Clementine's Folly

Nope, nothing for you..

2009-10-31T19:03:00.006-04:00

Living in New York has its privileges.

I could tell you all the tourist brochure reasons I like living here,
but I will spare you. Yes we get it; the city that never sleeps...

Now let me tell you my story...

On a typical day, I check email before hauling to work. After deleting ten messages from the Prince of Nigeria (who, by the way, is in desperate need of our help--I think old royalty in exile needs a little wire transfer of cash and all will be right). After all that palaver, I actually get a message or two I can use.

It's a message from a theater doing readings for a new play, and the tickets are free--first come first served sounds like a plan. Arriving an hour and twenty minutes early, I'm convinced I'm getting in tonight. As I sprint up the stairs, I notice a line; one that starts from the first table to the end of the coffee bar (a lot of people--small theater = not good).

Undaunted, I stand on the line, take out my book, "Revolutionary Road" and wait for a positive sign. A couple of minutes go by. Even though I am engrossed in my book,
instead of staring into space, I'm actually doing something. I feel a tap on my shoulder. "Pardon me, what's this line for?" Then "how many tickets can I reserve?" and, yes, "what's the name of this play?"

Now, clearly these people do not know me very well. Clearly, the one person on line not Twittering, texting or in dreamland with an iPod and I'm the concierge desk for the line?

Yes, I could have answered the question such as:

"What's the name of this play? Oh, it's not a play it's a musical, "The Rape Of Richard Beck". A jaunty little romp full of song and dance numbers and simulated sex. The shower scene is supposed to be outstanding." Realizing most people DON'T get my sense of humor, I say "not sure--ask these people". The cranky old couple in front of me let them sort out the mess.

Thirty minutes later the line starts moving, actual progress! One by one we state our names and like desperate teenage Welfare mothers we give our names in hope of the Govt cheese, or in this case a measly ticket.

By the time they get to me, the ticketmaster announces "once we are on the list, please come back in an hour and tickets will be given out." Okay; I'm here only another hour--I can deal. I buy a cup of their best sludgy coffee and a bar of something in the realm of raspberry, find a seat and whip out the aformentioned book. I have about a minute and a half of silence, when two gents sit at my table and immediately go deep into conversation.. About movies. If there is one thing that pricks up my ears is anything regarding film. Especially when people get things wrong--I am the Jeopardy master.

In my mind it goes like this: "Who is Sam Rami?". "What is Drag Me To Hell?". "Who is Allison Lohman--no, not Elisha Cuthbert--she was on 24." "No, not Allison Janney; she was on the "West Wing" and no, Allison Lohman isn't a teenager--she just looks young." You get the point. No, I didn't correct them; I just like to be right about minutiae.

This folly is keeping me busy and before I know it, ticketmaster starts to dole out the golden tickets--actually light blue, but you get the point.

Except for one thing: the tickets are for the reserved seats...NOT YOU. These are the people who actually belong to the theater: friends, family, some one's pet allergist, you know--NOT YOU.

With my eagle eye vision, I see the reserved list is filled with names from top to bottom, and I get a feeling I may not be getting my fill of the cultural smorgasbord tonight. Ever the optimist, I hold out hop--it's a surprisingly large theater.

Everyone on line now seems to be a bit annoyed, but I try to be positive. Yes there free tickets but hey, maybe getting your name called might not be so good . Look what happened to anyone who got their name called in the lottery. (short story junior high ring a bell anybody)?

Of course, the woman next to me now has to chime in with "this tsn't fair" and "I have to see this play". Ecch, I know the type; an actress. You know what I mean. Loud; every statement has some wild gesticulation, studies "people" on her downtime for "research"--never been in anything. Just there to irritate... me.

Now the guest list is complete and all of us are waiting for our names. One, two three go in. Then: "That's it; sorry, no more seats". But wait--a couple of people come out of the theater: "we have some empty seats". Hey, my luck could turn, right?

Well, somebody got lucky: the two trivia guys and the actress. "Sorry no more seats" and ticketmaster gave us the old "you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here" look. Funny, we didn't leave; we all milled about as if somehow, if we stood around, maybe someone would come out of the theater and say "Awww,you guys can just stand in the aisle!" What the hell...

Nope, I just left and I still haven't finished my book.

Lesson for today

2008-07-22T20:51:00.001-04:00

You exist only in what you do.

Everybody loves the sun

2008-06-08T17:09:00.004-04:00

It's 90 degrees here and the living is sweaty.

Yes I know It's June It's hot, I still hate it.
Maybe if I loved to sit on a beach chair lather myself with baby oil and sit in the sun till I was nicely roasted, I would be just fine. But I am a mild weather person with problem(frizzy) hair so all is not well.

I went to Brooklyn today Atlantic Ave. Nice area,
Reminded me of the old version of the Village(when I actually liked going there)
Now it's all overpriced boutiques and Starbucks.
I probably liked the Village because I was younger. Its easy to look back and be wistful
Memory is always influenced by emotions, and yes I know, times change.

At least I'm not one of these people who pines for the good old days of 42 street
Yes everybody misses the crack, underage hookers and peepshow at every corner.
Enjoy the rest of your day, and let Global Warming be damned,
put those air conditioners on full blast.

ASK A QUESTION

2008-06-07T20:13:00.001-04:00

I think it is a challenge for human beings to go in the right direction.
Would you agree? Ponder this thought and reply.

No more dusk till dawn, no more Key lime pie.

2008-04-13T19:18:00.002-04:00

This had to happen.

The Cheyenne Diner, the last of the railroad car style diners in New York, has closed its doors.
Sadly, every shred of originality has been sucked out of this city. This was the place I used to go
after school (or during school--take your pick). Drink endless cups of coffee and never bothered.

It's where I had my first piece of key lime pie. All the hours, staring out the window...

Talk about philosophy, thinking about porn

2008-03-29T09:13:00.005-04:00

This is the way it goes: not hot enough for metal, not cool enough for alternative and I haven't given up on life enough for emo. Oh, aren't we all in a bind.

Never really thought of myself as an artist; a mere dabbler, as they say. I recently tried to work on a painting. Oh, it's always so much better in our heads. What comes out on the canvas? That's another story. Sorry, I'm quite tired.

So... my train of thought has been derailed. No funny pictures; no witty comments.

Just raw, uncut Le Fig.

Back again riding the ferry, may I just say "voyage of the damned"? Why does the drug addict, the woman with 10 kids, the really loud woman, the wino and the shitty teenager have to sit next to me? I must have done something really bad in a past life. If I have learned anything about public transportation, it's keep your head down and always look busy.

No, This is a real photo.

2008-03-26T08:13:00.003-04:00

It's okay, it will all be over soon.

See a bunny, beware

2008-03-23T08:11:00.008-04:00

The photo in my last Blog reminds me of this story from when I was a kid.

This comic book,about a bunch of kids who sadistically love to bites the heads off their chocolate bunnies. Somehow, they are invited to this Willy Wonka candy factory. It's owned by this 6 foot 8 bunny in a brightly colored suit (don't ask, I was 9). The gist is the hapless children are dipped in vats of chocolate and what happens?

He bites their heads off. Yes, it was predictable and silly but hey, it scared me. And any time I saw a mascot, I would break out in a cold sweat.

First Day of Spring

2008-03-20T17:33:00.005-04:00

First day of Spring. And Sunday's... Easter! Bunnies are a hoppin' and Christ's a risin'.

Short, Sweet

2008-03-14T12:29:00.013-04:00

Notes on a Le Fig: not short, but always sweet.

I use the computer now more than I ever have. Now I understand the addiction to email; there's nothing worse than waiting for that important message. Did I get it? Did I
accidentally delete it? Could it be the message I've been waiting for? I've turned into a 14 year old girl waiting by the phone (gimme back my Duran Duran poster).

Years ago, I tried a chat room. Struck me as a bunch of teenage and mid-twenties douches trying to one up each other. Sorry, I have better things to do. Like what you ask? Maybe I'll watch a marathon of documentaries about crystal meth. There, I can find out how people buy the products on line, cook it up at home in their lovely double-wide trailers and proceed to sell and or smoke it all. At that point, you sit in your hole, surrounded by beer cans, porn, pizza boxes and the smell of rotted teeth. As you probably can tell, I watch too much of the Discovery Channel. Yes, I know far too much about bikers, speed and meth mouth.

Speaking of rotted teeth and public intoxication, I saw The Pogues on Sat. I must say they put on quite a good show, The band sounded great. Shane was, well, Shane, and the audience didn't try to use me as a battering ram or vomit on me. All in all, a good time.

A girl walks into a Starbucks and...

2008-03-08T20:07:00.003-05:00

No, not a joke; I go to Starbucks, order my usual latte (skim milk/one sugar, thanks for asking);
sit down, waiting to savor my $3.47 goodness when in walks a fellow. He is obviously a
member of the Nation of Islam (hat, bow tie; carrying a bag full of their newspaper, "Muhammad Speaks"). The gentleman sits down at my table with his Venti coffee--black, of course, and one by one, empties 16 packets of sugar into it (it was "Sugar In The Raw", non bleached--not Domino's, that imperialist, white as snow sugar, just so you know).

I was sorely tempted to ask him, "hey, would you like a little coffee with your sugar?"and guffaw but something told me he wasn't the LOL type.

No sadly, he didn't say anything; I was kinda hoping he would say something like "how does it feel to be the cause of all the wickedness in the world, white devil?", but the minute another seat became empty, he quickly fled.

Gotta admit a great set up for a joke: A Jew and a 5 Percenter walk into a Starbucks and...

You must think better of me

2008-03-07T12:54:00.003-05:00

Oh, joy--another day, another blog.

Is it just me or are you sick of seeing Bill and Hillary Clinton? I just can't bear the thought of another four years of their schtick.

Four years of this joyless couple playing good cop, bad cop. She opens her mouth; says something dumb, then gets teary eyed and says she's being picked on. He says (or does something) stupid and blames it on a vast right wing conspiracy. Oh, joy; it's like the '90's all over again

Except I don't have acne and I have an apartment. The election cycle is one dog and pony show
that I wish I could avoid, altogether. Sorry, I am feeling a little fatigue.

Speaking of polling:
My ratings are down on http://www.humorblog.com/; this must be remedied, my minions.
Return your beloved Clementine to her former glory.

The stranger in my life

2008-03-04T11:07:00.005-05:00

So here we go again.

A new tale of an author who wrote a "personal memoir", only later discovered to be fraud.

Margaret B. Jones' story of a young white/American Indian girl's life in foster care, complete with drugs, guns and gangs. Only problem, she's from a nice family and went to private school(sorry not the Bloods/Crips Academy for girls). See, apparently she knew people in this environment and wanted to speak for them. Ah, the old "giving a voice to the disenfranchised" excuse. Then how about writing about them and not making up a story? Novel concept.

I honestly don't know how people get away with this. In the internet age, nothing is private; any little thing about you will come out. Are these people delusional? Ever heard of www.smokinggun.com? Recently, a woman named Misha Defonseca, was found to have lied about her book, "Misha", a Holocaust memoir. How do you lie about being in a death camp? I know everyone wants to have their book published, but the Holocaust? How about I was a teen during the rise of the Nazis and was really unhappy? It's harder to prove it didn't happen; people can relate to your story and hey, if you do meet up with actual survivors there's none of that awkwardness, trying to relate to their story.

My personal fave was that doyenne of the book world, James Frey. His "Million Little Lies" was on the best seller lists and had that old Oprah stamp of approval. Until it turned out the story wasn't true--OOPS! Since I couldn't stand his whole smug approach to it all; his "yeah, I was an addict, I was in jail, I'm tough, I'll go to the dentist and not take any pain medication, I beat this thing on my own, go hard or go home" attitude. It was such a funny sight to see him on Oprah, turned into a stuttering mess. Schmuck.

Note to publishers: fact check. Note to authors: try calling it fiction.

Burn the lake; it's of no use to me anyway

2008-03-02T18:48:00.004-05:00

Do you ever have one of those afternoons? I know that sounds like a set up for a joke.

There I am, just walking down the street; this fella's walking towards me. He decides to stop, drop and lie in the middle of the street. This stops me in my tracks. Sir--hello, sir can I help you? Nothing. Sir, this is dangerous--the guy could have easily been hit by a car. I tried to grab hold of his arm but he was limp and lifeless; not only was I repulsed by having to touch a stranger's(sorry, most people are filthy) hand, but he wouldn't help himself, leaving me to try to pick up the slack.

I got this funny feeling is this guy trying to kill himself? Has he given up all hope; thinks it would be better to just lie in the middle of the street and get run over by a car? Sure, the soccer mom in the Outback would be thrilled to know she was responsible for the death of this heavy overcoat wearing in 62 degree weather gentleman. Kids in the back: "Mommy, what was that large thud and crunch noise?" "Don't know kids; Mommy's putting the pedal to the metal and getting the McFuck outta here!"

Back to the gentleman... After several minutes of pushing and pulling with this dead eyed fella, I gave up; all hope lost I guess. I supposed I should be grateful Mr. Hopeless wasn't the head of the EPA. The lake's polluted--clean it? What's the point; burn the lake, it's of no use to me anyway. He lights his cigarette, over the blue flame of a roasting body of water, he smirks and walks away. I don't know what happened to this troubled gent, but I assume someone came along, picked him up, threw them on their back, slapped them around couple of times and told them to shape up or ship out. I am assuming cliche man lives in my neighborhood, but one never knows.

The lesser of two douchebags

2008-03-01T11:52:00.005-05:00

"Oh, blogging is so five minutes ago"... usually said by someone who doesn't have anything to write about.

They probably spend way to much time on their webcam, complaining. Probably voted for Nader in 2000, said things like "there's no difference between Bush and Gore"--really? Guess what--Bush becoming President is your fault. You had to fight the fight, man. Ecch is what I have to say about that.

