Jenni Berrett

In the midst of struggling with being depressed, you’re also saddled with the practical realities of staying alive. It’s no easy feat.

I’ve been mentally ill pretty much my whole entire life, and it isn’t something I see going away any time soon. I don’t see that as an inherently bad thing.

Part of me wants to write this off as innocuous and carry on with my day, because homophobia is already everywhere and there are better things for me to dedicate my words to — but then I remember 10-year old me.

There has been a lot of discussion about the who of this ten dollar bill. We have until 2020, but there are already some popular suggestions: Harriet Tubman. Rosa Parks. Eleanor Roosevelt.

Culturally speaking, though, it’s pretty much set in stone. Even if I left the church entirely, there’s no getting out of my heritage. Cut me open; I’ll bleed funeral potatoes. I’m what you call a “legacy Mormon” — my ancestors migrated across the frontier and settled in Utah (then Mexico) after facing unspeakable persecution from countless communities in the United States. You probably know my ancestors best as the people with the wives.

It was the night before my father’s funeral that I finally asked the tarot for help. I was incapable of imagining a future where I delivered his eulogy.

This chihuahua protecting her tater tot added a solid 5 years to my life, I'm pretty sure.

I don’t think the bar is low enough. We obviously need a way to work up to the Bechdel Test. Baby steps. And we all know women love babies.

Boy, do we have some great finds this week. Olympic farting and synth-soaked summer jams — what more could you want? If your answer was "a longform piece of investigative journalism detailing Nicki Minaj's appearance at a bar mitzvah," you've come to the right place.

This week includes mostly chihuahuas. You're welcome.