Culture

What’s the greatest achievement of the Rio Olympics? Is it the success of Latin America’s first host nation, Brazil? Is it the extraordinary feats of the US Women’s gymnastics team? Is it the spellbinding brilliance of Usain Bolt’s superhuman speed? Or is it perhaps the Twitter feed of Leslie Jones?

The result was a gorgeous, decadent, crispy-edged-and-soft-in-the-middle caramelized cookie skillet straight from heaven. It filled our entire building with sweet almond and fig baked goodness.

Chick Flick Cherry: If it’s about romance, it’s a chick flick. About love: chick flick. Maybe it’s about chickens. Poultry love. Either way: for you, I’ll watch it. So you can pop my cherry afterwards. My nail polish is just asking for it.

I've been taking some time this summer to focus on self-care.

The neighbors turned their lights off. My dog fell sound asleep. I kept reading. And at 1:03 am, I finished. All was well.

Her birth turned my life upside down in the very best way a tiny human can; and through her, I’ve learned some of the most profound life lessons.
By “profound lessons,” I mean, “I have fucked up a lot of times.”

When I help people clean out their wardrobes, the items I come across that hang in the back closet never seeing the light of day are usually pieces purchased in a frenzy — out of necessity instead of joy.

I scrolled through my Instagram feed to catch a photo of a friend’s first tattoo. It was an abstract design that paid homage to her wedding venue, a distinctive historic site in her home state. The tattoo seemed sweet at first, but then I read the photo caption. My friend had gotten inked to honor the child she lost in miscarriage.