I can't believe Nader is actually running again; who would vote for him--have you learned nothing? The Green Party? Stop; please stop. Whether you like it or not, there are two parties: Democrat and Republican. No Green, Right to Life, Libertarian, Socialist, Communist, Bald Eagle, or whatever. Two parties; the rest are fringe groups, get it? Now cut the malarkey, register to vote and shut up already,

Oh and please go out once in a while; you're starting to stink.

By the by, saw "Grindhouse-Planet Terror" again this weekend; damn I loved that movie.
If you haven't seen it you should; if you did see it and didn't like it, well there's no hope for you, is there?

Back in the day

2008-02-27T16:54:00.004-05:00

The Cyclone, that old rickety death trap.
Gone but not forgotten by those who loved it
and those who had been injured. Godspeed
you twisted hunk of metal.

Free the Coney Island Bee

2008-02-27T07:45:00.003-05:00

The title says it all. Sad plastic bee behind a fence all day, actually he's gone now I'm sure there's a Condo in his place. Ah yes, progress

Nothing to it but to do it

2008-02-24T21:12:00.005-05:00

This blog suffers from ADD, so don't be alarmed at the lack of cohesiveness.

This gem of a title came from an expression a gentleman I knew years ago.He would do the old hand smack with his male friends before they would go out and get there party on. Yes I admit it I have known many douche bags in my life. Where is he now? Probably selling sensible shoes in the heartland of America.

Relax, strap in and get ready for the blinding lack of continuity .

Let's do a remember when--remember when: You saw your first movie alone? Jaws 3D; year, 1982. Nothing to report; it was a piece of crap, but I got to see this dreck alone, so I felt cool. First time you thought you were going to die in a movie theater? Early '90's, watching Alien 3-- fella in back of me was making quite the racket, so I gathered up all my gumption and said "hey could you and your ladyfriend keep it down? I am trying enjoy my cinema experience. He obliged by kicking my seat quite forcefully and explained in very salty language that I would meet a bad end at the barrel of a gun; oh, and his girlfriend was going to f#ck me up, too. No, I did not die, but I certainly did not enjoy my cinema experience

Maybe if I was prettier, I could have done better in life, but alas, that's just not me. I suppose I thrive on mediocrity and a little slice of retail hell.

"I used to love them, but now, not so much"... I've been thinking about this; have you noticed that so many of the things that happen to you in life become metaphors for relationships?
Bands you like. At first, every thing was great; then, it changed. Things were never the same;
now you pretend they don't exist. You liked them before they were popular, now they're the pretty girl at the prom who's ignoring you. You're probably angry because they loved you when no one else did; they moved on--you didn't. But hey, let's face it; human relationships are so
yesterday.

Even old jobs have become abusive relationships. At first it was fine , then became controlling treats you like moron , might as well push you down the stairs. Suddenly a lousy boss turns into Ike Turner. Now I've had some lousy bosses, but I don't ever remember being beaten with a shoe, as far as I'm concerned maybe if I did some physiological beatings I might have ended up in a better place.

One last piece of the confused pie:

As you may have surmised, I watch a hell of a lot of TV, so you start to see many of the same actors over and over again. Do you ever think Keith David and David Keith ever get confused
with each other? The two fellas bump into each other on the street...

Start: Keith David and David Keith

Hey you! It's you!

David Keith:
Don't you narrate commercials for the Army?

Keith David:
Didn't you make that movie where you killed yourself and you were in the Army?

Both guffaw.

Keith David:
Weren't you in the film Lords of Discipline?

David Keith:
Hey weren't you in that movie with Jennifer Connolly where you taught her a little discipline with a stripper and a double sided dildo?

Both laugh heartily, slap each other on the back and decide to make plans for a sitcom.

Scene: fin.

If you had just listened to me, none of this would have happened

2008-02-23T22:08:00.012-05:00

One day, every thing is peachy keen; the next day you find yourself in a church, in a subway station and people with very bad skin are praying to a nuclear missile, yapping on about "we reveal our inner self to you".

In other words, you're just having one of those days.

I know who killed your career: sorry for the corny play on a really bad movie. If you haven't seen this film, "I Know who Killed Me" trust me--don't. This magnum opus of drivel has hooting owls, Art Bell, blue roses, "scary music", stigmatas, body parts that just happen to fall off, then get stitched back on with sewing needles. It stars Lindsay Lohan as a whacked out stripper, who has a psychic connection to her long lost twin. She gets to say things like "I always felt like half a person with half a soul". Watch as she throws f-bombs, smoke and wear every low cut top and pair of boy shorts they could find at the local Long Island Mall. Of course, when she actually gets down to the "stripping", it's a costume right out of central casting (note to filmmakers: actual strippers are rarely stylish, glamorous or sexy; they step on stage, strip and leave; get on you and you get off). At least they got the thigh high hooker boots right.

I'm sure she did this film, thinking it was going to be some sort of masterpiece. That's why it's best not to go on a two day coke binge before you read the script. And of course, the role was "empowering"--another word of the '90's that won't die. You know sexual situations and nudity;
it's to embrace your sexual self and empower you... Sorry; just writing that line made me wince.

For once I would love to hear from an actress," my career was in the crapper; I needed some press" and like Sheriff Buford T. Justice said, "That's what I call an attention getter!" Indeed, Buford, indeed.

Now that you've read the review, trust me; this film is God awful. If you're dying of curiosity, go to www.moviespoiler.com; better yet, It was her piano teacher, OK? He did it! Don't say I didn't warn you.

One or the other

2008-02-22T17:43:00.002-05:00

I bring questions; I bring the funny.

What do you choose? Would you rather look like Courtney Love or Anna Nicole Goldigger?
Answer: Anna. Why you ask? Because even though she's been dead for a year, her rotting corpse still looks better than Courtney on a good day.

Who would you pick: Nicole Ritchie or Paris Hilton?
Trick question: neither. Besides, can you please tell me what do these people actually do for a living, except have kids or spread herpes?

Hillary Duff or Hayley Duff? Another trick; it does not matter--you just want the last name Duff, so Simpsons geeks could always greet you with "HMMMMM, Duff".

Miley Cyrus or Hannah Montana? Don't care; I just want the 3 billion dollars she has.

Old Lindsay Lohan or little Lohan?
Young: you could start out fresh-faced and avoid all the tomfoolery that's left her looking like a 40 year old divorced, single mom from Long Island. Sorry, maybe I'm just looking at a picture of her mom; these days it's hard to tell.

Finally, XM or Sirius radio? At this point, nothing. If these two idiot companies merge together that only means one thing--one mega company that falls flat on its face and the subscribers holding the bag and paying the price for their greed.

One final note: do you know where the expression "rule of thumb" comes from? It was the width of stick a man could use to beat his wife with. This was legal, people.

Ahh, God Bless America.

Oh, the folly of youth bring memories I'd rather forget

2008-02-21T08:58:00.006-05:00

Remember the days of your youth?

The fun, frolic and frivolity of days gone by; when you didn't have to get up in the morning, you could play all day and in the evening sit on the porch, drink Country Time lemonade and listen to old-timey music while grandma braided your hair. Actually, I made that part up. I only had one grandparent and she could have been described as a "passive-aggressive manic depressive", who one minute was nice; the next minute, putting rat poison in my fruit punch. "Come on sweetie, grandma made you a drink; it's got an extra kick to it". No wonder I always had stomach aches and nose bleeds as a kid. Yes, my grammy was Lucrezia Borgia, damn her and her hollow ring.

Remember the lovely Peanuts animated specials? I was never that much of a fan.

Charlie Brown was a pussy; Lucy: just an angry feminist living in a man's world. Linus and that stupid blanket--did he ever wash that damn thing? Peppermint Patty aka Jodie Foster--just one of the boys with a gentleman's hair-do (wink, wink), oh and Franklin; what the hell did he ever do? Poor token cartoon character; he probably had to be bused in from another comic strip every day. Do not get me started on Snoopy; damn war monger. There was no Red Baron, you loony canine, and always doing his dumb dog house dance. Oh and Woodstock, hippie bird --probably had mescaline in his bird seed. I don't know if you were aware of this; back in the day, my mom described Peanuts as a bunch of Christian comic strips, lots of homilies for the kiddies being spoon fed this pablum right under their noses. I guess that made Charlie Brown Christ, and Lucy was Mary Magdelene (angry whore, not actual whore). Who knows the truth?

My Mom also hated "Little House on the Prairie"; she thought that was a load of of do-gooder, fake sentimental crap. Honestly, I can't argue with that; have you ever gone back and watched it? Trust me, if there's ever a marathon on TV Land, you will be running for the remote. Either that or in the begin,ing when "little half pint", Melissa Gilbert goes running down the hill, you'll hope she trips and breaks her neck. Please spare me another picture with Michael Landon and his poofy '80's hair. Loved the Gingam though.

Ecch

2008-02-20T19:28:00.004-05:00

Even if I wasn't married, this wouldn't fly.

You go on one these My Space (it should be called "My date rape and murder and body found in a shallow grave 2 weeks later, if you're dumb enough to meet someone you talked to on line" page). If it's Facebook or Vois, it's all a creep congregation. You just want to get in contact with someone for a business transaction and it turns into perv free-for-all.

Jackass #1 calls himself "Well Hung"; next winner calls himself "Porn69". Do they realize I could be 12; do you want to end up on Dateline NBC? "I thought she was 25"; sure you did.

Anyway, why do people do this crap? Is it any different than the garbage that makes the sounds and gestures to you when you walk down the street? If only my hard, cold stare carried the Ebola virus, I could have taken care of this problem long ago.

I would like to share with you a reply I sent to a master of subtlety:

Dear Sir,

Or shall I call you by your other name, "Recently Released Sex Offender"? I am just a simple lass, trying to make a busisness transaction. I have no interest in a hook up, dirty messages or being sent private photos. I know you are from the generation that hooks up first, asks questions later, like "why don't you like being chained to my radiator? I thought you enjoyed crying and blood? Wasn't in your profile?"

But I, sir, am a married woman who doesn't tolerate this sort of guff. Now I ask you to leave me be; go back to your collection of underage prositute body parts you have stuffed in your large freezer and who knows? If you wish real hard, maybe you can create one whole girl from that mess. Go away creep.

Signed,
Friends With Many Cops

So how do you like them apples?

Multinational death burger: the sequel, "No country for old Hippies"

2008-02-19T17:02:00.007-05:00

Do you know this person?

Everthing to them is a conspiracy: "the corporations are destroying this country". Yes, I get it: Wal-Mart is the devil; so is Kmart, Target, all large bookstores--Borders, Barnes and Noble, the grand Satan, Mc Donalds and of course the Big Daddy, Starbucks.

Of course it goes a little something like this: you sit there with your coffee (latte, extra foam, do you know how many Guademalan children have to pick those beans for you to get one cup? Read a book from some conglomerate store, swallowing up the little guy so you can get the new Oprah's book selection half price. Go buy your wares at one of the "stores" (they dare not speak its' name, like it's Candyman or Voldemort, for goodness' sake). All the suffering, so you can have your things. Oh yes, you must be hungry; have a bite at the local McMultinational death burger--that should make you feel good. Can you hear the cows screaming in pain?

Does any of this sound familiar? Save the earth, Free trade, Stop the corporations from taking over the country... I have always wanted to ask this question: have you ever been to a local coffee shop? I might be generalizing, but coffee shops and diners stink. Overpriced; service is lousy and from the minute you sit down, they want you to go. I always shop at Target; I love Target--sorry, vintage overpriced duds aren't my thing anymore. And as far as I'm concerned,
I hate fast food; I've learned not to trust food that smells the same coming in and going out
(don't make me spell it out; idisgusting). If you want to eat a McRib, God bless--your insides
will probably explode, but you will enjoy it going down your gullet.

The world in general is a scary place, filled with lots of nasty dictators, thieves and vile scum.

Fine; if it makes you feel better carry a bag to the supermarket, support your local whatever, fight the good fight, carry your silly heart on your sleeve, just don't do it in front of me. I laugh and point.

Multinational death burger

2008-02-17T13:25:00.003-05:00

Do any of you have friends that just make you cringe?

Not cringe in a good way, like your drunken friend from college--still drinking and whoring like it's 1994. Every time its the same--starts out fun; hours later she's in a supply closet, blowing the porter crying in a puddle of bile. You cradle her, brush away her vomit crusted hair and whisper gently, "It's okay; your stepdad isn't here. Let it go; he cant hurt you".

The whole time, you're filming it on your cell phone and stick it on YouTube.

How about this group: vegans. Not the wimpy "I only eat fish" types; the no leather, wool, silk,
won't eat meat, cheese,dairy. Always against animal testing, want to blow up research labs, attack the ASPCA and generally thinks that people are scum. Just a bunch of Tofurkey eating loons. I had a debate class with one of these wack jobs in college. We had to choose between saving a baby or a dog and she picked the dog. She put a higher value on Marmaduke-- granted, he could really get into some funny shenanigans, but we are talking about a baby, people.

Now if it was the choice of baby Hitler and Lassie, maybe she might've had a point.

But thats the problem with these people. Chickens don't have a soul; cows are cute, but dumb, and you know what? No matter what you do--how many animals you save--Clarice, the lambs will not go silent. Trust me; if I'm in the ocean, the shark that will rip me to shreads isn't thinking about my existence.

Eat a damn cheeseburger and put on some ill-fitting leather pants.

This is just a start. Next time, I'll write about the Mother Jones types; that should be fun.

Every time I let down my guard, the irritation starts

2008-02-14T22:25:00.005-05:00

It's easy!--is it? A little bit of love from LeFig.

Those stupid "Easy" buttons; you know the damn Staples commercial. Things are tough, so you press the Easy button and magically, things are perfect. Now, as revolting as the commercial is, you know what's worse--people who buy the damn thing. Why are you buying a useless piece of red plastic crap? And why does the teller at my bank always have one at her station; why is this nimrod handling my money? Should I be surprised if she had a wall filled with Kathy cartoons and a poster of the "Hang in there baby" cat poster--ecch. If any of you out there have an "Easy" button and you are constantly pressing it, every time you do that, you lose a small piece of your soul.

