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

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

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

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

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)

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.

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

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

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

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

Let your back feel the ground

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

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 Liz 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

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)

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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)

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.