Look at this creepy cat

I'm having a bad day, so I went to a stock photography site and looked at pictures of cats to cheer me up. This one was escpecially funny.

With Excellent Cow Leather

Now, I'm not a very fancy gal, but I like me some sparkly shoes every now and then. And come on, who doesn't. Communists...that's who. Anyway, to me, when one is looking to buy some snazzy, sparkly shoes, nothing quite compares to those beaded, flea market flats you can get for 10-20 bucks. Dang, they're purdy! And they come in almost every color of the rainbow, which is gear, fab and all that. Cause I like to mix it up a bit: black shirt, blue jeans, RED beaded-flea-market-shoes! Pow! It's like style just kicked you in the gooch, and you liked it. So here's the deal, I have been looking for a pair of these suckers in bright, grass green, cause I lika-the-green, and green-lika-me. Not sea green, not olive green...GRASS green. Problem is, flea markets don't think this is a very marketable color, so I haven't ever seen it on the shelf. But, since I'm a smart lady, I decided to cruise on up to the information super highway, and see if I can find me some shiny green shoes. Guess what? I can't find that shit anywhere. What the fuck, man? I can find a face cream made out of snail "leavings", but no green shoes? Lame. The one good thing about my search was getting to read all the rad headlines from vendors in third world countries, like "Made with excellent cow leather". Made me want to buy a pair even though they didn't come in any color but baby blue (a weak, paltry shade if there ever was one). But seriously, they are made of EXCELLENT cow leather...imagine the quality! I bet those shoes are so fine they would make Sinatra look like a hobo.

You know what's inappropriate to wear to work? Tube tops.

Now, don't get me wrong, I enjoy a casual work place enviornment as much as the next gal, but I draw the line at anything that requires the wearer to go braless. Shut-up guys, I know you like a little swingy-swingy during the day, but this isn't about what you want, it's about what "I" want.

Let me break some things down for you good people: the gals that wear tube tops at work, don't look good in them. Buxoum blonde goddess-types ain't your coworkers, unless you happen to work at a strip club or Hooters. You're coworkers are the skinny, mousy-types who have a face like a foot, and that's who's gonna show up on Tuesday morning, rockin'it in the tube (this principal also applies to those tanktops that have the super skinny straps as well as micro mini skirts). Another truth about tube tops, women that wear them are wearing them because they want sex. Now. With whatever will have them. Which is fine, if you at "da club". I, however, do not work at "da club", so I don't need to know who's hot for it. I'd just like to assume that all my coworkers are sexless drones so I don't have to think about any of them bumpin' uglies. If I do think about a coworker gettin' down, it's a super hot dude, and I think about him gettin' down with your truly, but that's for my private time. The last thing I want to imagine is some dried-up old hag who's ovaries have long since shriveled up like raisins, bouncin' around during my status meetings hoping to get a little of the sweet-sweet over lunch. Gross. Moral of the story, for Godsake, will you cover yourself!

I am the conferece call MASTA!

So far, I have successfully used the words "masturbatory" and "vaginal canal" in conference calls this year. Praise me, for I am great.

The "vaginal canal" one was delighful, because it was said in a room full of dudes, and they freaked the shit out when I said it. But, it's not like I just whipped "vaginal canal" out of nowhere or anything, our clients are Always and Tampax, and we are doing a teaching module for tampon insertion with an animation house in town, and they didn't have the anatomy of the lady parts correct. They had this crazy, tubelookin' thing they called the vagina, and that ain't right. The vagina isn't some massive, gaping tunnel, man! It's a muscular structure...look it up on the inter-web, you'll see I'm right. How they hell do you think tampons stay up there, magic? I assure yu, they do not.

Anyway, "masturbatory" was even more great, because it truly did come out of nowhere. That was said back when I was in DC, and my whole team was on a conference call with these dingleberries in NYC who work for some hot-shot ad agency up there. And man, they were wearing my ass out with all there "suggestions" for our work. They'd say shit, and we'd be like "yeah, we tried that, and it didn't work visually, but thanks for suggesting it", and these guys would not relent with their bullshit "ideas". Over and over and over again with these bad, lame suggestions, and they were just not hearing us when we said "no". So finally, I spoke up and said "you know, we CAN do that for you guys, but frankly, it would be purely masturbatory at this point". Jaws dropped. It rocked. And guess what? Those turd-burgelers backed the shit off.

Blogda rules, end of story.

P.S. I hope Walter reads this, he get's so uncomfortable when women talk about anything crass or dirty. Tee-hee!

I sucker-punched myself last week

Yeah, you read that right…I sucker-punched myself, right below my right tittie. Ever see those exercise bands with handles on them? You know, great for travel…you can stuff’em in a suitcase, then whip’em out for a nice resistance workout in your hotel room (or, if you freaky, they have many more creative uses). Anyway, I have a set of these bad boys, and I took them with me on a business trip to Chicago last week. The cool thing about these bands of mine is that they have this ball-like attachment (see pic below) you can use to anchor the bands to a door. What you do is, close the ball part on the other side of the door, then lock the door, and use the bands for such exercises as chest presses, triceps pull-downs, etc. They whole set-up is pretty grand, providing your door has a good lock. Okay, so the stage has been set: hotel room in Chicago, exercise bands, Bogda and a door (the front door). So, Bogda shuts the ball attachment on the other side of the door, then flips the safety lock (also known as a "Grizzly"swing-type Door Guard, pictured above) shut, and proceeds to do some thoroughly righteous lat rows. Bogda loves her some lat rows, because Bogda has a strong, Polish back. So, after a few reps, something horrid happened. Completely out of nowhere, the door FLIES OPEN! The ball thing comes flyin’ at me at about 50 mile per hour and sucker-punches me square in the upper chest-lower-tittie region. It hurt. A lot. I have a bruise. A big one. And after it happened, I grabbed my chest and just rocked back and forth going “aaaahhhhh…….eeeeesssshhhhh” over and over again. But then I was okay. I wish someone had been in the room with me, that whole exchange had to have been really damn funny to watch. I’m a walking slap-stick comedy show over here! Which is why you love me.