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.

If birds could talk theyd talk about yer mom

So you know the little Notes application in iPhone?
Well, I make notes on the subway about things I want to blog.
Then I get home and realize brainfarts like these don't really flesh out the way I intend:

1. Guys who can braid their beards - where are they cause I wanna date them.
(In reality, all I wrote was BRAIDED BEARDS!?!)
2. The phrase "Gib me spashe" - too annoying to say out loud or hilarious?
3. Mo Willems is amazing.

Wait so actually, I kind of feel like I can use these examples right now.

Seriously about the braided beards, I don't need to explain do I?
Its like if you could take all the extras from Braveheart; dump them into Manhattan; and invite them to a bar around the corner from me, I could literally die happy.
Actually, I might want to change it to braided mustache.
I don't know it doesn't matter either way.
Braid your facial hair.
It works.

"Gib me spashe"...also explains itself.
Is it the right kind of annoying?
I'm not sure yet.
For some reason it reminds me of Martin Short


Ps upon googling Martin Short, I found this gem.

Martin Short. Steve Martin. Play fighting in the tropical sea?
My gayness meter just exploded fairy cum sprinkles everywhere.
And it smells like Drakkar, old lady face lotion and BubbleYum.

So onto Mo Willems.
This guy is the author/illustrator of a lot of really great childrens books that I have read to tons of babes.
They are good for doing voices.
They are funny.
They have little to no creepy sugar coating, which almost all media directed at the young uns have.

My favorite character of his is Pigeon.
Pigeon doesn't wanna share his hot dogs.
He wants to stay up mad late.
He wants to drive the bus around New York.
He's super manipulative and hes a total liar.
Hes an asshole just like actual pigeons.
If you're a parent or a nanny or just a retard who can't read chapter books, get on Mo.
Such a treat.





Abrupt blog end.

That Lady

Hey guys can I be her?

Because I only wanna wear stretch pants and old tees.
Plus snow boots.
Whether or not a chance of snow is projected.



Lets take a look at my surroundings shall we

I think this is apt is reverting back to the days when it was inhabited by a old nutball named Marjorie. Candle wax all over everything. The smell of cats. Half an avocado and two slices of ham going bad in the warm(ish) fridge.

I need to get the fuck out of here.

Afterthought: I may regret joining twitter.

I also may regret ever agreeing to work weekends.

Jung/mammal/new york city/bill clintonesque

I'm watching The PickUp Artist on VH1.
I don't need to explain how maddening it is.

At the very least, it's prompted some brain activity re: what humans want.
Herd mentality/collective unconscious is something I find to be pretty radical.
You do things because other people do them.
You wear things and say things and demean things for reasons seemingly unbeknownst to you.
But its not that complicated, we just do as we see. If we see something is accepted amongst our peers, we continue on with the confidence that we won't be shunned.

Maybe there are some of us who have greater power against the crowd:

CHARISMA...
Though very difficult or even impossible to define accurately (due to a lack of widely accepted criteria in regard to the trait), charisma is often used to describe an elusive, even undefinable personality trait that often includes the seemingly 'supernatural' or uncanny ability to lead, charm, persuade, inspire, and/or influence people. It refers especially to a quality in certain people who easily draw the attention and admiration (or even hatred if the application of such charisma is perceived to be negative) of others due to a 'magnetic' quality of personality and/or appearance. Related terms and phrases include: grace, exuberance, equanimity, mystique, positive energy, joie de vivre, extreme charm, personal magnetism, personal appeal, "electricity," and allure, among many others[1]. Usually many of these specific qualities must be present within a single individual for the person to be considered highly charismatic by the public and their peers.

Despite the strong emotions they so often induce in others, charismatic individuals generally project unusual calmness, confidence, assertiveness, dominance, authenticity, and focus, and almost always possess superb communication and/or oratorical skills. Although the etymology of the word ("divine gift") might suggest that charisma can't be acquired, and despite the persistent inability to accurately define or even fully understand the concept, it is believed that charisma can be taught and/or learned




I wouldn't call it vanity, but I think a lot of people in my life would definitively state that they possess high amounts of charisma.
The crowd you find yourself in is often somewhat a reflection or yourself, so in turn, I would have to say I myself, might be pretty fucking charismatic.

I feel like this whole topic comes down to "good on paper" vs a literal "human powerhouse of joie de vivre"

Its not where you got your shoes.
Its not who you're dating.
Its not how your hair smells or when you got yer nails did.
Its not how many drinks you can get for free/consume at which party.
Its not even really where you work or who knows your name.
Its not the street you grew up on.
Its not how many times you graced the pages of culture mags.

All that shit helps maybe?

But you're either at the back of the herd or the front.

Or just ride dolo?
I currently endorse that option.

Fer pizzazz?

Fridays never were all that dope

Warning:

If you talk to me today tomorrow or anytime soon, I will probably say something I don't mean.

I have thrown my cats numerous times today.

I have maybe never been this randomly angry in my whole life.


So at least the Beware is on the table.

PS

How did I forget seeing Bjork last night?

I told her she looks about 25 years old.

She said, "Are you taking a piss??"

Which I wasn't.
She seriously looks about 20 years younger than she is.

Great job.

Anxiety attack party.

