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.

GROSS!

Man oh man, something foul happened at the gym today. Remember how I told you about the farting that went on a while back? Of course you do, that was funny shit. Well, today, my TRAINER cut one in front of me...and it was one of those nasty swap farts that stink up the joint for a few minutes. I think he was eating out of the trash can or something. It smelled like a dirty diaper filled with Indian food. GROSS!

The Sound and The Fury

So, here’s the thing: farting...audibly...in public, is generally frowned upon. But, like every rule, there are exceptions. For instance, the first time I went to a yoga class and some one cut it, I had to put my head down to keep from pointing and laughing at this poor jackass who downward-dogged and busted ass at the same time. Yoga causes crazy excretion, so I can hang with the yoga farters. However, other random assholes at the gym who cut it in front of me (a lady, mind you!) can just check theyselves. Case in point: I was working out with the Moustache a couple of Sundays ago, and we were next to this douche bag named Armando (or something equally fruity) who was using the pull-up machine. Now, I’m sure Armando was working hard, but he was also right next to me, and I don’t need to know what his more intimate smells are. It’s not like we’re dating or anything; I shouldn’t have to be exposed to belches/farts/ball-scratching/etc. unless you givin’ me the skins. Armando was definitely NOT givin’ me the skins. But, I digress. Back to the matter at hand, so Armando was pulling himself up on said pull-up machine, and he CUTS ONE…right next to me…and he doesn’t excuse himself or nuthin’! Can you believe that? And, IT WAS SOUND AND FURY! By that, I mean the thing was loud and stinky. Stinky! Right next to me! That’s a gym foul. Moral of the story: put a cork in it if you are in public, especially if there’s people with in a 1.5 foot radius of your ass. You dig?

I'm probably going to Hell for this...

…but this guy at the gym this morning, ran so gay! I mean, he must have had the score from Pricilla, Queen of the Desert running through his mind the whole time. I was on the trusty elliptical machine, minding my own beeswax when I first noticed him. He was pretty much directly in front of me, about 8 yards away and one of the treadmills. Keep in mind that I had time to kill, and this dude was making such a spectacle of himself, I couldn’t stop watching him. Hopefully he didn’t get the heebie-jeebies from me. It’s a crime I didn’t catch this guy on video, cause it’s not going to be the same effect trying to just describe it, but I’ll try. Picture a regular looking dude, running on the treadmill in his t-shirt and shorts. Now, take that dude, and push his hips forward, and make his back super rigid straight. He’s running into oblivion, and his dick is leading the march. So that’s his basic posture, not let’s move to his arms. Imagine how a Tyrannosaurus holds his tiny little arms really close to his body; now imagine that Tyrannosaurus is this guy. His arms are bent at the elbow, and his forearms are raised to his shoulder level. The finishing touch is that his wrists are fantastically limp, and his hands are flapping wildly. GAY!!!! It was awesome, I’m so glad I was there to see it, and document it for posterity.

Moustache Chronicles

So, about 4 weeks ago, I joined the Washington Sports Club. Sounds fancy, aye? It's the only gym near my apartment, so that's as fancy as I get these days. With my new membership, I got a free session with a person trainer. The guy who sold me the membership, Norman, told me he had someone special for me to meet...just the right trainer for me. I'm thinking, how cool, Norman is lookin' out for ole Bogda. We walk into this office, and there sits a tall, lanky dude with a handlebar MOUSTACH! You know, strip on the top lip, then bam! bam!...down the sides. Good stuff. And then, Norman introduces me to the Moustache, and his name is Chad! Chad?! I can't stand that name! That's a douchbag's name, and you know it. But I figure, this guy is going to be constant entertainment, so who am I to resist? So the Moustache and I talk about what my goals are, and I make an appointment for our first session. So, I show up at the appointed time, and he has a Magnum PI moustache! Hot damn! My trainer has a whole moustache wardrobe, and I get to see it 3 times a week, sweet! The work out is okay, oddly enough; the warm up we did was the hardest part of the whole session. For the last 5 minutes, Chad says he will stretch me out, because I had mentioned how bad my flexibility is. The first stretch we do involves me laying on my back, with one leg straight on the ground, the other leg straight in the air and Chad trying to acquaint my leg in the air with my shoulder. Not gonna happen. The next stretch we do is the same leg in the air, but now it's bent at the knee...so Chad can acquaint said knee with the aforementioned shoulder. Again, not gonna happen. But Chad has this tactic of getting the stretch done: he stretches me for a few seconds, and then has me stress that muscle group out to tire it, so the muscles get more relaxed for the stretch. Good logic, so Chad has my right foot in his hand, and we have just tried to get the ole knee to the shoulder, but we don't get too far. So Chad says, "push against my hand". "Okay" I says, then I push as hard as I can. I knocked Chad down. I mean, completely knocked him over. Turns out, I have freakishly strong haunchs! The same thing happens every time he stretches me. One time, he was stretching me, and he told me to push against his hand, and I knocked him over, and some chick working out nearby said "who's training who here?" And Chad got all embarrassed. And another time, Chad asked for a minute to get ready for my push; he braced himself pretty well, so he didn't get pushed back, but when I stopped pushing, Chad fell forward, almost on top of me. I almost got some play! We have had 5 sessions so far, and he knows what's coming when we do the knee to shoulder stretch, so today...he asked me not to push so hard. Ha! I broke his spirit after 5 sessions! I rule!