There's nothing about today that interests me except tommorow

2008-02-11T16:57:00.002-05:00

Ever see people with their hair and clothes like it's obviously from two or three decades ago? They were probably in high school at the time; that was probably the last time they thought they looked good or felt good, for that matter.

I say this because I went to a show expecting the worst and was completly won over.

I saw this group, From the Jam. No Paul Weller; it was the other gents, Bruce Foxton and Rick Buckler. When I say the show was fantastic, I kid you not--the band was tight and played all the songs perfectly. In fact, to borrow a quote from Goodfellas, "if you close your eyes, you would think it was the real person" (when Henry's in the bar with his buddies and their mistresses, just in case you forgot). The venue--perfect; to be able to drink, sit in a comfortable chair and watch a great show--priceless.

One final thought: I loved the fact that almost everbody there looked as if they were older than me and no stupid dress up (except for one jerk outside skulking around in a wet parka; he walked as stupidly as he looked). It is so sad to see adults at punk shows wearing the old uniform; it was just people there to enjoy the music.

I almost never go to shows anymore, so to have this time was fantastic. And think--somewhere
out there, some soccer mom was taking her kid to a Hannah Montana concert, wishing she was in my seat, and probably has a plaid skirt and creepers in a box locked away somewhere; she listens to her Jam CD's when the kids at school. Some lady with all her memories and a pair of ill-fitting bondage pants from twenty years ago.

I tell you what you need to know when I think you need to know it

2008-02-02T10:40:00.000-05:00

Damn you, the torpedoes, and the horse you road in on.

Good thing I'm not a gambler; I'd lose the house. Not that I own a house--who needs that headache; all seems like a big gamble... Buy a house, then the neighborhood goes to hell and now gas prices go sky high and you can't make the morgage; now you live in a cardboard box. Thanks, I'll rent.

Me? I live under no illusion that one day my ship will come in; that ship has sailed. The reality dingy for me. What's the expression--don't have a pot to piss in or a window to through it out of. Ah, lovely street wisdom; something your drunk uncle might say (probably after he inappropriately touched you). Seeing the way things are going with the job and housing market, you would think you more people would be doing nose dives off buildings.

And speaking of suicide, I was given this pearl of wisdom once: what's the difference between someone who attempts suicide and someone who actually does it? Gumption--probably a little luck too. Tax season is here; maybe I'll get a refund--hope springs eternal, but I'm sure I have a better chance on picking the right team to win the Super Bowl. And hey, at least that's tax free money.

Warm and fuzzy, like a hot cup of cocoa

2008-01-31T11:42:00.000-05:00

I hate myself and I want to die.

Remember that? The title of that golden oldie by Nirvana. I can't belive I used to like that group. I will say this: I always thought the lyrics were absolutely dreadful. People actually thought he was a lyrical genius; there is no accouting for the public's taste. That might explain why people like doo-wop music. Me, I would rather stick hot pokers in my eyes then ever have to listen to that.

You know what I think? What does the world needs now? Peace, love, caring, understanding-- all of us holding hands singing ,"I'd like to teach the world to sing."

No, we need another Jim Jones.

You read me right. Of course, not innocent people trying to do the Lord's work.

How about celebrities? Yes, thats it; can you think of a group of people who contribute less

to society? What function do they have, except make outragous sums of money and then complain they want to be left alone? But: first, before they pull the wounded bird act, let them lecture you on how you need to live your life the right way while they do completely the opposite. Ever whatch the show Dirty Jobs? There is a job out there where people have to clean up bird vomit. That's a job. Play acting? Not so much.

But just so you know, I will play fair--you get to each keep one celebrity. I'll pick Shia LeBeouf.

I liked Transformers and he hasn't been stupid enough to annoy me yet.

Some see the Menendez brothers as evil, I see them as go-getters

2008-01-30T16:10:00.000-05:00

We all know people that we wish we didn't know.

Friends maybe even family; they make our lives a living hell.

Admittedly, the stories we tell about them are amusing, but it's a headache we don't need. Why did I cross paths with them? Why did I cross that street; why did I pick up the phone; why did I think they were looking out for my best interest? A constant liar whose thrill it is to make you feel as if everyone is against you, because they're the only one who care about you. Let's tell a story to pit you against someone else's family, friends, band mates--of course this person is always the schemer.

Him or the wife, sends you emails about their troubles (probably about the crappy kids), even though you haven't spoke to them in months. Oops, sorry didn't mean to send you this, but since I've got you here, read this: how I've fallen on hard times--brother, can you spare a dime? How personal and I bet if each one of us sends you a dollar, your pyramid scheme will be perfect. This person probably always wanted to be famous, so let's ride on your coattails. Make sure they never have your Social Security number ever. Probably put out a CD of their crappy music and write a blog as if anyone would read this drivel; remember, everything is for an audience. If they ever looked around and took stock in their life, they would have to take a gun and pull the trigger.

How bittersweet that would be.

A late afternoon person can never be a morning person

2008-01-28T20:51:00.000-05:00

On the treadmill? Really--whats the point?

For my money, there's nothing that spells irony more than someone at the gym, standing around eating a candy bar. It was a Snickers bar; had to be my favorite. There he was, just chomping away, right in my face. I would have loved to see him on the treadmill, cigarette in one hand; bourbon in the other. Burn the candle at both ends, I say.

Later on in the day, I pass by a tanning salon. This fat broad standing, outside smoking a cigarette and talking loudly in her cellphone: "you know, they say tanning makes you look slimmer." Does it, fatso? Really--tell me about it, hungry hungry hippo. There would have to be a whole lot of sun to cover the hurt on that one. Besides, nothing says attractive like orange mottled skin. I'll keep my deathly pallor.

I ask for eggs over easy, I get a shim with a side order of disappointed parents (read on, you'll get it). I'm at a diner on Sunday, waiting to order my lunch. Who's my waitress--a little old lady with a beehive? A disgruntled teen with a nose ring? Nah, I get a tranny--how can you tell? Oh, I don't know--large forehead, linebacker shoulders, Adam's apple. Trust me, this was a pre-op. Tweezed eyebrows, nail polish, cinched waist, makeup, lots of foundation and trying to have a feminine voice does not fool anybody. I will say this He/She did a fine enough job and not one plate was dropped. It helps when you have all that upper body strength.

Bringing the misery since 1971

2008-01-24T18:17:00.000-05:00

These are a few of my favorite things:

Hairdressers who don't listen to you:
"hey I would like a bob haircut": instead, you wind up with something similar to a mushroom head on top and a mullet in the back. Try to explain that in the office. Yes, I wanted to look like a 56 year old lady from Kansas named Lula.

The guy at the sub shop who doesn't speak English, yet can magically make your sandwich right. Yes, I wanted turkey with light mayo and lettuce. Thank you for the fried mystery meat cutlet with extra full fat mayo; at least they remembered to skip the black olives (I said I'm allergic and it could kill me). Not really; I say that so they would generally pay attention to my order. Nothing like a customer having a seizure and turning blue--that makes them pay extra attention .

Chain subs: one word--hideous. Subway, with that bready dreck; Quiznos--that greasy mayo and onion-drenched devil's handmaiden of a sandwich. Blimpie used to be good, now the last ones standing are all in the mall next to the gyro meat. Nothing says yummy like dry meat that looks like it's been around since the Soviets invaded Afghanistan.

Customer Service or lack thereof. Get on the phone--need to speak to someone about cable service; some guy couldn't care less about you, the job or his life. I wouldn't be surprised if old Mr. Friendly started taking people out with a rifle on the roof.

Oh yes, Heath Ledger is still dead and the media vultures are picking this one dry.

Listen, I, like so many, were so happy to here of the passing of Anna Nicole Goldigger but this was sad. It's hard to find out someone so talented died. It just left me wondering why, oh why couldn't it have been Paris Hilton?

As I said so many things to complain about... so little time.

Ode to a conversation heart

2008-01-23T08:52:00.000-05:00

It's that time of year again: overpriced flowers, jewelry, cards and loads of sickly sweet candy
wrapped in boxes of red and pink velvet, just to say I love you. I love the many versions of candy: boxes of heart-shaped chocolate, filled with cream, milk chocolate, dark chocolate, peanut butter and anything else you can imagine. There's even Valentine's Day candy corn--remember when you could get candy corn once a year, at Halloween?

Let's say you want to send flowers to your loved one. Red roses, yellow, maybe white? The $40.00 special? No, send the $70.00 assortment; it means you really care. Remember, this is a holiday to impress--dyed daisies from the bodega just won't do.

How about some jewelry? A nice diamond perhaps? Fancy cut or maybe just a a nice CZ necklace; I'm sure she won't know the difference.

I'm sure some of you feel Valentine's Day is just a ruse. Who is this Valentine's Day character,
anyway? He must have been an executive at some multi-national corporation. I don't think this, but somewhere out there, someone is posting this theory on the web. Remember, this was probably the same guy before computers who would be at the copy store all day and night, handing out his manifestos to passers-by on the street and of course, now he has a website, so it must be true. Type in http://www.valentinesdayisalie.com/. See if I'm right.

Me, I'm a simple gal. Ive always loved a good box of "Conversation Hearts". Cute, heart-shaped candy; pastel colors with little messages on them: "BE MINE ", "LOVE YOU", "TOO CUTE"--
you get the picture. The candy itself tastes like stale chalk, but it's just adorable. I used to use them in my paintings, collages and that sort of thing. I thought it was great; everyone else... not so much.

A word or two in passing: if you are someone with a somebody, buy them some pink champagne, a box of Russell Stover candy and a card at the 99 cent store.

Alone? Send flowers to the office to make the catty coworkers jealous and that night, have some Godiva chocolate and drink vodka and cranberry juice while watching a tearjerker on Showtime. I'm not saying that's something I would do; just a suggestion.

All of them: the flower, candy, greeting card and jewelry companies got together to create this
holiday to separate the working man from his cash. I don't think that, but I'm sure someone's
floating that theory out there.

Oh! The tragedy of the modern artist

2008-01-20T09:54:00.000-05:00

Recently, I read an article in AM New York; the cover story was about how expensive NY was and the tragedy of artists who feel they have no choice but to move out.

I actually gave this some thought (you know I'm an artist and all).

Instead of feeling sorry for this colorful lot of artists, poets and others, I came to the realization that all the people who they interviewed to be polite, were full of malarkey.

New York has was and will always be expensive. But there are 5 boroughs: Brooklyn, the Bronx, Queens, Staten Island and Manhattan.

The problem is that everyone wants to live in Manhattan; people have these silly dreams
of coming here and making it big. Stop with the whole Sex and the City/Breakfast at Tiffany's/Woody Allen thing. I'll make it here and be a big star--will you?

I say cool it, Holly Golightly, Sara Jessica, etc. and remember: Woody makes movies in England, now (that's what happens when you sleep with--sorry--marry your daughter).

Let me offer some advice --

Stop trying to live in the cool places. To be cool, you don't live in a designated area. Cool and artistic isn't Manhattan, Chelsea, Williamsburg, Park Slope or Dumbo. If you would stop posing for a second, you might your find your laces are untied; your pants are too tight and you're paying too much rent.

Me, I live in S.I. and you know what? I'm perfectly happy, I pay a fraction of what I would
for almost all other places. So is this thought of as a smart move? No, more or less, I'm derided with usually the old "isn't that where all stereotypical N.Y. people live?" This usually comes from someone who lives in Brooklyn (tell me you understand the irony). I actually had someone ask me if Staten Island had hospitals. This was coming from someone who lived in New Jersey out in the boondocks no less. Oh yeah, I lived in Jersey for almost 2 years. I would rather drink bleach than go back to that place (OK--I miss Jose Tejas and Vintage Vinyl being only 10 minutes away, but hey, that's why God made cars).

One last thing: haven't you noticed that all the "New Yorkers" are people who aren't from N.Y. (Ohio, Nebraska, Texas--wherever--then they come here and tell us how tragically unhip we are). Hey, go ahead--pay4,000 a month for a 2 bedroom apt. But how will you afford the lattes?

Fancy gentlemen do nothing for me

2008-01-15T17:03:00.000-05:00

Men, what's the matter with men today? Let me opine on a "relevant" subject.

I don't now how or when, but it seems overnight, normal guys adopted the stance they were becoming suburban housewives. Fancy frosted hair do's manicured nails, waxed eyebrows and chests and the spray-on tan that gives you the orange glow of an Oompa-Loompa. It's all so sad; what happened? Why would any hetero guy want to look like this? More importantly,what woman finds this attractive?

It's kind of a gay look - now believe me, this isn't meant to offend anybody out there.

Really, I mean it: tan, wax, powder and pomade yourself into oblivion; you do your thing. I want you to be as happy and perfect as you can be. You and your partner, Lance and your lovely Labradoodles, Montgomery and Miss Pinkie. But you must understand, I speak of straight world. I just feel that a man should never smell better than his girlfriend. Grooming should be shower, get the crud from under your nails, pluck the stray hairs and use deodorant; there you go, you look like a million bucks!

Let me give you an example of all this foolishness:

I went to get my eyebrows waxed; sitting next to me, a man instructing the woman how to perfectly arch his brows. His girlfriend was standing right next to him, watching this whole scene transpire. I just couldn't watch; actually, it had more to do with the woman working on my brows--when someone has a large sharp pair of scissors. you turn your head in any direction they want.

I guess sometimes, I would like things to go back to the way they were. Now, if you will excuse me, I must go back to sitting on my porch, drinking lemonade and back to my fine whittling.

This public service announcement was brought to you by LeFig

2008-01-13T09:54:00.000-05:00

Girls, what's the matter with girls today (here I go getting all uppity)?