Did that.
For about 4 hours.
Saw basically everyone I've ever known in New York.
Sort of.


Coming home is good.

But.
Not a man for miles.

If you wanna set me up on the matchmaker tip I'm ok with it.

PS all men love my plaid wool coat.
They are not hitting on me, they just want to know where I bought it.
This depresses me.
Every time.

Also, I am pretty sure I saw the reincarnation of Fat Joe tonight.

You wouldn't pass the initiation.

S'been a week.
What I was doing:


This is what it looks like when me and Moll have happy hour.





This is what it looks like when your Valentines date is a glass of booze.


I was just yesterday ranting about how much I hate when people make certain faces for the camera.

My least favorite is the myspace self portrait pout.


My second least favorite is the pretend metal head pose.

You make my skin crawl.

Side note.
Large animals in captivity doing that?
Hilarious.


Jeyla gets a pass on the tongue out thing because shes obviously one of the most fantastic people on earth hands down.
Also she is sort of hiding beneath the ill druid hood which automatically means everything she does is partially invisible and therefor nbd.

Speaking of hood invisibility, it is one of my favorite things.
This is because I am insecure about my face.
I went to Dre Day at Santos and was in the quietest mood of my life so I kept my jacket on and hood up and lemme tell you.
What a diff.
I was THERE and NOT THERE all at once.
Its like magik.
Also magik.
This thing.

More magik?
Crip walking jews and lots of doofus looking white guys with R-tard strength.
Because. That was who attended Dre Day.
Good times.
Wish you were there.


Got a package from Greece.
Full of tzatziki, what else?

Whoops, home address on blast.


Jey wore Nike spandex to go eat sushi.
It was all about raw sea creatures, sake, and the booty.
And rape.
That how it works on No Rules Tuesday.

The official photo for my sentiments about No Rules Tuesday:

Tht kids parents are def full blown Swede.


Saw this in an old reference book in my psychiatrists office.
I wanna know more about brainz.
I want to know why there is no such thing as the right song to listen to if you are still awake at 530am.
Also, why was Sex In The 90s the best show ever made?
In addition, why does beer for dinner ever present itself as a 'great idea'?

All week I've been making a mess of my apartment and thinking about spicy food and wasting money and feeling like shit.
I'm not unhappy at all, just super irresponsible.
I was talking to my dear mum about leaving the Gypsy Den of Chinatown behind come fall.
It is amazingly daunting to think of being somewhere else.
The image I get in my mind is being on the 5th floor of some walk up in the east village, being blinded by the sun streaming in the window.
Plants surviving in the kitchenette.
No more leaky pipes.
No roommate.
An actual door to the bathroom.

Sounds like a fucking nightmare if you ask me.

But all things must come to an end.
The era of the basement dweller has been in full effect for years and maybe its not good for me anymore.

New Topic.
Hot Topic.
Hot New Topic.
What are you gonna pick?
Hot Pockets?
Mmmm Hot Pockets.


February is almost over, who has the hook up for me for a new bike?
Mine was stolen in October.
I plan to replace it with something small, purple, and dreamy.
Tsst.


In my mind it will be like this.
Only no engine.
And I won't wear that outfit.
And it will go a lot slower.
And I will not be giving rides to girls of mysterious ethnic makeup.

Purify yurself in the waters of Lake Minnetonka.

Girl that aint Lake Minnetonka.

Aaaaaaaand SCENE.

Bring a friend. Just kidding!

I dun know if its the weather, or the Zoloft, or the weather...
But I am surely a happy little lady these days.

Basically, I don't even get sad about going to work in the morning.
I also don't get angry at slight hangovers.
I also don't yell at my mom or faint on the subway.
Wow big deal.
Fuck off, its baby steps.

Can't hurt to be walking through lovely Tribeca, 62 degrees and sunny, and see this:

Hey cotton candy rainbow guy, I'm a cute weeble baby in a puffy jacket, pass me a pink one. Theeeeinks!

I never actually hate New York at all, but the last week or so I fucking love it.
I want to marry it.
I want to have 10 thousand of its babies.
I want to call it on a Tuesday night, every 2-3 minutes, for like 5 hours til it picks up.
You can't do that to a booty call really, unless you just drank about a liter of margarita, but I bet New York wouldn't mind.

Also, totally thought I would be hating on all these Valentimes parties, etc, but I'm kind of not.
Its just an excuse to ask people if they wanna go get a 6 of Coors Light and makeout somewhere.

Someone I will not be asking to make out?
Dan!

But I do luff him and I am super excited that he comes and hangs out with girls and never says mean things or makes fun of you.
Yessssssss.
Left: casual jewwy smirk
Right: unattractive waspy snarl


This shit is like a double date where there is ZERO sexual tension. AKA great job.
Thanks for coming out with us so we don't feel like gross old hags.
*That goes out to all male friends who sometimes buy you a drink and let you dominate 99 percent of conversation telling them things there is no way they are interested in.

At this point, I am totally non depressed about being single because my friends are by far the greatest people to have ever walked the planet earth.
Basically, whenever I feel down, I imagine an inanimate object (pillow, flower, can of beans) with really thin legs and big shoes doing a little dance.
And if that image came alive, told good jokes, gave me hugs, and got drunk with me when I need it, that would sort of describe how awesome my friends are.
Get it?