Blogda is the Champion!

Bums, like gas station attendants and lesbians, dig me.

I have an appeal that most find unconventional, but that gas station attendants and lesbian dig. I mean, the best pickup lines that have ever been used on me have been delivered by one of the above. Sometimes Taco Bell employees take a shinin' to the ole Bogda as well, but they have the lamest pick up lines. One time, while driiving through Hillsboro Texas, I stoped at a Taco Bell for a taco (I know, that was a real curve ball, wasn't it?). While I am waiting for said taco, Jackass McGee behind the counter says "that's a really nice sweater". "Thanks" I says in reply. "Did you make it yourself?" How do you respond to that? I mean, it's not like the sweater was bedazzled or covered in puffy paint, it was just a plain, roll-neck, green sweater. I just sort of stared at this idiot while he smiled at me, thinking that maybe he was kidding, but he wasn't. "Uh......no... I bought this sweater...I don't know how to knit." I says. "Oh...well it just looks really good on you...here's your party taco and your Coke." says Mr. Wonderful. "Thanks." I said in reply, then I left. Did you make it yourself? I mean seriously, what an assmonger. Anyway, back to my fan base. Gas station attendants have flirted with me ever since college, one even propositioned me for sex. Of course, I said "no thanks", and I stand by that decision to this day. Cause he was gross. And smelly. And dirty. And like, 20 years older than me. Gross. But my gas-jockeys have consistenly been there to make me feel like a woman, and now I can add pan-handling bums to that list as well. "But Bogda, how did you come to this conclusion?" you may be asking yourself right now. Based on my lunch break, ye of little faith! So, I'm walking to Subway to get me a nice Turkey samich, and some Doritos, and I walk by this round, toothy (but not in a good way) bum, and he starts acting like I'm freakin' Elle McPhereson or something. "Oh honey, you are BEAUTIFUL! Oh my God, good Lord mama! It was worth it to get up this morning just to see you today! You don't have to give me no money por nothin', just seeing you is more than enough...etc, etc." As I was walking off, I told the guy I would be back after lunch with some money for him. So, I goes to Subway, I eats my samich and chips, and I start walking back. For a minute or 2, I think, just walk on the other side of the street, that way you don't have to give him any money. But then I started to thinkin' that if I stood this bum up, maybe he would turn into a mad, spitting-type bum who hassled me everytime I wanted to go West on M street. I was in a tight spot; avoid bum and possible get spit at tomorrow, or go back and give bum money and stay in his good (and probably crazy) graces. I choose to give Toothy some cash. I was back towards the office, and I see my man, all curled up on his empty milk crate with his cup of change. He stands up and comes over to me, all smiling, saying "Hello, Sunshine!" I gave him 2 bucks and said "I told you I would be back, didn't I?" Then he smiled and kissed my hand. What a gentleman. I guess having someone make you feel like the most exquisit creature that walked the Earth is worth 2 bucks, even if he is a bum.

Shitfuckhelldamn! It's snowing like nuts!

10:26 AM
Guess what? It's snowing like nuts up here in the DC area. I woke up this morning, and it was chilly in the hotel room. Oh yeah...I still live in the Vermont St. Residence Inn since the movers have yet to arrive with my goods. I miss my goods so much, especially my bed. God, I love my bed. The Residence Inn is okay all around, but the bed they have provided me is like a bad relationship; I just keep coming back to it, but neither of us is happy about it. Evil bitch-queen bed, I shoulda never gotten involved with you! Anyway, back to the subject. I wake up this morning, and it's chilly. Chilly, not cold. I take the morning shower I so love taking, and it starts raining outside. No big deal, just a wee bit of rain. Breakfast happens, then I call the valet to bring my car around. Oh yes...I valet...since RTC is picking up the hotel bill (I also watch alot of pay-per-view). So, I'm waiting outside for the Shark, and it is gettign colder by the minute. It's still raining, but not heavily. All of the sudden...BAM! It's snowing! No transition rain/snow bullshit...SNOW! I have never seen a change so fast in my life. Superman can't change from Clark Kent that fast...I mean damn! So it's snowing, and that's kinda cool, cause maybe that means we'll get to leave work early. I get the Shark, drive to work, then settle into my cube. Now, my cube is pretty cool. It's regular cube size, but I face a window, so I can see what the weather id doing. Now here I am, wokring dilligently on some changes on a Weight Watchers project...and the snow starts coming down in sheets. Sheets. I have never been in a blizzard, but this is probably how they start. It was like snow was being hurtled down from some vengeful God, it was that violent. I couldn't get anything done, I was too busy eyeballing the crazy snow.

1:50 PM
Aremgeddon has been narrowly averted...the devil snow has stopped. Unfortunately, I think we will have to work a full day. Nuts to that! We have these windows that are in the back of our cubes, and they are at a bit of an angle. Snow has piled up on these badboys, and every now and then...snow slides of the windows...making an eerie scuttling sound. It completely creeped me out earlier.

2:01 PM
Alright my pretties, Blogda has to pretend to work. Love, luck and lollipops,

La Blogda