Women used to care about themselves, used to have goals; get an education and try to go
someplace in life. Now it seems as if every time I turn around, it's another story about some dumb broad who sent a naked picture of themselves through the Internet, and now shocked! that it got in the hands of the wrong person.

Maybe we used to have a sense of shame; now it's become "I did a stupid thing, but now I'll become an Internet sensation." Or "I'm free; I just want to express my sexuality". Please stop--you're making me nauseous. Express yourself, okay; how about doing a little interpretive dance, write a little poetry--why does it always end up becoming just another cog in the wheels of the machine of stupid?

Sorry; maybe I'm just old school, but all this nudity, all this in your face behavior, it seems as if it's the work of somebody not getting enough love, or somebody has a boyfriend (always a real piece of work) that can just talk them into anything: "baby, you're beautiful, come on, let me show the world how beautiful you are"--girls still fall for that drivel, I guess.

And we know what happens next. Once a normal gal turns into a freak job with bleached blond hair, duck bill lips and clown boobs (sort of a cross between Victoria Beckham and Pam Anderson, very creepy), she's a star. I would think If I was an actual porn star, I would be pissed that these gals would jump on my turf. But then again, all of you are spreading your legs and/or having sex on camera, so what's the difference?

Women used to have a sense of self; its hard to imagine a time when we couldn't work where we wanted, lead the lives of our own choosing. It's no wonder so many women from the 70's were so damn angry; trying to get a job and some fat bastard with a cigar wants you to be his secretary. That meant sitting on his lap while he called you honey and smacked you on the ass.

When did it go from "ladies we can do it to 10am stripper pole classes"? Really, you would never see a guy putting up with this crap. Maybe when a rash of men are coming out of cars going commando I might change my tune.

And please, If you do not understand what "going commando" means, just ask a 12 year old,

I'm sure they can explain it along with "Rainbow parties", sipping syrup and pulling a train. I must go now; I feel ill.

Hello, my little bluebird

2008-01-11T23:04:00.000-05:00

So my little breaded veal, how's life treating you? Happy and full of good cheer? Ready to greet the day like a ray of sunshine? Probably not; more or less, it's the feeling of being a diabetic who just had their big toe amputated and the person closest to you just gave you a box of chocolates and a pair of flip flops--and they smiled giving you your gift. Always remember this my minions: a good attitude will get you everywhere and a lousy attitude will get you to read my blog.

Even though there are times I go through crippling self doubt (enough to put Brian Wilson back in his sandbox), I somehow manage to go through the routine. Listen, I know I'm an odd gal and strange things set me off. At the supermarket, I have to fight an odd urge to squeeze the cheese balls (big yellow or wine colored, covered in nuts; tell me they don't just scream "smash me please!"). When I was a kid, I used to mush the Wonder bread. It drove my mother crazy to the point where she stopped taking me to the market altogether. All around N.Y. are loaves of mutilated bread with my finger prints all over them.

So let me tell you about a dream I had: I'm a bluebird flying along. A hunter catches me in his sights, shoots me--I fall, a dog picks me up and drags me to the hunter. He takes one look at me, throws me into the bushes, and I die alone, only to be picked apart by a family of squirrels.

What does it all mean? Now, I seek a metaphor that could closely resemble who I am.
The graceful bird, the mythical unicorn, cheeky monkey or just a clever horse. I would probably be the pig. Born under the sign of the pig (or boar--whatever you prefer). I don't know what my sign signifies, just that I was told quite a bit in my younger days that I had ham hands. Apparently, I had a propensity for dropping and breaking things (ham hands seemed silly; shouldn't it have been hoof hands? Furthermore, I've never actually seen a pig pick up anything but who knows?

While I still have you here let me share this story with you.

When I was a teenager, at 2 in the morning, I found myself being followed by a group of youths for about four long blocks. They walked behind me, making oink noises and throwing beer cans at me. The beer cans were empty of course; why would you waste good beer on a sow? So did I have a girly meltdown? Fly into a rage? No, I finally got home and suppressed my feelings with carbs. The great thing is I get to write about it and tell you the boys who did this all wound up dying in a fiery car crash, hit by a drunk driver. I don't know this for sure, but this is my story and I end it as I see fit.

Have a sunshine day my little sparrows; remember to avoid the hunters.

Can't be happy all the time, can we?

2008-01-08T18:09:00.000-05:00

I feel a bit of the old January sadness. Everyone seems so cheery; people still say
"happy new year" to me but I just don't feel it. I guess I have other things on my mind.
(and no, it's not just that Starbucks stopped using the Christmas cups this week).

Let me pose this question to you: do you ever feel that you're a bit behind the times? At my ripe old age, I do feel as if I've been phased out of the workforce. Well, everyone uses a computer, knows everything there is about computers and I don't. Well, I'm kinda behind the times, and trying to catch up. Maybe if I can get my typing skills up to 40WPM instead of 19 WPM, maybe there's hope (I know; its sad).

So what can a gal do to kill the time--read a good book? Nah, let's see what's on TV.
So what's on in Jan.--NOTHING! It's all show cast-offs; thank you, writers strike. Actually,
thank you, greedy companies for not paying writers pennies on the dollar, you bastards. Really need the money, don't you. Let's see... shitty bosses being cheap; I may know a thing or two about that subject. Keep your chins up, writers; I would doff my cap to you, if I had one.

Unfortunately, now what we are stuck with are the usual suspects: reality show crap.
Drug addicts, sluts, sad fat people, Orange County whores, matchmakers, bickering couples in faraway lands, bitchy designer wannabes, crappy dancers, song contests and desperate former stars with some "day in the life reality show"; great, thank you VH1, NBC, ABC, CBS and Bravo for adding so much to the TV screen.

In my little mind, Jan sucks. But I will say one good thing--it's 60 degrees for the last two days, so if this is global warming I say bring it on.

And one last thing: just so you know, I do enjoy the misery of others. I kinda hope Britney Spears kicks the bucket and I still hold out hope that guy from the Subway sandwich commercials gets fat again. Screw him and those awful bready sandwiches.

Some climb mountains, others just use a tredmill

2008-01-07T20:48:00.001-05:00

You have to admit, the language can be salty, but I sure do know how to spin a good yarn.

So I joined a gym. Nothing funny about it, 15 minutes from my apt.; 50 bucks a year.

There I am on the elliptical trainer,
as I sweat away last night's steak dinner, I notice all
the gym rats dribbling in.

I'm sure you may have seen these types: the woman who uses the treadmill for 10 minutes, gets off comes back another 10 minutes back and forth; are you on or off ? Make up your mind, lady. The senior citizen on the bike with her hat, leg warmers, wristbands and yellow water bottle (all she needed was a leotard and the song "Maniac" playing in the background). The gentleman sitting next to her on the bike, wearing a ski cap, jeans and work boots: "pardon me sir, have you ever been to a gym?" Okay, I thought it; I didn't ask the man. Would you? He looked like a mental patient.

The last, always my personal favorite... Muscle guy lifts some weights, preens in the mirror,
more weights--grunting, groaning slamming the weights down; ecch, get a room you steroid- filled freak. And for the love of Pete, stop slamming the weights down; I can feel it from across
the room.

One last thing--to use the equipment you must put your name on the list. People circulating
around the machines; some one gets on, you hear "are you on the list? " The list, the list; OK, we get it--the list. You would think it was to get into some exclusive club. Silly people; after a month, they probably won't come back.

When you care enough to send the very best; when you don't send the cheap card

2008-01-06T22:38:00.000-05:00

Once a week you run errands, pick up your prescriptions, tampons, Rolaids, candy, maybe the ''Road Songs" CD, (always loved "East Bound and Down" by Jerry Reed; I say buy it--make the bandit proud). But no matter what, I'm always drawn to the card aisle. For the love of God, how many cards are out there; how many occasions in one's life really needs a card? Does the amount of love you feel for someone really mean buying some $5.00 card with fancy script, hand cut silhouette, glitter or dried flowers ?

What happens when it's a friend, one of those "okay I need to buy this person a card, but emotionally I'm just not there". You probably check the price: let's see this is $3.99, but this card is $1.75 and it says enough. Maybe it's the friend who you never see anymore; the card you pick has some little squiggle drawing of a forlorn "Kathy"-type, (horrible cartoon strip, never funny). On the inside, "Happy Birthday--thinking of you", which really means, hey we don't see each other much, but see--I made an effort; I did my job. In those situations you never want to say too much; don't pick a blank card--you could run the risk of somehow offending. You never want to be mean when sending a card, or so I've been told. My idea of sensitivity is sending a diabetic who just had their big toe amputated a box of chocolates and a pair of flip flops.

The most fun are the relatives: the drunk uncle, the knocked up cousin, the distant mother or father, the stepbrother that inappropriately touched you when you were 12. My fave would be the niece that just got out of rehab. Little Miss Methmouth is now clean and sober and you want to show you care. Maybe a card with a watercolor painting of a bunch of boats (looks like a reproduction of one of those "starving artist" sale paintings). If someone really did paint this, they deserve to starve to death. The card itself would say "I know you feel adrift, but soon it will be smooth sailing". Translation: "stay off the ice, dimwit and maybe we might think Promises rehab and a good set of dentures was worth the money".

If you still feel unsure about buying a card, always remember: there's always the 99 Cent store.
Get a card with a kitten on it. Who doesn't love a good kitty?

Call me LeFig, Figger, LaFigerina if you're into the whole brevity thing...

2008-01-06T00:18:00.001-05:00

I'm in a movie quoting mood, so get your video store knowledge flowing.

Video stores -- a relic of the past. What are they now? Places to buy video games. You and your silly World of Warcraft; I have no patience. Grown men playing games all day.

For God's sake, man, get off your couch and do something. Please let me opine obsessives.
I'm sure Halo seems like pure heaven, but you smell--your couch has the imprint of your ass on it, your friends--friend, ok; your Mom's worried about you. Even the girl you have tied up in your basement since last year misses you (actually she has Stockholm syndrome, but I say
hey, use it to your advantage).

There's a world out there to be discovered, my massive ponytailed, mustard stained T-shirt wearing pal. Think of all the crappy jobs you could do, people to humiliate you, and the general sense of anger and rage you can feel towards others. Remember what a famous go- getting New Yorker once said--"someday a real rain will come and wash all this scum off the streets". Ah, words to live by.

Does anyone remember the story about the couple who let their kids starve because they were so wrapped in their video games? No, this isn't a joke--they literally forgot to feed them. What am I missing? God, people are obsessed, aren't they--the Gamers, the Trekkies, Star Wars--yes, I know the Sandpeople go from side to side; its just not that all encompassing . Besides, Anakin Skywalker wound up being a whiny fruit; such a let down.

Let me leave with this thought--has anyone out there noticed that The Dude from the "The
Big Lebowski" and Lance from ''Pulp Fiction'' look eerily similar? I'll just put it out there;
discuss, debate.

The ol' whippersnappers need to get the what for from me

2008-01-04T16:16:00.000-05:00

There are many things I regret: from the minor--using a sun lamp three inches from my face, without sun block (my face looked like pink puffer fish) to the time I bought a pair of shoes
1 size too small (it was the only size they had; hey they were adorable). Unfortunately, I then
walked around N.Y., turning my feet into a bloody mess. Maybe sometimes I drank too much. Maybe I didn't take school seriously enough. Then there's the monumental; things you said that you wish you could take back--you feel as if they've changed the course of your existence. I bet right now you might be wincing at the thought of your grand faux pas.

Maybe it's me. I've had a strong sense of shame all my life; the old right vs. wrong. You do something bad; hence, you feel bad right? Why does it seem as if no one has a sense of shame at all anymore: I do what I want, when I want--screw you. And why does it seem the ones doing it are all younger than me and couldn't give a flying rat's ass?

The one thing I find interesting about getting older is how much disdain I have for the youth.
Age gives you that great force field of indignation; no, not the old "in my day" speech, just the way things are going the youth today do seem like a cavalcade of schmucks.

They were mollycoddled as kids, can do no wrong as teens and now in their early twenties are covered in tattoos and piercings, sitting in Starbucks with laptop all day long. Why don't you
have a job? What do you do all day? I would love to have the life of leisure; why, in fact I've written about it, but I can't--I have that pesky thing called rent. Whatever happened to having tattoos that you could hide; you know, if you had a job. I love when women have tattoos on their necks; nothing says classy like having "Tony's Girl" blazoned across one's throat. I want that woman handling my cash at the bank.

It's just my opinion--I can just imagine the parents of some of these winners. Probably out there, a couple worked their fingers to the bone to send Fred to college, only to find he's in debt
from his second life habit. His avatar name is Thor--he's quite the lady killer for a cartoon; his
girlfriend's avatar name is Luxana, a raven haired goddess (!)--actually, she's a Midwest lump with two kids and probably has a bunch of dumb tattoos--a bunch of cherubs and fairies.

Me, I don't have kids--don't want them and I can't imagine what it must feel like to be the parent of some of these wretches. Parents, I would say I feel for you , but I would make me a liar and that would make me feel shame.

Desperately seeking superficiality

2008-01-03T15:26:00.000-05:00

You and I may have similar traits. Maybe a love of films, music, good bottle of white wine or
mixed drink ("Love potion" -- banana liqueur & gin; very tasty). Maybe you and I love tasteless jokes: "what do you say to the woman who has two black eyes"? Answer--"nothing she hasn't been told twice already". Okay; if you're laughing, you know this is a joke; if your mouth is agape in horror, remember somewhere in the recesses of my brain the synapses aren't firing at 100%. Either that or I can just blame it all on my parents.

Even with all my personal flaws people still seem to like me, especially men. Well, the types
that either troll Facebook at 2 in the morning and have a duffle bag filled with torture porn, a rope, shovel and bad intentions. Or maybe the guy whose My Space profile has a
picture of someone who looks like Clive Owen, but in reality seems to to be a 300 lb. gentleman with a mullet and possessing the social graces of Stuntman Mike. (I am happily married, but I just know the reality of life. If you're a woman, have a sunny disposition, breasts, legs and all your teeth, you may wind up a target for some types).

