wendy parker

Seller, beware: I’m armed with an oatmeal pie

I turned around to see a very tall, very dirty man. He had a duffel bag over his shoulder and was holding a spray bottle full of yellow liquid.

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What happens after Butter Jesus melts down

We live in Southern Ohio and when we're traveling towards home on I-75, we always pass the Butter Jesus.

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Why I leave truck stop gabbing to my husband

My husband will speak to any human being within earshot. Actually, most of the time, they speak to him first.

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Identifying black, furry things

Her look said something to the effect of, "Please leave here before you stupid yourself to death in the parking lot."

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Notes on death and laughter

No matter how dismal things seem, if you can find one thing to laugh about, you've won.

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More here than meets the eye

I've held out on the glasses thing. I tell myself as long as I can see the computer to type, I'm good.

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The high price of notoriety

It's a completely strange experience to walk into a truck stop and see a whole rack of magazines with your picture on the front.

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Trying to master the fine art of negotiating

We can't have one income and keep the truck, the house, the car and groceries, and we don't want to give the children away.

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The upside of being dirty

If you don't give your body a chance to experience germs, it won't know what to do when it meets them.

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A narrow escape from Automatic Hell

The world has become an automatic place. Even in the most remote areas of Minnesota, sinks, hand dryers and toilets at the rest stops are automated. People actually believe this is good, but as a person who knows the truth (there’s no such thing as automatic, everything is operated by tiny demons who long to make your bathroom experience as harrowing as possible), I fear automation is going to be what kills me. Apparently, I am ...

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