Hawt and Bahthud

Someone should become a serial rapist, and their criminal name should be Con Edison.
Why do these bastards fuck me directly up the ass every 30 days?
I seriously might have to start lighting my home with only the dollar store Jesus candles.
And I'll produce heat by devising some kind of cat powered machine. They will run on a little wheel all day long and it will set off sparks on some sort of generator.
I don't have it all sorted out, but it all starts with the idea, you know.

Thats how I feel today basically.
Full of great ideas provoked by exasperation.

I have an unexpected day off and I've spent it watching documentaries online, cleaning up, and food shopping.
I found myself walking around Pathmark fake smiling and gritting my teeth because it was one of the worst experiences I've had in weeks.
I swear to god, there were at least 6 or 7 of these common folk:

I understand that we all have bad days.
I understand that some mornings, we open our eyes, roll over, and just SIGH.
Like ok. I dunno if I wanna get up and out.
I don't think I can handle an hour in the supermarket uuuup and dooooown everyyyyyy aisle.
It will be torture!
Well guess what?
Thats called being human.
Laziness is best combated by FORCING yourself up and out and seizing the day. Grab yer food stamps and hit the pavement sister!
If you have to SCOOT your way to the frozen food section to stock up on Banquet microwave tv dinners on sale for $1.29, you might just want to give in commit suicide right now.
Because despite how cruel it sounds, I have always been a strong believer in Darwinism.
There is a reason why sharks have pointy teeth and giraffes have long necks and ants can carry like 10 times their body weight.
BECAUSE THERE IS NO WAY TO SURVIVE OTHERWISE.
Humans being able to motor themselves from their bed to their over processed non-nutrient having saturated fat food sources... one day its just going to have to stop.
Or else I might have an aneurysm solely prompted by frustration.
You should be in a motorized scooter indoors under the following circumstances:
1. you are handicapped. Nuff said.
2. You can't use your legs for some sort of medical reason/recent surgery/exploding kneecaps/whatever the fuck
3. you have some sort of nervous system or musculature issue aka Lou Gherigs? Something like that.
4. You're super old. What qualifies as super old? 95. Thats old. 63? Not old pal. Not old.
5. You are playing some kind of joke for a hidden camera show.

If I see you stand up out of your Rascal to reach for the 2 liter America's Choice grape soda, you can walk. So walk.
Also, you're totally in the way of those of us who have places to be.
AKA me.
I just wanna go home and wash some dishes and dance with myself in my living room on my day off.

I think in order to make myself happy, and to uplift my readers who have now maybe had their day ruined with my negativity...
I would like to propose that a spring celebration be planned in my home within the coming month.
Stephanie my dear Stephanie will have returned from Italia.
Olivia my dear Olivia will be back from LA.
Jeylan will be back from stupid Texas.
Brooklyn girls my dear Brooklyn girls, I never get to see them any more for some horrible reason...
Therefor.
I would like to bless my revamped domicile with cakes and drinking and girls and boys and hopefully some lip glossy kisses.
My planning begins now I think.
Any and all proposals and schemes related to this feista are welcome.

Some inspiration:


(oliviamalone.com duh)
















PS I can't wait to wear shorts.
Please when you read that, say it like this, sort of fast and hysterical:
"I caaaynt wait ta wear sharts!!"
Then wiggle your steepled fingers.

There is nothing funny about this one.

If my life is a drawing I'm making, using a pencil...

I need to go back and erase a whole bunch of shit.
Because I'm having a really hard time going along making something beautiful with this ugly mess behind me.

I literally wish you could smudge out the things that didn't turn out ok.

Everyone knows complaining is attractive get with the program

I'd like to take this opportunity to send out a big fuck you to Waves of Panic.
No, thats not a Brooklyn based band made up of bicurious flannel wearing dudes.
Its just anxiety.
I get it frequently enough that I now report to people while out on the town "having fun"
Like waiting by the bathroom in a bar, and someone I know says "heeey" and my response is "I don't actually have to pee I'm just having a slight panic attack and I'm feeling better in thisssss aaaaarea over heeeere...."