Maybe it's my way of looking at the world that stops me from enjoying some things in life. For some reason, everyone I know loved the show "My So-Called Life"; me, I would have rather drank bleach then have to sit through that self-important hour long "teen drama" of the horrible '90's. Did the people who made the show ever go to high school? Sorry; really pretty girls with the porcelain skin, perfect hair and slim bodies didn't have the problems--try being 50 pounds overweight, have acne, pissed-off & warring parents, dyslexia and no privacy--that's high school, boyo. Of course it probably says something about me that I'm writing about
a show that's probably been off the air for 14 years. Yes, just call me relevant; next, I'll discuss
whether "Red Dawn" was a piece of cold war propaganda or could Quincy really do his job as ME and solve crimes at the same time (please bring that show back; just to hear ol' half a larynx speak would be worth it).

For all my bravado I really am a sensitive gal. I have a keen idea of the inner thoughts and personality traits of others. I'll tell you who you really are and just what you're thinking. In the end, dispensing thoughtful, sage advice. Now if I could follow my own advice, then I would have it made; instead, I wisely chose not to. One can't spend too much time thinking of one's self can we and let's face it; without something to have neurosis about, how would I exist?

Don't bogart that cigarette my friend

2008-01-02T17:37:00.000-05:00

I have never been one to get on a soapbox about anything. I have my opinions and such. If you want serious commentary or political dissertation this isn't the blog. I just feel that the cigarette hysteria is a bit much for me. No, my dad isn't Fred Marlboro and I don't think smoking is ''cool''. Well, I used to; it had that whole chic Euro thing and gave all the shy girls something to do with their hands; oh yeah and it tasted good. I'm not saying for or against cigarettes, I'll say instead the pungent aroma never bothered me much.

Remember the good old days? You would see smokers everywhere, restaurants, movie theaters and airplanes. Remember bars? You can still go to a bar, pickle your liver till it looks like an olive, but you can't smoke. And as far as I can see in films nowadays, they have "special" ratings for smoking, and it's always after "mild scenes of violence". What a bunch of pandering sissies. The only time you see a smoker nowadays, there usually a Terrorists, and European. Yes, people the threat to this great nation is... a bunch of French guys filled with ennui. Stop, please stop.

Yes, I know the old amputeed foot guy and hole-in-the-throat-where-the-voice-box-used-to-be are very effective commercials, but don't you think somebody warned those guys? And they would probably still be smoking if not for the fact one guy can't walk to the store to get the cigs and the other one has no throat? Just a sick observation; sorry, no really, sorry.

In conclusion, I am a big proponent of free will. You want to smoke, go ahead, if twenty years from now you get sick and they remove your larynx and you sound like Neil Young circa Trans-- hey, if you're happy, what do I care? So ol' Lucille Ball voice--smoke up and have fun until those crazed Frenchmen destroy our American way of life.

Couldn't change if you tried, my little Bavarian cream pie

2008-01-01T14:19:00.000-05:00

New Year's Day--anything different yet?

So how's the resolutions coming along? Did you get up this morning have a bowl of bran flakes and decaf tea with a wedge of lemon (no milk, no sugar) and go out for a hour run, then some weight training? Nice to the kids, the spouse? Bills in order? Have you finally balanced the checkbook? Let me guess: last nights' festivities consisted of probably a bit too much wine, champagne and many, many mixed drinks. Was it the old "pass me another Long Island iced tea, it's so sweet, how could I get drunk on that?" scenario?

This morning you woke up green and pasty. Your tongue is the color of vanilla yogurt. You drag yourself out of bed and go to the first Dunkin' Donuts you can find (like that's hard; that orange and purple house of caffeine, lard and sugar are everywhere): remember--Starbucks, one block ,the next block Dunkin Donuts, Starbucks and so on and so on. So at the pleasure palace of carbs, you get a Great One sized coffee, a glazed, strawberry frosted and a Boston cream donut(wait, get a whole wheat donut for later). Crawl back to your apt, unfurl your goodies and watch TV.

Now you can feel bad seeing all the commercials for Bally's and Jenny Craig (Valerie Bertinelli I can take, but that freak Kirstie Alley made me want to rip my ears off and I have cute ears, mind you). "Have you called Jenny yet? No I haven't and I won't, thank you, now kindly let me wallow in my burger of shame and milkshake of regret.

On a personal note, I had a quiet night; some bread, shrimp and cheese, watched a doc on the Sundance Channel. Ecch, how delightful. I'm such a little fruit, after the movie, I talked about Latin American cinema with my husband and we took our Puggle, Miso, out for a walk.

My worst New Year's hangover was about twenty one years ago. Just a bunch of silly teenage geese going to every bar on Avenue A that would serve us liquor. How many? All. So after many hours of drinking "Blue Whales" I found myself at a friends house, with an urge to vomit. I was such a good friend, I waited to hurl after I left the apt., just did it in the street and a cab. Got home eventually and put a bucket next to my bed. How cute; like a little Bukowski in training. Many hours later I awoke, dragged myself into the living room; my Mom watching a Gilligan's Island marathon, barely looking at me. All she said was "I made a ham; eat some and take out the garbage." Translation: "I don't know what you did last night; I don't want to know. Eat some ham because we are Jews that laugh in the face of God." Or something like that.

Enjoy the hours you have before you have to put on your happy work face.

If you read only one blog this year let this be the one.

2007-12-31T20:31:00.000-05:00

Sipping on a shandy, thinking about the year that's past--the last blog of 2007.

I really need to live the life of leisure. No, not eating bonbons on the couch, watching the daytime soaps. The life of someone who maybe was the winner of the thousand-a-week-for-life scratch-off game. Not fancy; just enough to say pay my bills and support my writing career.

If I wanted to be fabulously wealthy and eat chocolate cherry cupcakes, I would have been born
Nigella Lawson. Oh, why can't I be English and love custard? Instead I'm American and lactose-intolerant (Lactaid milk, anyone?).

Actually I've been a big fan of hers for years.Now I could never actually eat the food from the cookbooks or the show . For one thing too damn rich (remember the whole lactose-intolerant thing?).And I have a feeling it looks better than it tastes.

So, what is it exactly that I like about Nigella? Some of you like that whole Martha Stewart thing; for me, it's all too WASP-y perfect; besides, Martha strikes me as the type who would beat you with a rolling pin if you spilled a drink on her carpet.

Nigella, on the other hand, is a little bit of a sloppy drunk. Yes, perfect hair and nails; effortlessly chic with the denim jacket and black skirt, but something tells me after a couple of shots of bourbon, she's downing the fried squid and nursing the hangover the next morning with chocolate pudding. Check it out on The Food Network; tell me if you think I'm right.

Tonight, toast your friends and make the silly resolutions that you never keep. May the evening be merry; say farewell to the old nothing, and I hope the night's party is the icing on the urinal cake of ecch--2007: a not so great year.

Love ya!

If I can inflict a little pain during the day, I sleep better at night

2007-12-30T20:13:00.000-05:00

If I knew you were going to torture me, you could have bought me a drink first.

The party's over; put down the drink, wrap up the tinsel, take down the lights and get back to reality. You hate the holidays, friends and family--you are miserable. Don't get defensive; I know who you are. You come in many different versions; you were my roommate in college, maybe my friend in some dead end job; hell, you might have been an old boyfriend. You can talk a good game, but you feel everyone owes you something.

Let me give you some examples: Mom & Dad, they never got you; they might have paid for your college and Master's degree but guess what? They did it so they could hold it over your head. How can you ever say no to family when they've sacrificed so much. Now you work in a job you hate to pay off your debt.

No relationship ever works: if your Mom didn't love you, all women are castrating bitches. Female: Dad didn't love you; that makes you bitter, so you sleep with every loser that says you're hot. How many times have you seen this dingy broad: 8 in the morning; you're going to work, she's going in the other direction. Little black dress; reeks of cigarettes and gin--this dope is covered in jizz and regret. This, my friends, is called the "walk of shame". Like clockwork, she will call her best friend and cry "why, I am so lonely?" On the other side of the line, the best friend. The two have been friends since college, always dependable and glad you're so miserable, because you deserve it. She would love to have her friend's life but she's the fat homely chick, and that's her lot in life.

In summation, too many people think that they are better than there circumstances. Every person is at fault except yourself. How about for the New Year, try a little perspective. But you're right about one thing- -your friends and family really does suck.

Welcome to the monkey house

2007-12-29T18:00:00.000-05:00

Here I sit, sipping on a glass of sake, pondering my life. Unemployment will do that to you. It's a joy to feel like a reject this late in my life.

I've also come to the conclusion there are things in life I still need to do.

Climb a mountain, visit Romania, help starving children in a third world nation? No: I have far less lofty goals.

Go to a Renaissance Fair--yes I said it: any situation where you can use "lusty wench" or "huzzah!" in a sentence already has my approval. It's a situation where men can freely wear tights, a robe and a magician's hat. In this Middle Earth spectacular, really fat chicks in long velvet robes become the belle of the ball. It's the Middle Ages and every one's a winner, or a wizard, however you want to look at it.

Go to England-- oh, hell why not bad food, crappy weather, a rising anti-American sentiment; sounds like fun to me!

Go to a rifle range--I am gun nut--hear me fire. Never fired a gun; always wanted to. I bet once I start, I won't want to stop. I'll get a job at the NRA, start designing comic books for the l'il Smith and Wesson's in training, create characters like Firearms Fred and Second Amendment Suzy. It will be delightful, people!

You may wonder where the title of this blog comes from: yes, a book if you don't know the author; I suggest you put down the comic book (oh sorry, graphic novel), leave Jim Handley's universe for a minute and look it up.

Totally off the subject, I do feel at times life is a lot like the monkey house at the zoo. Someone's always throwing shit at you or turning their back and showing you their ass.

Really off the subject, if you're up at two in the morning, watch this gem on cable, "Vice Squad". The seedy Hollywood of 1982; oh, what a glorious piece of Velveeta. With a stellar cast of Wings Hauser, Season Hubley, Nina Blackwood and a cameo by Rerun as a pimp! Trust me, this does not disappoint. Plus, a very quotable film: "$500.00 don't buy you an Eldorado." See the film; you'll get it.

Clementine's nonsequitur

2007-12-28T22:09:00.000-05:00

By some unwritten law, you never use your name in the title of your blog. Kinda like being in a band and wearing your own group's shirt; call me a renegade.

So now what, my little lark's tongue in aspic?

If I were to describe my feelings at this moment: the full combo platter of shame; with a side order of freeze-dried regret.

So in passing; Le Fig says the camera's getting smaller... and smaller... and smaller.
Hence, an observation; take that King Crimson.

This was today's fortune cookie-- " your life will be happy and peaceful"

Thank you so much, O stale Asian delicacy that probably has the fingernails of children and rat feces in it because it was made in a sweat shop. Thank you for granting me good fortune. I feelevery day will be one big smiley face. Hey, can you smell that? The pungent odor of sarcasm.

Minions, heed my call: smart-asses of the world unite and take over.

The surf & turf of life, hold the onion rings if you please

2007-12-27T20:35:00.000-05:00

Oh, the year 2007--almost done.

Sad? No. I have always had a dislike for odd numbered years. 2008; what will it hold for me? I fall short of having psychic ability, so your guess is as good as mine.

Best top ten ever!

No, not really; I hate lists--all pointless drivel. The critic: "this is what I like, I know everything." Thanks, taste maker; I can make up my own mind. What did I see at the movies?
The Simpsons, Grindhouse, Superbad, This Is England and the Harry Potter movie.
That, my friends are the only movies I would sit in a theater for; trust me, it takes a lot. 11 bucks for a movie, screaming kids, sticky floors, the fatamarand that just has to sit next to you; oh, dear Lord. I say, in general, wait for pay-per-view or just wait for the DVD. Trust me, it's still the same movie, plus extras. Wait, who am I kidding? Now everbody just bootlegs the film or has illegal cable. If you watch bootlegs, I hope it's a DVD from China covered in lead. Or, if you have an illegal cable system, I hope that's enveloped in plutonium, with a chewy lead center. Just pay for the service like the rest of us, ya cheap bastard.

So what's on TV?

All I will say is Mad Men--if you've seen it, you get it; if you haven't, please do. It makes smoking, drinking and light sexual harassment very desirable.

What do I enjoy?

In a word or two:
You Tube, the only place where you can see great short films like The Death & Life of Ice Cream, 50 badly edited versions of the Sopranos finale, Family Guy/South Park mash ups
and some kid in his basement massacring Black Sabbath on guitar. Ah, democracy.

In the end, think what you will. Just a word of advice, if you're gonna go out on New Year's Eve, don't drink and drive. And if you're going to a bar, I'm not saying you have to leave, but you can't stay here.

Don't stop believing and stay gold, Ponyboy.

I would go out tonight but I haven't got a stitch to wear

2007-12-25T21:51:00.000-05:00

I really have nothing to write about, but here I go.

I was just watching the Travel Channel. They did a story on a place called Ted's. They make steamed burgers; it looked good to me, but then again my pallet isnt that discriminating and I hide my true self and write under the name Le Fig.

What's in my head right now? Glad you asked.

Oh, I need to go on a road trip--and I need a car, and I need to learn how to drive.

Le Fig also needs proper sentence structure. Ol' Miss Run-On Sentence herself, I tend to
write like the way a tweaked coke bunny talks--fast, occasionally funny and I do go on, way past my usefulness.

You know what I was thinking about: wine coolers--remember those hideous
drinks? When you want to drink but can't fully commit, or you couldn't find a way to get your hands on the hard stuff and Bartles and James had to suffice. How many of us had fake
ID's? Does The College of Arts and Crafts ring a bell? God bless 1986-era 42nd Street; you could get drugs, a prostitute, a fake ID and see a kung fu movie--kinda like a one stop shop.
A Wal-Mart of scum, so to speak.

