On the list of things (rituals) I hate that the vast majority of humanity partakes in: wakes/funerals/beautifying the dead.

I hate it. It’s sick. It’s the complete opposite of respectful. It’s going to stand around/sob over a dead body that’s been manhandled by a stranger to make it look good for you. You sicko.

You want to believe people go to someplace perdy after they die… fine. Whatever. But there is no way, no-fucking-how, you will ever convince me that having the dead body of a loved one drained of blood, pumped full of chemicals, washed, dressed, covered in make up and paraded around inside a lacquered box is somehow supposed to be respectful and “help the healing process”.

People better throw a party when I die. If you loved me, celebrate knowing me. If you hated me, celebrate that I’m finally fucking dead.

And you better stick me in the ground as naturally as possible. The earth doesn’t need any more lacquered boxes or formaldehyde. Stick an acorn in my belly button and call it a day.

I love, love, LOVE boy-on-boy action.

Big time.

Major big time.

Dream life would be to have a cute bi-boy all to myself (and by “all to myself” I actually mean “have access to” because we all know I don’t believe in people possession.)

I just found this blog of boys kissing boys (from what I have seen, it’s safe for work) and I surfed it for long enough that I lost track of time.

Dear cute bi-boys, I love you and want to put you in my pocket… with your boyfriend.

This concludes today’s WBF.

It’s been a while since I did one of these. I always think of them when I am doing something no where near a computer (or paper) … like the shower or driving…

When I was a small child I was terrified of squeaky toys. Like, apparently, I turned into a screaming disaster at the sound of a squeak.

If you were to look at my baby toys form when I was little, you’d find all the squeakers cut out of the bottom. I remember the little blue bunny with the pink diaper and my big orange fork and spoon with the red bow ties. Squeaker-ectomy. 

This concludes today’s WBF.

I like my cereal soggy.

I know, right! WTF? 

Maybe “soggy” is the wrong word. Maybe “spongy” better describes it?

And I like my GrapeNuts warm!!! XD Fill the bowl with milk and stick it in the microwave. OM NOM NOM!!

This concludes today’s WBF.

I love the skin on pudding.

It’s impossible to get that skin anymore since all pudding is that instant crap now. I remember when you had to boil the milk first then mix the pudding in. It would be all steaming hot and I hated waiting to eat it… but… waiting meant I could peel off the skin. From EVERYONE’S pudding dish. Apparently, I am the only person I know who likes the skin. Works out for me! :D

This concludes today’s WBF.

How to get Bonnie to go from groggy to horny in .02 seconds: Be a ginger with a European accent. Actually… I think just having any European accent is enough to throw me over the edge. I am such a sucker for foreign accents.

slajsdflajshfdjhJFDLASGFLsfljdsj

XD I think I need to go lay down to calm myself…

(And he even blushed when I went all fangirl on his voice. GAH!!! Yes… I fangirled him. Yes, this is normal Bonnie tactic.)

I’m sure anyone who’s been following me for more than a day knows I don’t subscribe to shenanigans or silly myths that are not supported by any evidence. I am a scientist at heart, through and through.

Except if I am driving on rt. 44 in RI/MA in the middle of the night…

Then I turn into a jumpy, flinchy, squeaky little girl.

Having grown up in Massachusetts, one of the best places in the US for camp fire ghost stories, I have heard my share of local legends and famous ghost stories. I’ve been to many of the places that ghost hunters only dream about… because I live right down the street. There have been books upon books written and a hundred thousand tales told. I suck them all in and love every spooky bit of it.

Except for the red-headed phantom of rt. 44. 

I’m not even joking when I tell you that doing a Google search for a link to the story made my hair stand on end. And to make matters worse, there were artistic renditions of the scene that popped up before I had the chance to click the link.

I’ll be having nightmares for a week now.

