On the side of my bed

I've been out of commission since yesterday.

Monday--went to the gym; came home with a sore throat. Woke up the next day, coughing, feeling rank. Went to work--BIG MISTAKE. By 11:30, I was out the door and frightened that I wouldn't make it home. On the ferry, I was dizzy and had the shakes. Luckily, I got home in one piece. Draped on the bed; shakes, fever, vomiting. I haven't felt this ill since I had food poisoning on my honeymoon weekend (beware of shrimp--1/2 price).

My darling came home early--brought crackers and seltzer (such a sweetheart). Took care of me all night; cleaned the apartment, brought me water and ice packs. Nurse/husband--who could ask for more?

Today I'm at home resting. I'm weak and dehydrated. Sipping water; actually ate something. Taking it easy. Rob's home with me today. He's also not feeling great, but he wanted to stay home to keep an eye on me.

The great thing about this morning--we both woke up to watch "Nigella Bites", one of our favorite shows. It put me in a good mood for the rest of the day. Right now I'm watching a "Project Runway" marathon.

Damn--reality t.v. is addictive.

Slow boat to hell

It's my usual morning: coffee, bagel, try to psych myself for work.

In my down time, I find the thing that takes me out of my funk is talking to the Modfather about houses. We are moving next year; not a moment too soon; this neigborhood is a piece of crap.

I'll probably sound like a snob (oh, what the hell), but I grew up on the upper East Side, so living here is a bit of a letdown. When I first moved here, S.I. showed promise, but with the influx of trash that's moved in, it feels like a housing project.

Want more info? Let me explain...

My downstairs neighbor with two kids (no husband, of course) yells and screams at her little bastards ("I'm gonna kill you fucking kids!"; her words not mine).
Then there's the cunt that lives next door (the bitch never met a complaint she didn't like). Let me also add that she has her crackhead-drunk-walking-breathing-piece of shit daughter living with her (and the crackhead's boyfriend, too). They yell and scream all day long. Are they even supposed to live here?
Probably not; but my landlord wouldn't care if Buffalo Bill was living here,
as long as he paid the rent--"it puts the check in the mail on time or it gets
the eviction notice" (sorry about The Silence Of The Lambs reference).

Oh, what a slice of fucking heaven.

It's obvious that the Modfather and I are so much better than this.

I can't wait for the suburbs.

If I knew you'd be a writer, I'd have kept my mouth shut.

We all have that little voice inside our heads. The voice that inspires us to move forward; or the one that discourages us, makes us admit defeat
before we have begun.

So what voice do I have inside my head you ask?

MY MOTHER.

I'll be in a store trying on clothes and that voice (think yenta):

YOU'RE NOT GOING TO WEAR THAT, ARE YOU?
THAT MAKES YOU LOOK FAT.
THAT MAKES YOU LOOK TOO BIG (a.k.a not flattering on the hips--thanks, Mom)
THAT'S JUST NOT FLATTERING.

You catch my drift.
Most of the time I'm fine and Jim Dandy, but there are those times when I really want those pants...

OH, NO--YOU'RE NOT WEARING THAT!

Okay, okay, I'm taking off the pants... I'm walking away... My hands are in the air... I'm walking away...

So, aside from a lobotomy there is precious little I can do.

I only wish my little voice gave stock tips.

Trompe Le Fig

Greetings:

I spend most of my day avoiding contact with people. Okay--it's not that I am an angry hermit (too cute for that). There are two factors at play here

1. I am a FREAK magnet. Let me explain....

Every train, bus, boat, pedicab and morning constitutional is accompanied by some gold toothed, drunk, smelly,  piece of shit that has to tell me their life story: great; you used to be a drug addict--now you're clean. Found God? Gonna tell me in three easy steps. (if there is a God, please kill me now!). If the freak job isn't popping off about God, it's a guy with B.O. plenty, trying to make time with yours truly.

This, my friend, is why I always carry a book (and a bell and a damn
candle, if it would do something!).

2.Work

You know what? I'm not even in the mood to be creative about this;
when I think of something funny I'll get back to you.

Later, lovers of folly

Happiness Is A Pink iPod

Greetings:

I'm happy to say that the day's over. Work was the usual; it's Monday ('nuff said).

Rob and I didn't go out for Valentine's Day; for us every day feels like Valentine's Day.

Okay--with that said ROB GOT ME AN iPod!!!!!!!!
I HAVE A PINK iPod!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Let me give you the Le Fig iPod Top Ten

1. Mambo Sun - T. Rex
2. The Drowners - Suede
3. Miles From Nowhere - The Smithereens
4. I Look Alone - The Buzzcocks
5. She's So High - Blur
6. Hollywood - Madonna
7. Boogaloo Down Broadway - The Fantastic Johnny C
8. The Have Not's - X
9. Coffee And TV - Blur
10.A Lack Of Color - Death Cab For Cutie

LISTEN - LEARN - ENJOY.