Let me tell you a deep dark secret--I used to be a fan of Miss Piggy. I had the doll/puppet; I could make her talk. "Miss Piggy, you're so cool; how do I get to be like you ?'' "Well, dip shit, first take your hand out of my ass; stop talking to an imaginary friend and take off those Miss Piggy sneakers--it's just plain weird."

How odd: a little Jewish kid worshiping a pig.

Season's greetings, motherfucker

2007-12-23T19:32:00.000-05:00

Season's greetings; I'm on the dole.

Let me give you my Holiday wishes...

I wish to have a Fan Club made in my honor.
I wish for my enemies to be trapped under a flaming Xmas tree rolling down a hill .
I hope I don't have to get any more joke gifts (my minons and midgets--take care of this).
I pray Starbuck's stops trying to spread the cheer: egg nog coffee does not make me happy.
Oh, so many things.

Let me leave you with this thought--some people collect comic books; others collect bad thoughts and bitter feelings.
Who are you?
Send me your thoughts.

Mistletoe and love--
the peppermint Le Fig

Let's do the the time warp

2007-12-18T19:37:00.000-05:00

So here I am, sitting in the car waiting for the light to turn--what breaks my concentration?

The guy in the next car over.

He's playing Pearl Jam. Now I know you people out there think, ''but they were one of the greatest band of the 90's.''

And yes I had a copy of Ten (red cover, their arms outstretched: ''reach the sky, man'').
Maybe that's my point, I had a copy. And yes, before you even think it, there was worse--
Nirvana maybe? God, how I wish Kurt Cobain would have done his suicide pact with the wife, Gig Young style (Google the name for a chuckle).

Sorry--back to the guy and the car. He was driving a Jeep and had on a on a sweater, a beanie cap, long hair and yes--a soul patch. All that was missing was a girlfriend named Asia
(though completely Caucasian), her green hair and a nose ring, Doc Martens and a
''Take Back The Night'' t-shirt. The song that was playing? "Jeremy", from Ten.

I had a suspicion Ole Grunge Boy got caught in a worm hole 14 years ago and just got
spit back out. Sadly, he broke my illusion by whipping out his cell phone. Bye-bye
Grunge Boy, wherever you may mope.

Sick of the holidays yet?

2007-11-25T18:50:00.000-05:00

Greetings...

So how was your Thanksgiving?

Lots of turkey, stuffing, yams, cranberry dressing.

You stuff yourself, feeling as if you will puke, then go in for seconds, thirds--hey, the food's here--why not?

What really happened was you dragged yourself to see family members you hate to eat the same dry bird that no amount of gravy will save. Your dad will tell the same story about the time you shaved the head of the "special needs" kid who lived down the block (it's not your fault if he belived you when you said the magic unicorn would appear if he did it).

...Still funny though.

Me, I've been sick; you're familiar with it--sore throat, yellow mucus, head feels like it's in a vice grip... FUN!
Went to Boston Market--my review: great, if you like a salt pile with little bits of turkey on it.
Let's just say never again.

Rob and I wanted a relaxing Saturday: "hey, let's go to the Village, get some Indian food"--sounds good right?

Well, things have changed. The lovely booth that we sat in reminded me of some kind of shop class project; the decor looked like some kind of a rest stop--don't ask, let your imagination flow. The food: not bad, but when there are roaches crawling on the booth walls, I tend to lose my will to eat. Let's just say if you happen upon 181 Bleecker street, do not go in.

Now you can never say that I haven't given you some useful info.

I went ahead and ordered for the table

2007-06-11T18:34:00.000-04:00

How do I start?

My review of Hostel 2: a little mutilation, a little castration -- I say wait for DVD.

If you learn anything from this movie, it's college girls will believe anything a Russian model
tells them. Stupid bitches.

So let me give my opinion re: The Sopranos:

First, let me say I thought I had sat on the remote (the black screen--admit it: you thought your DVR had fucked it up).

I was pissed at first, but upon reflection, I found the whole thing quite clever. You end the show eating onion rings, listening to Journey; strange looking guy in the Members Only jacket
looking over his shoulder. It's what I would call an evening at my house.

How can you hate a show that has Tony Soprano using the term "catalytic converter"
in a sentence?

Most importantly -- Phil Leotardo whacked by a guy named Walden and getting his head
crushed by an SUV with his grankids in the back. Complete with a crunching noise
and a vomiting teen. Ah, try topping that HBO.

I spit on your grave (I always wanted to give one blog that title)

2007-04-08T12:41:00.000-04:00

Sorry to sound like a geek.

You must see "Grindhouse"; best film I've seen in ages ("Zodiac" comes close).
I won't go into great detail; just see the thing and Don't get up for the trailers (part of the movie).

Oh, and on this Easter Sunday... microwave a Peep for me; bite its' melted head and
give a shoutout to o'l J.C.

You Don't Have To Leave, But You Can't Stay Here

2006-12-29T20:27:00.000-05:00

Where has the year gone ?

Why, I've been so busy I haven't had time to blog.

For me, this year has been a steady source of ecch...

Anyone reading this--would you like my best of the year list?

Movies-
I don't go to the movies; I wait for On Demand (if you've ever read this blog, you would know how I feel about small smelly kids and their shitbag parents). Why can't all mothers be as caring as Andrea Yates?

I can't name 10 movies, but I did like Art School Confidential.

Music-
Don't really buy CD's much; love XM Satellite Radio. Oh I bought 1 CD -- The Punch Line. It's great; buy it today.

Fashion-
All I know is I have a great knock-off Dior bag. Two cheers for slave labor so I can have my bag!

Important for 2007:
Please take this advice: to anyone out there who may be reading this... From now on: No more winter hats with the pom-pom on top. It's not 1978, you're not 12 years old; stop trying to recapture your youth. You still hate your Mom and your Dad doesn't care about you. Drop the ribbon barettes, the rainbow shirt and the pom-poms--you just look stupid.

Oh-
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
I'm going to the Borgata on Sunday to see Jim Norton... OOOOH!

Dont'cha wish you you were me?

Mouse without cheese in a town without pity

2006-07-02T19:35:00.001-04:00

Oh, I hate the summer.

The sun--nice and all--but me and my transparent skin slathering sunblock #50 all day long = not so much fun.

I guess I could use white gloves and a parisol for protection, but would it really go with my jeans and Converse sneakers?

So I have one of those lovely iPods. One of the old ones, not the ones where you can watch TV shows (on a screen the size of a baby mouse for $399.00 -- brilliant). Anywho, I love the thing but, hey, loading it in -- could it be more of a pain in the ass? It makes me pine for the days of the good ol' mix tape.
Okay -- what was the worst thing you had to deal with the tape runs out? Go to side two. My other problem it's so impersonal. Remember when you would make a mix tape for your friends, complete with homemade artwork
or how about when you liked a guy (or girl), you would say all the things you wanted to say on the tape (I like you/you're special; hell even "I hate you")Oh hell -- you made a conection. What do you do now? I downloaded this for you; check your file -- did you? Thanks; it must have taken you all of 30 seconds.

Love in the modern age.

Gradually, then suddenly

2006-05-14T20:12:00.000-04:00

Yes, it's true I am a 35 year old.

Now, you say 35 is the new 20 and 40 is the new 30 but hey, what the fuck--I'm still 35. Five years from the big 40. Ten after that, 50 (and hopefully, I will have learned how to drive
by then). So what did I do? Wanted to see the Poseidon disaster; no luck--sold out. Then again, the local theater seats 40 or so people... so everyone who doesn't have a job can get tickets.

The real fun was on Sat. Went to the Borgata at A.C.; no craps involved--just some comedy. Saw my favorite comedian, Jim Norton. If you know the name, you probably listen to
Opie and Anthony and you're my kind of people. Sadly, if you don't, all I will say is
"RAMOOOOONE, get this idiot an XM radio and get out of Howard's ass!"

("hoo hoo hoo, I created comedy--tell 'em Fred")

Anyhoo, enjoy the sunshine and think of me...

Love,
Lil' Le Fig

Your mother was wrong--you're just not that special

2006-04-13T20:12:00.000-04:00

That's right--you're not special.

You and that damn walkie-talkie phone of yours.

Grown man with a contraption what makes you look
like you're ten years old (why don't you string two cans together
and have the conversation; it would seem more dignified).

Oh, how about the Bluetooth idiots? The loudmouths with the
blue/silver beetles hanging on, looking like a hearing aid.
Carrying on--like your phone call is so important.

First, use your inside voice. Second--your call to the office
isn't the call to the red phone, ok? Talking into space makes you look
mental.

If I'm going to sit next to a nut--fine, just make sure he's
got his tin foil hat on (preferably talking about Jesus or JFK;
I can never get enough of a good conspiracy theory).

One good technology bit--woman sitting next to me was watching Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy. No Caddyshack, but still funny.

On behalf of the passengers, please turn off the noise

2006-04-12T19:25:00.000-04:00

My morning commute:
Train packed to the rafters. Stand? Guess so.
Oh, look a seat--of course the guy sitting in one of them
has his legs splayed out like he's something special;
well,tough luck, bucko--I'm sitting down. Cram my frame into
that cushiony seat. AHHH... time to relax... until guess what
happens?

Two women/two guys sitting across from me start the morning
'entertainment'. All of them blabbing away; laughing, stomping
their feet, cursing up a storm (what were they talking about?).
Don't know, but it had a lot to do with f@#k, s%$t, mother... you get it.
You would think that's enough--no, not yet.

They decide it's time for the musical portion of the show--simultaneously, they pull out the cell phones. The usual assortment of rap/R&B horseshit and one of them actuallyrecorded a song on her phone (off key with the sound quality similar to one who would sing into a paper towel roll). OOOH--Beyonce--watch out! She proceeded to play the song over and over again, especially her little rap part.
Now, as you can guess, everbody on this train is a little annoyed; everyone waiting for someone to say something.

I could tell some glanced over to me as if to say 'young lady you have nothing to lose--sacrifice your health and some teeth and tell those people to hush'.
Sorry bud; I've been down this road before--I suffer you suffer.

By a stroke of luck or the hammer of the gods, an actual conductor came by
told them to turn off the music. They did after much grumbling (after Mr. Conductor exited the car, they gave one more performace of the
song in a cappella). All this AND the woman sitting next to me had wicked B.O.

Good morning indeed.

Hey kids--Easter's here!

2006-04-10T19:49:00.000-04:00

Oh, I do love this time of year.

Bunnies a hoppin'; Christ a risin'.

There's something about a chocolate bunny with those l'il yellow eyes and carrot noses and
cute l'il names like Sunny ,Honey, Funny (and of course the one that's the cheap
store brand that looks crosseyed and more like a jackrabbit).

All of this insulin raising goodness that turns me into a wide eyed l'il kitty (BLINK - BLINK, think about it, it's cute).

Oh my days of youth; all my cares were tied to what PAAS food
coloring to use on my eggs: pink, blue, ohh now it's purple--now let's use crayons; wait--now it's cracked--next.

(nobody ever eats the eggs anyway; blue egg with a green yolk = tasty)

My favorite Easter story? It's the one where my mom allowed me to get a
comic book. I pick the one with the Bunny on the cover, bypassing
the fact it had the SCARY comic book title.

The l'il rabbit lured children into his factory, dipped them in chocolate,
and bit their heads off. Read this--couldn't sleep for days.

So pull out your Easter bonnets, take out those chocolate rabbits, rip the
heads clean off and think of me.

.

Alright... complaining's my business and business is good...

2006-03-31T19:43:00.000-05:00

Alright...

It's Friday. Worked all week. Not much to say. Hey it's a living and I'm legal.

As I type this, I would love to listen to my XM radio, but no reception in the
apt (the one downer of moving).

Hey Clem, how's the commute to work?

It's public transportation... Crowded bus--everyone smells and has a shitty
morning attitude. Of course, Ms. Fat Ass has to sit next to me every time I
might get a seat.Get off the bus, make the mad dash to the train (with 10 seconds to spare). Hope a get a sea or at least not have to sit next bunch of commuters with all the charm of a teamster with out a contract.

By golly, Clem -- gone shopping lately?

Went to To Old Navy, cute stuff tired of hibernating in the same damn shirts and jeans.

Bring on the spring... I welcome the return of Fancy Clementine.
Gee willikers, Clem -- did your brother just get hitched?
Yup... thanks for telling me Quentin--nothing like finding out weeks later from your mom; that makes you feel in the inner circle.

And last, but not least, check out the new article in the New York Magazine
''Forever Youngish - Why Nobody Wants To Be An Adult Anymore".

Ha ha... cover story on indie yuppies (sorry--grups) and there, brethren...

OOH LA LA.

'Bye.

Le Fig's All Here

2006-02-26T18:27:00.000-05:00

Greetings, saplings.

I blog to you from the fair state of New Jersey. Yes, I've been here a full two weeks. I didn't have time to blog when I was going through my moving week. Let's just say I lived on three hours of sleep a night and Uncle Sam bars. But I'm happy to say, settled in, content and oh what a beautiful apartment.

Now my commute is through New Jersey Transit. The trains are quite nice but crowded; nicer class of people than say, a certain ferry I used to take. Sorry (not to be a snob), but so far I haven't seen any homeless men taking the train with me. There's nothing like the smell of beer and sausage to really wake you up in the morning.

So as I said, things are settled; work is fine and we'll see how the months progress. Just wanted to say hello.

Until next time...

Your loyal Le Fig

The time of salivation is here

2006-01-14T20:58:00.000-05:00

I bring a message of love for the new year.

Not really, but if you weren't familiar with my blog, you might have been fooled.

So what has the new year brought?

I'm moving, thank you very much. No more ghetto, baby--I'm movin' on up. Before we leave, I have one wish... I hope my neighbors die of a drug overdose and their drug-addled corpses are
found weeks later, half eaten by rats the size of chihuahuas (if you wonder about the hostility, read my old blogs; otherwise, you get it).

