Jenni Berrett

My dad died. I only know my own grief, and even that is debatable. If you’re hoping to comfort someone who’s grieving, here are a couple of things to know.

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

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.

Podcasts are a beautiful thing, but there is only so much of Ira Glass’ nasal story-telling out there.

I’m just going to come right out and say it: RuPaul’s Drag Race is the best show on television.

At some point intellect has to make room for something bigger, for something scarier than just about anything. In order to truly learn something, you have to be vulnerable. You have to walk in and set your broken parts on the table and say, “Here, fix it. Or at least be broken with me.”

...self-care is a process. Ideally, you treat yourself with kindness daily, engaging in acts of self care that function as either a reminder to relax in the midst of everyday stresses, part of a life saving regimen to sustain your mental well being, or a little bit of both.

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.

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.

Here we are, your fearless Internet explorers (pun totally intended), back with another melange of web flotsam for you to scavenge.