhibit A- Twiggy Face

This is Twiggy.

Wait wait wait. The light from my camera phone is making twiggy look rabid. Twiggy is not rabid. At least I hope not. Lets try this again.

This is Twiggy.

Little less rabid, not sure about the creepy department. Well whatever. That is Twiggy. Twiggy appears at her window, 9:30 pm. Same time as last night. Same time as the night before. Twiggy apparently has an amazing body clock. Anyway. I start to hear her scratch the window a bit, slowly pushing it open a crack.

Exhibit B - Twiggy Hand

This is twiggy's little arm and hand. This is also the scene that amazed me the most because not only did twiggy's arm come in but she proceeds to grab the handle on the window and tug. Seeing the twiggy arm I am compelled to feed it like a dumb ass. I think to myself, its just an arm. If she decides to do anything I can simply shut the window really hard and snap it off. So I place a tomato in the twiggy hand. And she grabs it. And throws it on the roof.

Exhibit C -Twiggy Head

Twiggy does not appear to like tomatos. Nor does she like 9 grain wheat bread. Perhaps too many grains? Perhaps not enough? Either way twiggy is coming in.

Exhibit D- Twiggy Body

Twiggy has arrived. Note the thin frame. The long legs. The slender tail. Twiggy is obviously bulimic. She does not want a tomato or wheat bread. She is here to binge on pudding and pizza and hot dogs. She will later purge in the trees.

Twiggy left late last night probably around midnight. I checked once before that to see if she was still in the room. She was. On the floor, laying on her back, feet straight up in there air. Cutest fucking thing ever.

Two days later Twiggy attacked me in my bedroom and ate all my mice. They were named after the Golden Girls and they're all dead now. True story.

Warm

Holly, Me, Tim I-bar 6/25/09

Why...

does the girl who owns the "megameghan" twitter have to be such a fucking idiot...

Dear Woody Allen,

I wanted you to know that your fans are split into two different catagories. New fans and real fans. New fans are the people who say "I like Woody Allen movies, just not the ones with him in them". Probably the most idiotic thing you could ever say when speaking of Woody Allen.

If new fans had any idea what the fuck they were talking about, they would know that your best work ALWAYS contained you inside it. They would know that Scarlet Johanson's little Matchpoint was very similar to an even better (excellent) previous Allen movie (that starred you) titled Crimes and Misdemeanors. They would know that while Vicky Christina Barcelona is great and beautiful to look at, it will never be Manhattan and that Manhattan would never be Manhattan, without you, Woody Allen.

They would see you riddled inside the comedy and mannerisms of Larry David and in turn his genius sitcoms Seinfeld and Curb Your Enthusiasm. They would appreciate your timeless slapstick humor and would be fast enough to catch your quickly delivered jokes and the furthest thing from their mind would be that you creepily married your asian step-daughter.

Most importantly they would have taken the time to watch an old movie of yours. That of which they have probably never done. Woody Allen, I own 16 of your movies and it isn't because I set out to do so in order to PROVE that I was a fan of yours. It's because every time I ordered one of them on netflix, I fell in love with it and purchased it for 1.50 on half.com. You are by far the only weird haired big nose troll I could ever find attractive. Your sense of humor and writing is enviable and I too would have dropped my pants if I were ever lucky enough to be your step daughter. ::cough:: I write this in hopes that I never come across a "new" fan who insists on telling me how much they only like the movies that do not include yourself. Because I swear to god I will squeeze that person in their private parts until they say otherwise.

As I sit here and order the very funny yet not as popular as it should be "Hollywood Ending" for an insanely cheap price, I want to thank you for sending me the comedy "Whatever Works" in July, starring the other man of my dreams Larry David. I just wish you too were in it.


Love,

Meghan

Another Weekend In The Life Of...

Autumn, Me, Peach, Aoki 4/30/09

I'm sitting at a dinner table on Central Ave, Brooke and Paul across from me, a few girlfriends and Steve Aoki (Benny Hanna's son, Lindsay Lohans best friend) to my side. Any girl decked out in American Apparel would be peeing her gold spandex right now over the celebrity hipster DJ god on my left, but all I can think about is if I will be paying for the $12 martini I'm about order and how not to call Steve out on the $100 dollars he literally tricked me out of the last time we played poker. I decide to spare him since he is currently offering me some of his steak.

Paul stares at me for a few seconds and somehow I know he isn't about to compliment me on my wonderful Urban Decay eye makeup job...

"You look tired Meghan".

Agreed. I'm fucking exhausted. After 3 days of non stop coughing and 5 whole hours of sleep, I have concluded that I am not tired, I am dying.

Funny thing is, as distant and drained as I look and feel, I'm still happy. I spent the next few hours hiding from Kevin's camera on stage while trying to decipher the words coming out of Brooke's mouth, reluctantly dancing at the sides of four other tall beautiful friends amongst a sea of scene androids to the obnoxious beats vibrating and bouncing off the dilapidated club walls, and landing in the Grand Bohemian for some post partying. Sometimes I really hate myself. Maybe because I really had fun. Thanks P and B.