Guess what I have: XM radio. I used to love me some Ipod, but the fickle female I am, well... Let's just say: I LOVE ME SOME XM! You have no idea how nice it is to listen to real music with no commercials.

THE LE FIG HAPPY LIST:
1. XM radio
2. O&A on XM (trust me, it's I-can't-breathe funny.)
3.The Flavor of Love: The VH-1 show. It's ghetto-horror-tastic.
4. Any reality shows about tattoos -- Miami Ink, Inked (it's my new thing; just work with me)
5. Smokehouse BBQ Buffet: food--me love it, nothing more to say.

More tasty tidbits later. Stay gold, Ponyboy.

It puts the lotion on the skin in 2006

2005-12-31T18:19:00.000-05:00

Ah, 2005 is gone.

All hail 2006.

Sorry if you had to read other blogs in my absence. Life is tough when you have to read Ilovemycat and uglygirlwithhairlipneedslovetoo.blog when I'm not around.

Let me tell you how life has been.

Work. No gym, no travel, no trips to the day spa, just F@*#$&%! work. At least the fruits of my labor produced the rent for the new apartment. Ah yes--I am leaving the Skank Arms in one month. (The Crackheads next door actually put up a Xmas wreath. Please, it should've had hypodermic needles and crack pipes on it.)

I really haven't been out and done much; I see movies on cable and pay per view, so if you want a review of King Kong, look for my blog in 6 months.

Well--I did one thing; Rob took me to a concert. We saw X, one of my favorite groups of all time. The last time I saw them I was 14 years old and was wearing a leather Hard Rock Cafe
jacket (yes, laugh). The crowd was a bunch of young and old punks, rockabilly types, couples with their kids and there I was, Ugg boots and western shirt... Oh, I looked so hip (please: I'm 34--hip is a joke) . X put on a great show; I even tried to take a photo of the marquee with my phone (didn't work); oh well--at least I have my memories.

As I sit here blogging, drinking wine, I wish you good luck and good night and don't make any New Year's resolutions. You never keep them and by Feb., you feel like crap.

Oh, and make sure to check out Silence Of The Lambs--The Musical.com. You'll thank me...

Have a turkey leg (I eat the white meat)

2005-11-30T21:34:00.000-05:00

Hello... welcome to LeFigland.

How, may I ask, was your Thanksgiving? Me? Oh, thank you for asking. I didn't cook; I called good ol' Boston Market. Ate spiral macaroni and cheese, so I can't complain.

Lucky me--I had four days off. I've been working many hours of overtime; I had a strong need to diffuse with poultry.

So what else have I been doing you ask? Work, work, work... Oh, I'm moving! (Sorry, completely out of nowhere). Had a happy Tourette's moment.

My most recent dilemma has been my search for a good lunch. I'm so f'in sick of Subway (screw you, Jared); so should I cook instead? Let me guess... work all day--come home--more work--then cook? Thank God my husband loves peanut butter.

Are you ready for Xmas? If you nod your head, leave my blog now. Listen, I like the whole pine tree/candy cane/egg nog/snow/good cheer thing but with the whole 60 degree weather, constant working and not wanting to buy gifts for people, makes me more excited about Starbucks ginger-cinnamon coffee than the holidays.

Happy Rudolph.

Love,
LeFig

There's always some schmuck ahead of you on a bike

2005-10-30T21:40:00.000-05:00

Greetings. Miss me?

Oh, I miss you more.

My title (you may ask) -- well, don't we all feel that way? I know when my manservant, the almighty Rob, is driving me... well, there's always some schmuck on a bike in front of us. Oh, how I wish I could knock them off the road, bad drivers and all.

So I give you an early Happy Halloween. Hopefully, you will find no lead in your candy corn; no apples filled with razor blades or old Reggie bars your creepy neighbors try to pass off as candy. What shall I be doing tomorrow? Uh...working, going home. Sorry--can't go out wearing the dominatrix costume and begging for candy tomorrow. I'll leave that up to you.

You probably have wondered where I've been. Working hard, dammit. I can't be here all the time to blog and amuse you. Working my fingers to the bone.

So this is my little tidbit for you. Have a glazed popcorn ball tomorrow; smile and think of me. And watch a good horror flick -- if there are any left.

I love all of you little people.

Short--sweet--to the point

2005-09-12T19:56:00.000-04:00

Sorry--I just haven't had much to say.

Life seems to unfold from one sad event to another.

For the first time in my life, I really feel sad to be an American. What I mean by this is the government, not the people (well, some of the people). The image-obsessed hacks who can't do the job.

Oh, did you know... Gas is now $3.09 a gallon--thank you, Hummer-driving douchebags with your "Support The Troops" Bumper Stickers. F@&$ you.

As you can read, I'm an angry person right now.

At least I have the new fall TV season.

Oh, did you know...

There was a Blackout in California

The Four Horsemen are not far behind.

'Bye.

This is so sad

2005-08-08T21:33:00.000-04:00

I just Googled my name NOTHING!
This is so sad...
More on this travesty later.

Let your back feel the ground

2005-07-29T20:01:00.000-04:00

What does this mean?

I have no idea; somebody's trying to be poetic(it was written on a piece
of paper that fell at my feet).

I write all this to say...

In the stairwell, there was a roach; all of a sudden he up and died.
There he was, in all his 12 legged glory.

So what did the neighbors do?

Wrap him in a kleenex and give the vermin bastard a viking funeral? No. Every day people would leave little messages next to his exo-skeleton.

"Here lies the roach--he leaves a wife in a pantry and 5,000,000 children" or

"Yes, I am dead".

"Loving member of the vermin population".

"If I could do it all over again, I'd live in a Starbucks".

Next thing you know, someone will make a scholarship in his name (Cock A. Roach)

In the end?
The roach is still there. Stop being funny, pick it up and flush the damn thing!

Be well and just be thankful I didn't make any Roach Motel jokes.

Always on my mind

2005-07-25T18:16:00.000-04:00

Have you heard of the show "What Not To Wear"? Two English broads who tell shulmpy housewives they look like crap then give them a new haircut,
a bra that fits, and a low cut top so they can look all sexy and unrecognizable. People cry "tears of joy" and presto--life is changed (I've basically described
the premise of every reality show).

Okay, the show gets on my last good nerve, but those chicks have a point.
People truly have no concept of what they look like. Yes, this has been a problem for some time. Why, it almost feels like yesterday...a teenage Le Fig on the bus, on my way to school. Staring out the window, my eyes gazed upon a woman--oh, let's say 5' 4" and 250 pounds. Wearing what you may ask?
Black tight top, fuchia mini skirt. As you may have assumed, my eyes (along with everyone else's) are fixated on this train wreck. Just so you get a mental picture, her backside looked like two sacks of lumpy oatmeal.

Today, I saw a woman (teenager, whatever) on the train--looked to be about 8 months pregnant, red and black sun tattoo on her belly button and crop top.
Now, all you mothers-to-be don't get all "you're denigrating motherhood" or
"don't make fun of pregnant women". All I ask for is reasonable attire.

Just so you get a heads up--my next blog is about strollers.

It's good to be me

2005-07-14T20:17:00.001-04:00

My work day is finally over.
I felt I should reward myself for enduring another dreary day.
What's my indulgence, you ponder?
Tasti-D-Lite (if you're not a New Yorker, you may give a blank stare; I feel sad you don't understand my joy of the plastic Kosher confection).

I digress; this blog isn't about my dietary habits.

This is a tale of getting older; regret, loss, friends, and okay--melted frozen confections.

As I stated, I'm walking down the street, minding my own business when I see a familar face (I can see them--they can't see me--eyes like a cat).

It's an old friend from college (who dated my best friend). He's with his wife (very pregnant); I'm a little freaked out. Do I say hello? Would he remember me? How do I approach this?

"Hey! How's it going? Looks like you've been busy. Good for you settling down. You never struck me as a one-vagina guy, but hey we all change. Boy, you should have seen this guy in college. Actually, it's better you didnt..."

Did I say all this? Are you nuts? I take the long walk up the hill to avoid my neighbors. No, I panicked and bolted across the street. I just wasn't in the mood. Oh--that and I suck at casual conversation.

What happened to the best friend? We drifted apart; it happens. When you start to feel like your friend only wants you when it's convienent for them and you have to buy the friendship. It's time to move on. I still care, but what am I gonna do?

Funny thing is, I really didn't know the boyfriend too well.

I kinda felt like the 3rd wheel ("it's great to talk to you, but we would like to be alone so we could fuck like rabid dogs..."). And then I would have to deal with breakup crap.

He loves me! He hates me! Ilove him! I hate him!

(Figure out a mood swing and stay with it, Sybil)

I think in the end, it was a weird sorta flashback, but I just didn't want to be bothered with a trip down memory lane.

I'm lucky I don't have some great "love of my life"; this, my friends, is why it pays to have non-descript ex's. You don't think about them and they don't think about you.

The Numerology Special (I've done something I would not have done otherwise)

2005-07-04T13:17:00.000-04:00

I've been reading my horoscope a lot lately. Not that I belive in any of that; personally, I think most of it is a load of recycled crap.

Taurus - You're stubborn; try to be nice, change your attitude and you will be free of the bitterness that is blighting your life. Yes--that was part of my horoscope.

Listen: if I'm bitter, it's not because I'm an water sign born in the year of the pig (okay, I would prefer snake or dragon; no woman wants to be called a
pig). On the bright side, my number in numerology is 7. Seven is the number of the mystic (ooh, my inner workings are intricate) and I have an uncanny understanding of human nature. I'm sure you are dying to meet me
now... aw shucks.

It's the 4th of July. People, please don't blow your appendages off--your
friends and neighbors will laugh at you and so will I. My inner workings may be intricate, but I'm human. If you're an adult and playing with dynamite, you deserve to be smacked upside the head with your prosthetic limb. Don't say you haven't been warned.

OFF THE SUBJECT--
I just turned 34. So by the time I'm 40, will 40 still be the new 30? Discuss amongst yourselves. Get back to me.

And finally, I actually saw a movie at the theater. "Land Of The Dead" - I give it 3 1/2 rotting corpses. Listen: I love me some gory horror movies, so when I see "dead" in the title of a flick, just call me happy. Sidebar--I find a seat; I'm sitting next to this fat, loud woman--she's holding 3 seats: one for Miss Piggy herself, but who are the other seats for? The mystery is solved when the fatamarand of a husband comes lumbering up the stairs. Who do you ask was #3? The FOOD!

Now that's a pair of fat bastards. Thank God they were quiet. During the movie, they were probably caught up in all the eating on screen.

Until the next time, stay cranky; it helps the day go by faster.

Share because I care

2005-06-19T16:49:00.000-04:00

READ THIS:

Life is supposed to be enjoyed, not dreaded, so if you are in
one of those moods when everything seems gray and pointless you must
snap yourself out of it. It would help if you have something to look forward to. Your plans don't have to be realistic,they just have to be fun--you can never have too much of the stuff.

This was my horoscope on Friday. Okay, Little Miss Horoscope Fortune Teller Bitch... I'll snap out of this, get happy and tra-la-la all the way home when you give me something to work with. Snap out of it. Thanks for nothing. Why should I be surprised? It's from the Post.

My Weird Dream:
I'm in a restaurant by myself; have to use the bathroom--walking through an endless hallway, I finaly reach my destination only to find it's unisex and inhabited by snotty models who keep blocking my path. I finally get to go
in--the stalls are made of glass. So when I'm doing my business, people are pointing and laughing. That's the dream. I know; I have no idea.

If anyone out there has any suggestions, I'll listen.

What's the hot fuss?

2005-06-14T19:06:00.000-04:00

So let's get this out of the way:
It's a friggin' scorcher. I love weather that makes me feel as if I'm having an asthma attack.

Did I mention I have baby-fine hair and in humidity, turns into a stylish "just escaped from the mental ward" look.

Enough about the follicular trauma. Here are my musings:
The iPod mini has 4 new colors: red, yellow, white, black and a
lovely shade of who gives a rat's ass? It's still the same iPod, people.
Oh--one more thing: for $119.00 you can buy a waterproof case... yes, I paid $250.00 for the damn thing and spend another $119.00
so I can take it in the pool with me... show off.

I went to the zoo on Sunday; had a gay ol' time. Funny--all the animals looked the way I felt. Tired; slothlike--in need of a fan and a cold brew. My personal fave was the red panda. I wanted to give it a hug; so cute, so cute.
(You do realize if I did crawl in the cage, my panda pal would bite my ears off and all the while, small children would laugh at my misfortune and take bets on what the panda would chew off next).

Good night and have some trail mix on me (extra raisins, if you please).

Satan, don't fail me now-- I'm on a roll

2005-06-08T21:22:00.000-04:00

Greetings...

So who's seen the Star Wars movie?

Did ya like it?

All in favor, say "Mrrwaaaaah". (Wookie joke)

Okay, I haven't seen it. In fact, the last movie I saw in the theater was
the 9/11 movie. I know that's f%#@&&*-sad.

So, my little marzipan pigs, let me tell you the deal:

1. According to the Post I'm an "Indie Yuppie".
Because I go to Starbucks; because I own a vintage t-shirt;
maybe because I have a job where my boss changes the time on my time
sheet (to pay me less) and I feel I'm in an eternal time suck vortex
that depresses the ever-lovin' shit out of me.

Oh--take me away to Xanadu (wait, I can't rollerskate).
Yes, that's right; I just referenced that '80's classic. Well, not a classic
but leave me with my sad memories of my youth.

Sorry--I digress--I'm a yuppie because I own an iPod; that's it.

Guess what I did last week?
I had my gums scraped. It's called "scaling and root planing"
or, as I like to call it:

SWEET JESUS YOU'RE KILLING ME THIS IS THE WORST PAIN I'VE EVER BEEN IN
PLEASE KILL ME ALREADY SWEET LORD YOU ARE THE BRIDE OF SATAN GET ME A
PRIEST, GIVE ME LAST RIGHTS...

