by Jennifer Pruiett-SelbyI’m not comfortable telling you how much I weigh. I’m not even okay with being weighed at the doctor’s office. In fact, I’ll avoid going to the doctor altogether, if it means I won’t have to step onto the scale and brace myself.
by Jennifer Pruiett-SelbyThis busy week is when the remaining members of my father-in law’s platoon will to travel to Tennessee for one final gathering.
by Jennifer Pruiett-SelbyThere aren’t enough hours in the day. There’s never enough time. And no matter what we do to budget or plan, the inevitability of its expiration is omnipresent.
by Jennifer Pruiett-SelbyAs I began working on this column, I had just discovered a countdown website loaded with symbols attributed to the so-called Illuminati.
by Jennifer Prueitt-SelbyThis week on Facebook, my daughter sent me a link to an Ebay listing for a dybbuk box. For those of you who’ve never watched SyFy’s Paranormal Witness, a dybbuk box supposedly contains a trapped malevolent spirit.
by Jennifer Pruiett-SelbyMy laptop crashed so violently that an unblinking black screen was my only response as I pushed the power button—that illuminated circle intersected by a line at the northernmost point, quite like a diamond in a ring.
by Jennifer Pruiett-SelbyThere are only so many times a Midwestern mother of five can reinvent herself. I’m not Lady Gaga, folks.
by Jennifer Pruiett-SelbyIf there’s one thing I can say about people here, it’s that few will resist the urge to speak ill of others. Not only do people here spread rumors, they do it openly and with great joy.
by Jennifer J. Pruiett-SelbyHere in Iowa, I’m acutely aware of the external perception of the Midwest. Most believe we can’t party late into the night because we all must rise early to slop our chickens.