I'm the scathing
misanthropist in all of
us.
But the difference
between you and me
is: I
wear my cynicism on
my slightly mocking
smile—to my eternal social detriment. Hence
the bubbly Bonnie name is an ironical ruse.
Influenced by everything and nothing, I am
simultaneously
humored and annoyed by the
ridiculousness of
the human race. My resulting
commentary ranges
from euphoric to hateful,
depending on caffeine
intake &
hormonal output.
Unlike many bloggers who seem to hark from their
moms' basements or employers' dark cubes, I have
a career that consumes my days. But evidently I
also suffer from Attention-deficit Hyperactivity
Disorder, Prolific-writer Disease and Me-me-me
Syndrome. This site serves as my mental
ventilation duct, with no rhyme and no reason.
I offer one constant here: Blatant Hypocrisy.
Join me on my voyage through the void,
ye fashionably cynical comrades!
We won't be disappointed.
...Much.
P.S. For the rabidly curious,
my bio is under Just Biz.
I support the arts: 
| Designer Handbag Harlots |
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| by Bonnie Biv | December 6, 11:21 p.m. | |
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| I have never been much of a handbag-hunter. For me, the accessory merely serves to hold bare necessities (in a pinch these double at McGuiver tools): lipstick, perfume, ten nonfunctioning pens, gum, wallet, stray earring, phone, crumpled wad of receipts, business cards, hairpin, and one illegible number-on-a-bar-nap that I can't explain... | ||
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| Pimples, Wrinkles and Moles, Oh My! |
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| by Bonnie Biv | November 25, 2:03 a.m. | |
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| Some months ago I dialed up one of Manicured Lawnville's premier dermatologists for an emergency medical procedure. The nurse on the phone named my growing problem a Something-ae Cyst-ae. I preferred to call it Pimple Spawned from the Depths of Hell (PSFDOH). The miniature bump of evil had popped up on my chin two weeks earlier. No matter how many times I poked, prodded and pinched the damn thing, it only got worse. It was time to admit defeat... |
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| I'm Too Sexy For Your Lexus |
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| by Bonnie Biv | November 17, 12:42 a.m. | |
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| My car is a Piece of Crap. A young Piece of Crap bearing fewer than 50,000 miles, but a Piece of Crap nonetheless.
According to "middle-class standards," that is. I paid sticker for it in 2002, when the third-row seat held luxurious appeal for the budding mom in me. Truth be told, however, that seat was always butt-free. Instead of chauffeuring neighbors' sweaty booger-eaters home from soccer, I used it to smuggle stuff under my husband's nose... |
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December's Note-to-readers:
This site suits people who actually enjoy written words—you know, like, those old fashioned book and newspaper thingees. If you prefer duck soup, grab a mouse and back away slowly.
December's Note-to-self:
Never buy another container of Moon Sand. The "Indoors or Outdoors" claim on its package is pure marketing bullshit. Goodbye, my beautiful wool x sisal x cotton, 9 x 12 rug.
| *Address kept confidential & secure. Personal data-mining chaps my hiney. | BonnieBiv.com © 2007 | Redistribution Policy |
