Bogda's Time in Big D

Number of propositions for sex: one. Number of make-outs offered: one. Number of times ass has been grabbed: one. So far, I’m batting a thousand, my little chickadees!

Let's start with the first category: number of propositions for sex. Here's the story: I'm waiting for a cab on Weds. evening, Dec. 21st, cause I need to get from Georgetown to Regan National Airport. A little old man, who I learn is from Iran originally, picks me up. And holy shit, this cabbie is talkative! And he thinks I am just plain gorgeous, and says that I have made his day. Mind you, I'm rockin' some old jeans, sneakers and an orange polar fleece thing, so I'm not exactly workin' my game, but he is entranced nonetheless. The conversation goes from how gorgeous I am to how men these days want women that are too skinny. His words, not mine. Generally speaking, I like a nice quite cab ride, but my policy with cabbies is always the same: this dude can drive me into a bad area, skull-fuck me then leave me for dead, so if he wants to chat a bit, I'm cool with that. Keep the cabbie happy, that's all I'm saying. So, he starts in on how skinny women have no passion, and then he asks me if he can "speak freely." Not knowing what kind of Pandora's box I'm opening, I say "sure." The conversation goes from G, to PG, then straight to XXX in a matter of blocks. He starts telling me what he liked to do in bed, what he likes having done to him in bed, cultural differences between America and Iran, etc. All of this, coming from a short, 60ish year old man who is probably someone's grandpa. Unsettling to say the least, but I am paralyzed. I can't get mad at him; he asked if he could speak freely, and I consented. And another thing, the shit that was coming out of his mouth was unreal dirty, and I could not find it in me to tell him to stop. I mean, the guy kept saying how he liked to "drink pussy juices" and even made the slurping sound for me. Finally, right as we pull into Regan National, the $60,000 question come out, "will you let me make love to you?" "No, thanks though." I says, very nicely, in reply. I have told this guy I have a boyfriend who is 32 and 6'4", and VERY jealous, so I'm hoping this will shut him up. No such luck. He then asks if he can "dream about me." "Okay, why not" I say, cause the guy is going to jerk off to me anyway at this point, I might as well give him permission. I pay the man, take my bags, and go about the business of flying to Dallas. Shaken, but somehow a little wiser in the ways of dirty old men.

Number 2: make-out propositions. I have this pal named Jerry who has had a hard on for me for 13 years now. It's kinda unreal at this point. I used to try to get my ex's goat by reminding him that even though Jerry was one of his best friends, if I called Jerry and said "let's fuck", he'd be at my place faster than the speed of sound, regardless of his loyalties to my ex. Anyway, over the years, Jerry has earnestly tried to lock lips with me on 2 prior occasions. Both times involved the phrase "do you mind if I kiss you?" Even though the answer is always "yes, I do mind", he tries to lay one on me anyway. He gets a bit of cheek, and I get an awkward drive home. It doesn't matter if I have a boyfriend or if he has a girlfriend, he tries anyway. So, this past Friday, I called Jerry because he was going to be in town for a day or 2, and I wanted to hang out with him. We went to lunch, talked about deep stuff: his kind-of girlfriend, my man-luck, his career, Tex-Mex, etc., and we had a good ole time catching up. Meal was over, so I dropped him back at his lady-friend's house (his lady-friend that he is screwing, but not dating), and as he's getting out of the car, he says "give me a call anytime." "okay, will do" says I. Then he throws in "give me a call if you want to make out sometime." And I said "Oh Jerry", and rolled my eyes at him, which is how it always goes. But hey, at least I got an offer for some ass, that counts as something, right?

Lastly, the ass-grabbing. This one is less juicy, but I'm sure the guys will enjoy it cause it invovles girl-on-girl action. I went to an after Xmas brunch at my pal Hilda's place this morning, and I saw a bunch of my old pals. I've known my buddy Amber since the 7th grade, and she is greatness. Amber has been a tremendous support to me during some man-related unpleasantness this year, and I have helped her through some relocation unpleasantness after Tulane got evacuated, so I was really glad to see her. We have both lost some weight recently, so we were also anxious to see how each of us was lookin'. I got there, and Amber gave me a hug and said I looked great, and I said she looked great, and then we went on to make some samiches. About 5 minutes later, she come up from behind me and grabs my ass like a sailor and says, "look at that tiny, hot ass!" Amber doesn't even like hugging people really, so it was a shock to get handled so by her, but hey...I got some play, so that's cool. And if I was into chicks, I'd dig Amber.

