Jody Amable

The further I get into this series, the harder time I am having remembering what the eff has happened so far. You see, I am an Old Lady.

Forget a cute story of wizard wonderment — the real moral of Harry Potter is that life is an endless parade of pain and turmoil where you have to watch everyone you’ve ever loved die.

I'm 30 years old and stuck in San Jose, the hometown I always wanted to leave. What happened?

According to the magazine, women need special help understanding sports. Cue the glorious, hilarious Twitter outrage.

A new feature with music picks tailor-made to ensure your weekend jam sessions are absolutely ravishing.

I couldn’t help but assume the reason these people were telling me not to say even a word to this troll was because women aren’t supposed to fight back. We’re supposed to rise above — to “not stoop to their level,” as my mom used to say.

In this time of toy-giving, I'm reflecting on the impact one doll made on me and, I'm willing to bet, a small subset of other girls, too.

Jon Stewart, step aside. Your heir apparent has arrived.

If I let everyone off the hook for extenuating circumstances like, “He’s over 50, so he probably just doesn’t know any better,” no one’s ever going to stop calling me “sweetie.”

Creator of grungy, gritty rock and roll with a poet’s heart, her critically-lauded record, Beyond the Bloodhounds, tells tales of a tumultuous childhood and split geographical identity.