When I was driving home from VA (for the last time ever. Good by Naval Station Norfolk!) It was just my newly adopted kitten and I in the car, along with my sea bag full of uniforms and a floor full of empty Starbucks cups. And, of course, I just happen to decide that, hey, it’s a straight shot to my new home if I take rt. 44! If I take 95/195/495/79/24 I’ll have to make a big loop around (I live in the middle of nowhere) and it will take me twice as long to get home. 

I was tired (having just driven through CT. Anyone from the New England area knows that driving through CT is the devil. THE DEVIL!!!!!!!!) and I just wanted to be home. So, I took rt. 44. 

At 2:00 in the morning.

Alone.

On a foggy night.

I have never in my life been more embarrassed by my behavior than I was that night. Because to top off all the other circumstances I’ve just laid out for you… I also needed to stop for gas.

Oh, you have GOT to be shitting me.

I wanted to just fucking curl up and DIE. 

So, for this one single instance in my life. For this one single place in my world. Science can suck a fat one. There is a creepy-ass ghost on that road who wants to ruin my mental stability for the rest of my life and no amount of reasoning or science talk will convince me otherwise.

This concludes today’s WBF… I’m going to go curl up in a corner and weep quietly as I rock back and forth…

I always write in cursive.

Filling out forms sucks for me. A lot. I try to start in print, and then slowly slide into cursive, realize I’m being a tool then switch back. It always looks like a total moron filled out my forms. I have to concentrate really hard to keep myself in print (like when I filled out the paperwork for my passport.) 

But, just because I write in cursive all the time doesn’t mean I write nicely. It’s still chicken scratch. See for yourself:

Few things send me into an immediate rage fit like having a door dropped in my face. It’s a simple, polite action. It requires little to no extra effort on the part of the door holder. I don’t request that you stand there and wait for me, that you open it and allow me to go first… no. No. All I ask is that you hold your hand behind you on the door as you walk through it so it doesn’t slam my face flat.

So… if you drop the door in someones face, don’t be surprised when they throw obscenities at you. Don’t be surprised if you are both horrified yet impressed by said obscenities. No, you may not write them down and use them later. They were meant to hurt you, not fill your curse-word database.

If you drop the door in my face and don’t turn around and proclaim “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t know anyone was behind me!!” then I officially hate you and I will use my mind powers to ruin your day. You degenerate…

Seriously. I’m not asking to be carried across a puddle, here. I’m not requesting you hold the door while I’m still 20 feet back. I’m just saying: if I’m walking close enough behind you that I could reach out and poke you in your shoulder, you have no reason on this planet to not keep your hand on the door long enough for me to grab it. You don’t even have to turn around. No need to look at me. Just… keep your hand on the door for 2 or 3 extra seconds.

If you don’t… I’m going to tell you exactly what I think of you… and it won’t be nice.

This concludes today’s WBF… which was inspired by a red-panted degenerate who I am now cursing to split her too-tight red pants… and who I hope is wearing gross dirty underwear for the grand pant-splitting event.

I know I have mentioned in a prior WBF that I have major issue with mouth noises. MAJOR. I actually have Misophonia. 

But… there is this weird thing… that I actually LIKE to chew with my mouth open. In the most obnoxious way possible. 3 chomps. Chomp chomp chomp, then close my mouth.

Mini marshmallows. I love that noise. I don’t know what it is about it… but something about chewing mini marshmallows with my mouth open brings me great delight. XD

Hey… they’re called “Weird Bonnie Facts” for a reason!

This concludes today’s WBF.

When I was younger, I did gymnastics.

Wait. Let me make a note here:

I did intramural gymnastics. You know… the cheap/free kind that you need no real skill for, just a parent who’s willing to drive you there.

But, I went and enjoyed it. I loved the uneven parallel bars and floor.

I remember the very first time I did an unassisted back-handspring. I was so proud of myself. I finally got up the nerve to throw myself, backwards, at the floor… and landed on my feet.

Then one of the older girls looked at me and said “you put your hands too close to your feet” and walked away. 

I never did another back-handspring again.

Never.

I never even tried.

Watch the things you say to encourage or discourage. They can stay with people forever.

This concludes today’s WBF.