Miss Priss Does a Blog

Here I am, sitting at a social gathering so awkward that when I place my vodka tonic down I secretly look around the room to see what shady character looks to be the most promising to slip a roofie in my drink. Admit it, we've all been there.

If only the walls could talk perhaps they would entertain me a bit.

I find it disturbing that some Catholics, or maybe just big Virgin Mary fans, like to paint Mother Mary on their Buick LaSalle's. On the hood, of all places. What about a nice profile shot on the door handle, or an engraved image on the rim of the tire? But the hood?

Yesterday at work there was a big fresh mud wad on the floor by the water cooler in the hallway. I seriously stopped and studied this mud wad because I couldn't stop the nagging in my brain that someone had walked right past the loo and straight up shat on the rug. In my office where emails are sent out reminding the boys not to wipe their boogers on the bathroom stalls, stranger things have indeed happened.

Does anyone really know why they put carob bean gum or vegetable oil in Gatorade and Fresca?
You know that face you make when you suck on a lemon? Why does Rene Zellweger have that permanent look on her mug?

My husband likes to chew on toothpicks. Constantly. Then he likes to shred the toothpics into tiny little shards of wood. Which I then step on and then get a splinter. And he won't stop no matter how much I beg plead and bargain.