Love,
Le Fig
X

What Would You Do For A Klondike Bar?

So kittens and love bunnies--have you gotten your special someone a gift yet?
Valentine's Day is almost here and you know that the Duane Reade chocolate and
"Love Gorilla" doll just won't do, so what does one do?

For me, the answer is simply get my loved one the best cake in town. The Whole Foods three-level chocolate cheesecake. Now the only problem is getting it.
I go to pick one up on Friday evening (a little surprise for Rob); to my surprise, it's a madhouse. Every Lower East Side/Chelsea/Manhattanite prick and sundry were there. My first inkling this would be tough was the woman who pushed her way in front of me to get to the crab dip (it's crab dip; it's not going anywhere). As I deftly make my way past the free-range chicken and gluten-free bread; I find myself at the bakery counter. My luck--all three monstrous lines are located right in front of it. I squeeze my way past; I briefly get to glance at the fruit tarts before I hear, "Miss--Miss--Miss--excuse me, Miss". Before "Miss" number five, I turn my head to gaze at a woman who (shall we say) has a passing resemblance to Anna Wintour (in looks and "charm"):

"Don't cut the line".
"I wasn't going to", I replied .
"Whatever", said faux-Anna, "don't cut the line!"
(Okay mistress of the organic market--I'll be a good girl.)

When I finally get the counterperson's attention, I ask about the status of the golden cake.
"Nope--not in", she replied.
"Will it be in on Monday?"
"No but we have a lovely bee cake."
(Bee cake = $7.49 for a mini chocolate cake with a decorative bee--f**k you, Whole Foods)

Down but not out, I figured I'll get Rob some organic chocolate; before I was able to seal the deal, a woman with two three year olds are whining, crying and falling behind their mom. When the woman to my left calls attention to this, it prompts the "Mother Of The Year" to give off this icy stare and state "oh, mind your own business". An angry war of words ensuses and like anyone else, I make haste.

Sad--with no cake (no dignity, either), I walk about four blocks; to my surprise, I find a cute cafe filled with pastries, homey and smelling sweet. I ask if they have any lime bars--"of course", smiles the counterperson. He picks it, bags it and I am done!

So did Rob like it? Loved it. Mission accomplished.

Funny--Whole Foods, for all it's "earthy goodness", it's a real viper's nest of Manhattan ugliness.

Now let me see if I can find a lemon bar.

Happy Valentine's Day.

(Post-script--notice: TWO blogs in one day!)

Time For A Change (Structured Le Fig)

It has come to my attention that I am "lacking" in certain areas. No, nobody said anything to me--this falls a under self-realization that I'm really good at making excuses for myself. I feel this is the year to take greater responsibility; to stop saying "next year I'll do it". The keyword here is STRUCTURE (sorry, if this sounds like some sort of Dr. Phil crap; I'm trying to sort this out for myself).

Most people know this blog for its' humorous content, so I apologize if you're taken aback by the more serious nature of this posting. It's been swimming around in my mind and I thought I'd share it on here (as you do).

I promise the next one will be funny.

One litlle post-script: all this self-reflection becomes much easier once you get rid of the losers and users in your life. You know who you are.

'Bye.

One for the chunks--second for the remainder

Do you want to know the meaning of the word "unpleasant"? My first thought would be to say being stuck on a train station with a homeless man, his cart, toy gun (looked real enough), staring at me and grumbling with his ski cap jauntily tilted to the side, Addabisi-style.

The real meaning of unpleasant for me was at work. My boss decided to "lay down the law": unbeknownst to me, people have apparently been "stinking up the joint". Her solution? Light a match. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. There are a lot of things I've had to hear at work, but that, for the love of Pat, Mike, Mary and the rest of yer Irish clan, was too much for my fragile senses. I learned long ago, when working with men, they pee on the seat; they lift it up, don't put it back down and generally make a regular bathroom smell a possum exploded.

And that, my friend--that's life. Now I shall go and wash the ick off me.

Let my thoughts churn like butter and become the Land O'Lakes of your mind (a.k.a. Chick'n 'N Beer)

How many of you ride the trains every day? Don't you just love the abusive relationship we're in? They raise the fare--the service is still shitty and oh, by the way--nothing you can do about it. Why would I bring this sore subject up? Let me tell you about this morning's commute...

Like everyday, I run with the rest of the cattle for a train car with a seat. I make my way in to find guess what? 3 homeless men slumped in various states of dishevelled (actually, smelling of beer, urine, chicken and feces with fried chicken strewn everywhere). Half eaten chicken, whole chicken, chicken gizzards, fried chicken feet--obviously, it doesn't take Carnac to figure out these are not homeless vegetarians. They didn't even have the fucking decency to get sides. A little mashed potatoes to cover up the smell of poo.

I, along with the other commuters, feel we must get out of the chicken/doody experience. By the 5th car, I'd been able to get the KFC Experience out of my nose. This, my friend, is what I pay $2.00 a ride for.

Have a chicken wing and a laff at my expense.