Desperately seeking superficiality

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 Ted Bundy.

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

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

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.

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

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 woman: 8 in the morning; you're going to work, she's going in the other direction. Little black dress; reeks of cigarettes and gin--covered in 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 overweight 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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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?

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

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)

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

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

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

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 Jim Norton.
 If you know the name, you probably listen to Opie and Anthony. 
 Sadly, if you don't, all I will say is
"RAMOOOOONE, get this idiot an XM radio and stop worshiping Howard Stern!"

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

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

Love,
Liz

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

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

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!

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.




.