Anyway.
Sometimes I think to myself, wow I really don't want to go out tonight.
I don't want people looking at me, I don't want to look at them either.
I don't want to smell like smoke, I don't want to drink vodka sodas, I don't want to have that couple of hours where you just sort of exist wherever you are waiting for something 'better' to start happening.
Because guess what?
Sometimes, most of the time, nothing better is going to happen.
Thats when I go into my mind and start imagining something along any of these lines:

1. a slightly chilled by not anywhere near cold bottle of orange gatorade
2. an aggressive and pleasurable hair wash at a decent salon.
3. a killer make out sesh with a boy who wears glasses. actually the glasses are a take-it-or-leave-it thing but your imagination works better when you're mad specific.
4. animals dancing like humans, non computer generated
5. a good toe pulling*
6. cheeseburgers
7. funny accents on children
8. warm pool night swimming
9. sitting in the blazing sun on top of that giant stone pyramid thing at the playground by the Met.
10. rolling on furry rugs
*I realize the phrase toe pulling sounds disgusting, but if you've never had someone pull your toes and twirl them around, you're an idiot. Its basically like getting laid but you don't have to shave anything or waste precious energy.

But when I don't see humans I start to feel like my body is going to explode, so duh, I continue to get dressed, have a couple beers, and drag myself out into the cold.


Heres someone I like to see.
Its fun when we get along really well, but somehow I always end up getting drunk and telling everyone this same anecdote, "ONE TIME IN HIGH SCHOOL ME AND JJ GOT IN A FIGHT IN THE HALL AND WE GOT DETENTION BUT BY THE TIME WE HAD THE DETENTION WE WERE PASSING NOTES, BESTIES ALL OVER AGAIN HAHAHAHAHAHAHA !!!!!!"
And I say it just like that, one long spastic sentence, Kanye caps speak.
Then people fake smile and pretend the story is cute, even though we all know no one gives a shit.





Making idiotic faces is sometimes an indication of insecurity but the way these people love themselves borders on masturbatory.
So its just a lil bit of corn.
A lil corn cobby.
A lil summer salad with corn niblets.
A lil cracking of corn, and no one caring.


Something Conrad cares about?
Playdoh sculpting.
An entire table of adults making playdoh penises and whatnot with a container of this stuff the size of teacandle.
I didn't even know one could produce such a small container of playdoh.
Side note: when I say 'we' were making penises, I mean me. I'm pretty sure everyone else was less of a cliche 14 year old boy in art class during pottery semester.




Then this one showed up and this picture could possibly be the perfect representation of her whole aura.
Bugging.
Piscean women and their deep endless seas of emotion!

Went out again last night, rarr rarr rarr, things happened the way you would expect them to.

Interesting point I would like to make though.

I think hipster 'men' right now are trying to hype the hippie look. Because. I saw a lot of dudes with hair way to close to being dreads. (And I'm not talking Jamaicans I'm talking white boys with pleasantly handsome faces)
Also, they all looked very purposefully haphazard, like they have been traveling across country in a van, picking up random items of attire and bits of appearance flair wherever they stop off.
Well.
I would like to say to these guys.
I hope you drop this trend.
Because it already stinks, and I can't even say its blown up yet.
Please stick to good sneakers and proper fitting jeans.
And if you must wear a hat, please do not specifically chose the goofiest one you can find.
You are not a grandpa yet, so no, you will not be excused and adored for your ridiculousness.
And finally, please take off one accesory before you leave the house.
Coco Chanel knew what she was talking about.
You are not doing a great job.
Also saw a few guys trying to bring this kind of shit back:


New York boys, please stop being Ds.
Stop acting cheesy and rude.
Stop primping like ladies.
Stop acting like women owe you a beej just because you exist.

I'm not that bitter I would just really love to see a social change. I have high hopes, sue me.

So it was a bunch of those dudes, some other guys I've known so long they still call me Hunny Bunny, and weirdo asian guys who were falling asleep literally at the bar.

Sooooo I think I have the right to feel underwhelmed.

But I still love my bishes.

And I love pizza.

And dancing.

At least all of that is always here.

Holler.