Anyway, my mouth still hurts.

All this pent up bitchin' has tuckered me out.

Talk to ya later.

Lest we should Fig-get

2005-05-16T22:03:00.000-04:00

Hello... I'm back again. I wanted to take some time off to write a book; had a couple of titles: "Hooker Boots & Head Bands", "Tales Of Long Island", "My Uterus Is A Hat & Other Tales Of Whoa"... how far have I gotten? I have titles--what more do you want? That's more than you.

I've been waiting for something exciting to happen to blog about. Like a crazy man flinging poo at me, but no such luck. What can I say? My life is boring. But I'm not complaining--part of my blog is to sound like I'm complaining.

Oh, I just had a birthday. Send cake and iPod accessories through my e-mail address.

I know my minions have been waiting for a funny reply. And that includes my midgets. There will be more to come. Oh, and I'm on the South Beach Diet--which means a muscled gay man on roller skates brings me my meals three times a day.

Ha, ha--I am cornball--hear me roar.

That's all for now. Be Yoda-like and get yer "Star Wars" geek ass outta here.

Cavalcade of schmucks

2005-04-20T20:50:00.000-04:00

I've come here to be shockin', y'all.

I'm minding my own business, standing like a lemming on the ferry. All I want to do is get off this barge; we're packed in like sardines. Someone brushes up against me. At first I pay no mind (remember--sardine). Happens again--third time, there's a hand on my ass (okay, now you got my attention). I turn--it's a woman (listen, Hustler fans--this ISN'T good). When I say "woman", we're talking about the Herman Munster variety. With my best half-frozen/half-nauseous stare, I ask her to kindly take her man-hands off my ass. Sorry, guys--I'm not a vagina enthusiast. I guess the lesbians have become emboldened.

You know, if a woman is going to try to pick me up, is it too much to ask for them to (at least) be attractive? You know, so I could say "you're really not my type or gender, but I love what you've done with your hair". Do I make sense?

Oh, the curse of being attractive. But then again, I guess if I looked like Ms. Grab Ass, that might be the only way to get female pulchritude. I guess spring just brings it out in people.

I know why tigers eat their young

2005-04-03T20:24:00.000-04:00

For some, night time is the right time.
For me, the morning solitude works just fine.

Every morning before work, I eat my breakfast at a small cafe.
It's my attempt to set the day off, the right way.

There I sit, morning coffee and yogurt. Guess what happens?

"Lady--hey lady". I look up; there's a "woman" right in my face. The woman in question is a lovely mix of tobacco and rancid ass, with a face I can only describe as a mix of Bella Abzug and Lynne Stewart--complete with facial hair. Yes, she was that close.

Anyway: Stinky was trying to get my attention because she wanted
my paper (the free crappy morning rags, Metro and such). Of course, I politely say "No, sorry--I'm reading both ".

"Reading both? How can you read both?"
"Sorry", I say and shrug my shoulders.

That's it, right?

NOPE!

She then decides to imitate what I just said, complete with shoulder shrug.

"Not gonna let me read your paper, Milwaukee?" (Yes--she called me "Milwaukee")

"Why?" -- please: haven't we established she's Crazy Von Stinky Woman. She, of course, sits right in back of me muttering under her breath with every other sentence ending in "Right, Milwaukee? Right, Milwaukee?"

This went on for 10 minutes; my good morning a distant memory.

Before I leave, I give her this parting shot:

"You know, for someone who smells as bad as you do, you could try being a little nicer. Oh--and you could try getting your own paper, too. It's free."

My morning wasn't so bad after all.

The clam dip of my soul

2005-03-29T20:58:00.000-05:00

Like my title, feelin' fishy. No, not smelly. Get your mind out of the gutter.

Yes, it's been a while since I've blogged, but damn it--I've had nothing to say. Would you rather I write about nothing like some people and their damn blogs? Sadly, nothing has kept my attention lately. T.V. doesn't have the oomph it once had; do you think I should get out of the house more often?

Work is work. It's the fly in my salsa--what can I say?

I don't know if you've read or heard, but crime in the subways has gone up. Number one snatch-and-grab: iPod. If some bastard tries to steal my iPod, I'll kick him in the nuts, punch him in the throat, throw him in front of a train--wait until the train runs him over--jump down on the tracks and punch him in the nuts again. I do love me some iPod. Let this be a warning to you. If you like having nuts and a neck, stay the fuck away.

What else is in the news? Well, let's just say I filled out the living will they had in the Post. I don't trust anybody. I'll piss my mother off one day and I'll be eatin' from a tube for the next 15 years. I come from a vindictive family. There--I said it.

Went to the dentist today. Let's just say I accept donations at any point.

I love all of you--even the little people. And by that, I mean my minions, not my midgets.

Love always,
Le Fig

I like the quiet, don't you? (my own private soundtrack)

2005-03-14T21:05:00.000-05:00

As you already know everyone has an opinion.

Please allow me to opine on a subject dear to me.

Much has been written lately on the iPod (or as I like to call it "the glorious music machine"). The complaint is (and there's always one) -- "everyone is now hooked up, tuned in and tuning out. Public spaces have now become cocoons; sealed off from one another".

My question is: when did this become a bad thing?

As I'm sure you know from reading my previous blogs I so enjoy interaction with people (especially the subway riding public).

Between obtrusive conversations and dirty comments (I have a good one); a gentleman (actually, a human douchebag), greeted me with "Hey pretty eyes,
I like your ass". From my eyes to my ass. What a sweetie.

When I have my iPod, it's as if I have an invisible force field that says "I CAN'T HEAR YOU; I DON'T WANT TO HEAR YOU--GO AWAY!". Being able to shut out the maddening crowd (and for a brief moment) and enjoy a soundscape of good music (God knows, I'm sick of hearing snippets of crap music).

Listen: iPods didn't start human isolation. The people who write these articles haven't lived in the big city for long (let me guess: you're from a small town where you bought penny candy. Your mother went to the town Woolworth's to buy gingham for a "purdy" new dress, and of course, Shopkeeper Dan knew your name and was always glad you came. Too bad--we are city folk; we do things differently.

Now if you'll excuse me, I must go back to my wall of isolation.

Happy Mondays, boring Tuesdays--happy endings?

2005-03-08T19:43:00.000-05:00

What a shocker...

Woke up on Monday in a great mood; the sun was shining--the morning was easy. Came to work with a smile on my face. The day breezed by. Finally went to the gym; of course, it was filled with every gymtard humanly possible (you know the type, the sign clearly states 30 min. time limit and they've been on the machine for oh...49 minutes--stop covering up the timer with a towel--I'm not a moron).
Listen, I'm back on track--that's what counts.

Off the subject...
Three pet peeves...

1. This is totally unoriginal:

Cell phones are working my last good nerve. I dont want to hear your stupid ring tone (nothing like a tinny version of a crappy top-40 song to start your day). I don't want to hear your conversation about your sister's mother's friend who had an abortion (please, someone, please give me an icepick).

2. "Supersize Me"
This movie was the most self-indulgent piece of crap I've seen in ages. Let's see: I'll eat shitty fast food (like there's good fast food) for 30 days--let's see what happens. Don't know? YOU GET FAT, DUMBASS! I'm truly tired of people blaming their fat asses on everything but the fact that they eat five McRibs and an 80 gallon jug of Mountain Dew (people, please nothing good ever comes out of
soda that looks like electric urine). It's so sad. Oh and please--people who get gastric bypass are cheating swine who deserve to be smacked upside the head with a bag of medical waste. Having your stomach cut out because you're an out- of-control moron isn't something I'll celebrate (but here--have a cookie).

3. The dread of Monday

I was listening to NPR yesterday; they had on a writer for the Wall Street
Journal. His article was about the dread of Sundays. The whole article
was about "why do people dread Sundays?". The premise is the dread starts in
childhood--weekend's over; school's on Monday. Shows on TV that remind us
it's Sunday. People are in denial it's Sunday and act like it's Saturday.
This is why people hate NPR (don't yell at me; I'm just stating a fact).

I must leave--nothing more to say.

Our national nightmare is over... (a.k.a. Bare Essence Le Fig)

2005-03-06T14:23:00.000-05:00

Sorry to be such a drama queen...

This is the first year Rob and I did our taxes and I didn't feel like crying out to the gods of
the I.R.S., "DAMN YOU! WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME?" (okay, it's never been that bad; I just like a little dramatic flourish).

Okay--it's a wash.

Now I can finally get back to the business of getting back to me. The tense and sick Le Fig was a bit much. Rob and I celebrated our victory over tyranny (See? I told you I love drama) with a stop at Starbucks; had a vanilla expresso
latte--oh so lovely. We spent the rest of the afternoon buying vitamins (flaxseed oil and calcium) and going to Kmart to find Matthew Morris monochromatic blue ceramic dishes (no luck). I'll do a little domestic work, then chill for the rest of the evening in a attempt to psych myself up for work.

Later.

On the side of my bed

2005-02-23T17:28:00.000-05:00

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

2005-02-19T20:03:00.000-05:00

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.

2005-02-16T19:15:00.000-05:00

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

2005-02-15T20:52:00.000-05:00

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.Le Fig is a FREAK magnet. Let me explain....

Every train, bus, boat, pedicab and morning constitutional is accompanied by some gold toothed, drunk, smelly, Jehobo-headed 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

2005-02-14T20:52:00.000-05:00

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?

2005-02-13T19:39:00.000-05:00

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)

2005-02-13T07:36:00.000-05:00

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

2005-02-09T19:37:00.000-05:00

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)

2005-02-04T20:48:00.000-05:00

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.

Reading is fundamental...just not out loud

2005-01-24T21:08:00.000-05:00

Greetings, snow bunnies and ski bums...

What's going on? Me, I hibernated this weekend (you know, snow and all). I'd like to work out tonight after work; I fear I'm developing a sore throat.

Sorry...I'm distracted from my thoughts. There's an idiot sitting next to me, reading the paper OUT LOUD (little known fact--the first sign of mental retardation is reading out loud).

My goal for the week: exercise every day, except for Monday (!), eat right (I'll start tomorrow), find excitement at my job (who am I kidding?), the guy's reading again...I'm too distracted.

I'll get back to you later...bye...

Free form Le Fig

2005-01-19T20:19:00.000-05:00

Dressed like a Yeti this morning, I was fully prepared to go to the gym today but other things came up. To be honest, I did not want to deal with the gym 'tards today (the ones who go over the 30-minute limit, pretend like no-one knows...I KNOW...leave their sweat on the machines...dirty bastards). There's always tomorrow.

Aren't you tired of people opening their blogs by saying "it's cold". We know. BRRRR. Hence, dress like a Yeti.

Are you keeping up your New Year's Resolutions? Me, not so much. I barely schedule the time to shave my legs. Damn you, 2005... you creep upon me like a fungus. But hey, at least I don't smoke. Screw you, nicotine people.

Ah, that's enough of my yapping.

The Glossary of My Personal Peeves

2005-01-15T13:00:00.000-05:00

There are just too many; let me start here.

I'm watching this movie Anything Else; great God, this movie sucks.

I was reminded of so many things that aggravate me:
1.NEW YORK-
Overpriced, overtaxed, 5 boroughs of overrated hype.
2.Manhattan-
Listen up: I grew up on the Upper East Side, so don't say a word.
It's inhabited by people who are from the sticks, who get a high paying
job, pay $2800 a month for a studio, then act like they're native N.Y.'ers because they've gone to the latest museum exhibit and they can
rattle of the names of the latest clubs and restaurants... Please--you're from Ohio!
3.Stupid Things In Movies-
a.Groceries in paper bags. Okay, movie makers--obviously, you haven't
been in a supermarket in a while--paper hasn't been used since oh--1988.
4. Sex in Films--
Don't get hot and clammy--all I want to say is this: diaphragm? Come on--who still uses one of those things?
It's like the 8 track tape of birth control devices.
5.Toxicogenic co-workers--Know any? Me, I would have to say yes.
(I'm trying to be diplomatic)

Here's 5 for now; more later as I'm off to be domestic.

Bad morning at Foggy Bottom

2005-01-13T20:26:00.000-05:00

For my first official blog, let me start with a quote: "You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villany".

I use this because:
a) I'm a Star Wars geek (complete with Princess Leia costume)
b) I'm describing a typical workplace

...OR...

c) public transportation

If you picked "C", you are correct sir.

Now let me tell you about my morning ride:

Reading The Post, trying to keep myself awake (yes, The Post, not The Times--too expensive, but only for Nigella Lawson every other week), eventually I decide to stand to try to kill time, staring out the window, trying to discern shapes in this sea of fog. Suddenly it seems that voices are piping up; two, to be exact. Bodies tumble to the groung. Kicking. Biting. Scratching. Two teens--no, two fully grown women. This display seemingly goes on forever. Finally, one middle- aged woman finally steps in to stop the fracas and gets caught in the melee of airbrushed nails and braids. Of course, what fight wouldn't be complete without the security guard? Yes, I know he's a professional--it says so on his jacket. Three other women start yelling out, "ladies, please; we're all adults", to which one woman on the ground said "I'm gonna kick yo' ass, bitch".

Where was I? In the back. I'm no fool. Considering an old woman got cold cocked by one of the women and others had been pushed or pulled. I was happy to stay in the back and watch the Gladiator fight. All we needed was a tiger and Russell Crowe in his metal skirt.

The fun ended, as it always does. One woman (the one who proabably started it) yelled out that she was going to "arrest the animal who assaulted me", screaming at the deckhands to get the cops. Me, I haul ass outta there.

Women are the fairer sex?

Hello!

2005-01-12T20:33:00.000-05:00

Hello my friends and future fans! It was decided that I (of all people) should join the blog nation. More details to come... thanks for logging in. (there's wine and cheese as you leave by the door but please--a 2 drink minimum and tip the waitress; she works hard for the money)