Damn you, America's Next Top Model!

I am so ashamed of myself. I spent all day Saturday, watching an America's Next Top Model marathon. All freakin' day. Like I had nothing better to do. I could have been cleaning my apartment. I could have been doing volunteer work teaching kids to read. I could have hung those curtains I bought a while back. Shit, I need to do that soon, I really want to see those up. Man, II could have hung those freakin' curtains, but no...I watched ANTM (oh yeah, that's what you call the show if you're one of the initiated). But, I did go out for a while with my pal Lyndie to some really sketchy furniture store in the ghetto. It was only open to the public for one day, how sleazy does that sound? I was expecting some fantastic cheap stuff, but the prices were like, regular store prices. Now, why would II go to the damn ghetto with another white girl, just to see some furniture I could get at Haverty's for the same price? All in all, I was disappointed. We went to a flea market after that, and then I went home and fell into the ANTM trap. Oh, you may think your will is stronger than mine, that you could flip the channel after an episode or 2...but just you wait...once ANTM gets its hideous little claws in you, your screwed. And not in the good Las Vegas kind of way. Curse you, ANTM (shakes fist in air).

Guess who's my bitch now?

The Exorcist Stairs! Oh that's right, your pal Bogda marched right up to those bad boys, smacked them square in the face, then rode them like they were Secrateriet. You dig? Oh yeah, and I liked it so much, I forced myself on those steps 5 times. That's right, you read that correctly...5 times. You better recognize!

The Exorcist Stairs

Most of y'all have seen the Exorcist, and some of you probably even know that it was filmed in Georgetown, my new hood. But what you may not know, is that the famous staircase that the priest falls down at the end of the movie, is really, really close to my office. They are FREAKY tall, and tomorrow morning, I'm going to run up those sumbitches. It all started with my pal Lyndie (Wilksey, if your nasty) getting herself a personal trainer named Ramond. Bogda was lookin' so fly from all her workin' out, so Wilksey wanted a taste, which is understandable. So Ramond has Wilksey running theses little sets of stairs all around the area during her training, and she gripped about it to him one day. Ramond's response was to say "wait until I make you run the Exorcist stairs." Which shut her up real quick. So last week, I was loitering outside of my office building with Wilksey and some other chumps, and Ramond rode by on his bicycle. He stopped to chat us up, and I asked him when he was going to make Wilksey run the Exorcist steps...Wilksey was not pleased. So, Ramond set the date, Sept. 16th is the day of the event. Wilksey decided that since this whole thing is my fault for reminding her trainer she was supposed to run them, that I have to run them with her. Pride is a funny thing, cause normally I would say "fuck that noise" and blow it off, but Wilksey must have smelled that response on me, so she started talking smack. Said I was scared to do it, said I couldn't handle it, said all kinds of crazy shit she'll be eating when I storm past her and run those fucking steps with such style and grace, the birds in the trees will fall silent, and time itself will seem to stop. And 20 minutes later, when her sorry ass climbs to the top, I will be lounging around, possibly enjoying a nice beverage served to me by a half naked cabana boy named Rauol, and I'll say "bitch please."

Phantom Burrito Smell

So, check this shit out...I get home from a hard days work, you know...movin', shakin'...makin' things happen...that kind of stuff, and I walk up to my apartment, and I know someone from maintenance has been in my place. I can tell, cause I never lock the bottom, door handle lock thing when I leave, I only lock the deadbolt. So, I noticed that the door knob thing was locked, and I had put in a service request for several things (floorboards fucked up, broken microwave, and closet door off the track), so I used my deductive reasoning to figure out some body had been in my Soul Dojo. I walk in, and I know immediately that the floor is still jacked up, so they didn't fix that. Then, I noticed that the microwave is still broken, so they didn't fix that. It seems like maybe they fixed my closet door, since that's the last thing on the to-do list. But dig this, not only is the closet door still off the track, MY ROOM STINKS LIKE A BURRITO!!! I haven't had a burrito in 5 months, so I know it's not me, so I start looking around the room, trying to find the smell-source. I can't freakin' find it! Nothing in the trash can, nothing under the bed, nothing on the dresser, nothing in the closet itself, nothing in the bathroom...where is this damn burrito what's stinkin' up the joint?! Where, damn you!!?? Seriously, where is it...it stinks in there. I Febreezed the ever-lovin' shit out of the room, then walked away. If that doesn't work, the room is dead to me.

P.S. Spellcheck tried to replace "freakin'" with "foreskin"...that's funny. I love spellcheck.

A shout out to my bitches

Yeah, this is just a shout out to all my bitches, great and small. To Smooth, who's soothing Barry White voice and sound advice keeps me on the straight and narrow. To Stef (aka the Chocolate Poppa), who brings style and grace to all he surveys. To Ben (aka Fuzzy Rub-Rub) for taking such good care of my barbecue grill, for she is a fickle mistress. To my pal Harpy, for being so fuckin cool it's blinding. To Stephen Arnold Scott, for having a name I love to yell. To the Family Kusmanoff, who ply me with wine and sweet dogs. To Haney, who's turn of phrase cracks me up. To the K-Doss, who listens to me gripe about my man problems and fat ass. To Modell, who rubs my shoulders and dances so very fine. To Wilksey, who murders the English language in a charming way, and who got me my lovely new job. To The Senator (aka Haydn, The Sweater, Moustache) for reintroducing DC to the term "skirt", as in, "Harpy, quit being such a skirt and punch that douchbag!" To Slamber, Mistress of the Law for being a better person than the rest of us and trying to fix society. Finally, to all the rest of my wicked sweet pals, who keep me smiling and who don't mind my belching. Which is powerful and loud.