Old and Busted

Well, tomorrow is July 26th, which is my birthday, and this year, I'm turning 30...which is quite a milestone for us ladies. By now, I should have gotten married, birthed a baby or two and have set up house someplace. And I should have a few pairs of Mom jeans to round it all out.

Yeah, so none of that has happened, and I'm okay with it...well, most of it. I sure the fuck don't need any kids, the whole idea is repugnent to me to be honest with you. Nothing that big needs to be coming out of my cookie place, and I certainly have no desire to be strapped into a huge mortgage, so Dream House Bogda isn't out of the box either. But, I really thought I would be married by now, or at least be with the guy who I want to be married to. And, for a long time, I thought I had found that dude, but after 6 and a half years of dating, he passed on the opportunity to take me off the market, so I'm no where close to finding Mr. Right. And damned if that ain't depressing. I mean, I'm pretty rad. I'm smart, funny, cute, and I can make chicken soup from a chicken, what more do you fuckers want from me? Other than gigantic, football-sized jugs, cause that ain't gonna happen.

So, all in all, Bogda is less than super-chuffed about this upcoming event. In less than 7 hours, the flower of my youth will be cruely plucked, and I will go from new hottness to old and busted. Which blows. I need to get laid.

Random Greatness

My pal Miker hipped me to these funny cat pics, enjoy!

My meeting skillz are dope

So, I'm in a meeting this afternoon with the head of Project Management, an Associate Creative Director, 2 Designers, an Information Architect, and a Writer, and I volunteer to plug my laptop into the big screen so we can all look at the same document together. I'm cool like that, see? So, I plugs my laptop in, and we go through the first file, which is a 6 page PDF of designs for a website we are working on. Everything goes swimmingly, no issues. The work was good, the comments were minimal. So, we move onto the next file, which is a JPG. I opens it up, and the design looks great. We make some comments, then the designer leans over to me and says "there should be one more page". Now, I'm new to the world of PCs, so I assume that the arrow at the bottom of the player means that I can advance to the next page in the file. Silly me. Apparently, Windows Picture and Fax Viewer just cycles through all the pictures you have in your "My Pictures" folder. So, that being said, the very next picture in my "My Pictures Folder" was this:







Needless to say, hilarity ensued, and I laughed nervously, then turned red. Good times.

Eulogy for my friend Howard

When I was 12, our dog Fuzzy acted like he was some crabby old man, so we decided to get him a puppy to perk him up a bit. Pop found an ad in the paper for black standard schnauzer puppies, and we thought we'd go check'em out. So, we dragged our asses out to BFE, saw the puppies, and promptly left with my favorite one, the little male with floppy ears. We named him Howard, and he was my dog.

He did all the cool puppy things: he cocked his head to the side when he was confused, he barked at his own reflection, he fell over for no good reason, and he tormented Fuzzy like it was his job. Howard used to do this thing where he would run up under Fuzzy (also a schnauzer), grab his beard, and then take off running like hell. Half the time, Howard just pulled out Fuzz's beard, but the other half, Fuzz actually got hauled along for the journey. This game was short-lived, Fuzzy's beard got chewed/pulled off, so he had a saucy moustache for about 6 months, which was hilarious. Dogs+moustaches=awesome, it's a mathematical fact.

As Howard grew up, he was my constant companion. Howard became a stunningly beautiful dog who was a true gentleman and an emapthetic soul. Sometimes, he would walk over to me, put his head in my lap, then look up at me and wag his tail, that would just kill me.

Unfortunately, Howard died this past Friday, and I miss my friend desperately.

Gird your loins

Every once in a while, something special finds its way into your life. Sometimes that could be a stray kitten or a great new job, but once in a blue moon, that "something special" will fuck you up for life. Something that is the stuff of nightmares. That type of "something special" wandered into my life courtesy of my pal Wilksey.

Wilksey calls me one day to say that she sent me something neat in the mail, and to keep my eyes open for it. Then she giggled in a way that made me uncomfortable. She sent it to my office, because it was to be a "good luck in your new job" type gifty. So, I waits, and I waits, then I waits some more. Finally, I get this big-ass brown box in the mail. So, I scamper back to my cube, box under my arm, and I start cutting open that bad boy. And let me tell you, this sucker is packaged well. I was begining to think she had sent me a Ming Vase or something equally as exotic and or breakable. Finally, I get to the lastlayer of packing material, and this fantastic sight greets me:





Behold...CLOWN! Don't act like this didn't freak you out...you know it did.

P.S. Wilksey said the lady that sold her this crazy thing suggested she hang it in a baby's room. What kind of fucked-up parent would do that to a sweet, little baby? That's the kind of shit that makes your baby a ward of the state.