So that's it, that's all my tales of my trip to Big D...so far (I'm only half way through my vacation, so think about what could happen next). Stay tuned for the exciting conclusion of Bogda's Time in Big D! (Cool, space-ass-sounding music goes here)

Madeline Albright works out with me

Well, she works out at my gym, I should say. Honestly, I don't recall much about her career, all I know is that she was part of Clinton's cabinet, but I think he had a midget on his cabinet too. Maybe I made that part about the midget up, I don't remember. Back to Maddy, as I like to call Ms. Albright. Maddy has not aged well. And it's not like she had much going for her looks-wise anyway, so adding wrinkles and a saggy ass really didn't do her any favors. It's like someone took a wax figure of her and left it out in the Texas heat for an hour. The bitch looks like she's melted a little bit. Not pretty. But I'm sure she has a wonderful personality.

Mmmmmm...wine

Here's the deal, once I've had 2 glasses of wine down my gullet, I get entertaining. I talk back to the TV, I talk back to my stuff (i.e. The couch, pillows, shoes, etc.), and I apparently talk to things at Safeway. Yesterday evening, I caught myself smack-talking the hot dog aisle because I didn't find any low fat turkey dogs (which are lovely and delicious). But the thing is, I didn't even make words for the most part. I mumbled unintelligibly for a few seconds and slurred the words "ain't no dang-ole turkey dogs..." and then mumbled on some more. And I wasn't even drunk, not hardly! Just a bit punchy and loose-lipped. The best is when I back talk the TV though, those sessions are always comedy gold. The specifics of the talk are irrelevant, just know that every now and then, I'm telling my TV how it is, and it's funny stuff. The moral of the story is this: next time you see me, try to get me into the wine.

Ah...winter time

So, I was watching the news for the past few nights, and it looks like Old Man Winter dropped his wrinkly old sac right on top of Dallas, and just in time for everyone's holiday parties! And for those of your who know Todd "The Bod" Winters, I'll bet you thought I said Old Man Winters for a minute there, and you thought about Todd's nuts. Your perverts! He's a father now, his tea bagging days are over! Anyway, you'll get no sympathy from me, since most of you probably got a snow day out of the whole deal. Up here in DC, I just get fridgid-ass, 20 degree weather and some dude next to me at the gym letting out crime-against-humanity-style farts. Why is it that every jackass who ate nothing but chili for a week has to use the treadmill next to mine, then bust ass every 7 minutes? Seriously, if you've been eating out of the trashcan and have the bubble guts, don't work out. And certainly don't work out next to Bogda, cause Bogda ain't down with your stink. It's not like the animal kingdom here, pissing on stuff and smelling like poo does not turn us ladies on (well, most of us aren't turned on, there are a few freaky-freaks that are into that sort of thing, and more power to them). While I'm on the subject of turn-ons and turn-offs, here's an open letter to all the women who work out at public gymnasiums and sports clubs: please don't show me your bush. It's not getting me hot. Go ahead and take a shower and all, just be a little more discrete while walking from your locker to the shower stall, that's all I'm asking for. I have seen more bush than most horny 12-year olds with a stack of Dad's Gallerys at this point, and I have officially seen enough. The boys in this email chain might be imagining some sexy-style scene from Porky's here, with nubile young things languidly stretching and brushing each other's hair right before the pillow fight starts. But alas, 'tis not so. It would be one thing if I was getting to see some genuinely great-looking snatch, but every one I see is just plain unfortunate. Old lady snatch, fat lady snatch, boney lady snatch, super big and fluffy, outta control snatch, etc. There's one woman that I work with that use my gym, and now I can't look her in the eye, cause when I see her, I think "I've seen your bush....and it was HUGE!!!" It's hard to respect
someone once you've seen their "special purpose." But, I will say, based on what I've seen over the years, I have an absolutely gorgeous "bathing suit area." It could be in pictures, my friends. Or maybe it's just that I'm remarkably hair-free, or that I have some sense of personal pride. The world may never know, unless it wants to pay the $5.00 cover and see the show.
Nobody get's the $5.00 show for free!

Don't take any wooden nickels,

Love Bogda