The rest of the weekend concluded in the company of JW's guitar playing as I scrubbed the tub and kitchen floor tiles in my Star Wars t-shirt and sock monkey slippers. Still happy.

Sometimes, I can't figure out what the hell kind of life I have made for myself in this humdrum city I half heartedly care about. Why some of the things I hate, mesh so wonderfully with some of the things I love in this world. Why my life is such an utter contradiction. All I know is this time, for the first time in a long time, I'm not complaining.

Maybe it's because no matter what, I'm not this guy...




or this one either...

Davey

This is my new cat Davey. I recently found Davey in a parking lot. He had the kindest demeanor, runs about 8 or 9 months old, and was purring away at his little gypsy life. Since his life also located him to the parking lot of a major intersection at John Young Parkway, I decided to take him back with me in hopes of finding him a safe home. Thankfully, JW and Jake are already fighting over him. He is wonderful after all. Since Davey's been with me the only thing he likes to do is sleep, crawl up in your lap, be held, purr, rub his head into you, purr more, nudge you and purr, purr, make you pet him and purr. He is the sweetest cat in the world!

Until he decided to rip my face off today.

I picked him up and out of nowhere with insane supernatural strength he grabbed me with his claws, barely missing my eyeball with one, and bit me in the forehead like a blood hungry zombie cat. I peeled him off my skin, threw him at the wall and went to run out the bedroom door, but to my horror he quickly came flying back at me, only purring this time.

If my head holes start emitting puss or I become a vampire tomorrow, please know that this was my time to go. A downward spiraling life could only end in the needle-like paws of a bipolar kitten straight out of a Pet Cemetery movie.

Twitter Creates Nightmares

After receiving the most awesome video ever that Ryan sent me earlier today mocking Twitter just as well as I could have imagined and almost replicating my previous Twitter rant, I sent the video to Martine, who laughed it up and took a nap shortly after.

Video:


Martine signed back online 2 hours later to tell me that she had a Twitter nightmare and went on to explain her bizarre dream to me. Now, normally it's a pet peeve of mine when people insist on telling me their dreams, because in reality no one gives a shit about your dream or will ever be able to see it the same way as you did. My friends however, are downright quotable sometimes, no matter how serious they are when discussing their nightmares with me and I will gladly listen to their sleepy thoughts. I have highlighted my favorite parts...

Martine: I dreamt I got twitter
Martine: and i was waiting to go to dinner with Rudy
Martine: and their was this box of chocolate that was a handicap child
Martine: and i told the mom if she minded if i ate her child which was pieces of chocolate and shared with the world how he was so special with every piece.
Martine: than Rudy left with his x gfriend
Martine: everything was being twitter to all my coworkers
Martine: then the bathroom was overflowing
Martine: and I was a foot deep in water
Martine: and Rudys house was full of water
Martine: and it drowned the chocolate child
Martine: and i couldn't eat the chocolate child
Martine: it was dead

Collections of Amazing Things

I think I've started a gnome collection. This is kind of like the unintentional collection of "vintage" poodles I have now, that stephanie created for me, even though poodles were my least favorite dogs. Somehow she made me like them. I think. Yeah, that's a lie. I fucking hate poodles.

Well now mom is supplying me with gmomes.

Gnomes and poodles. Yay.

In other news, Stephanie started Laura a "vintage" earing holder collection.




I think I will start Stephanie a vintage flashlight bulb head doll collection...



And maybe a vintage clown doll collection for her daughter Cadence...

NYC 2008

There has to be something said for friends that you hope fall in the Hudson river and float away forever, who you still love when you get home.

I don't know what it is about her. I love her to death. But god, she needs a filter sometimes.

Enough about that. The trip was amazing regardless. It was the first time I went up there and didn't stay with family or rent an apt, which was really nice actually. The Algonquin I might add is one of the oldest and prettiest hotels in the city. Not to mention is costs a fortune to stay there. The first night we sat down and had ourselves a $20 martini at the bar, which I have to say was the best martini ever and totally worth the money! That's a lie. It was worth $8.50 at the most.

Randall came to meet me, and working in the music district, the entire trip he was only 6 blocks away from our hotel. Steph and I did dinners and pubs. Saw Martha Wainright who was absolutely horrible and Stephanie dropped what seemed like $50 dollars at the bar on two beers. Another night at a pub, we were approached by a couple of annoying foreign british guys. One who played on the new WHO record and thought saying so a million times would impress me (maybe it did a little). I tried to hold normal adult conversation with him, but all he could do is smother me in disgusting come ons as he tried really really hard to take me back to his hotel room.

The highlight of the trip was definitely revisiting Brian...




hanging out after hours on the MTV building's nickelodeon floor. Drinking whisky, well sipping and almost throwing up at the thought of drinking whisky, with two of my favorite people as we ran around in the dark hallways and jumped on random Sponge Bob's, then landing in the conference room leaning against the large windows laughing and overlooking Times Square and the rest of the city. God, I MISS IT THERE. .