Jody Amable

A few weeks back, I got looped into an Instagram chat with some coworkers from one of my gigs, who were snarking about the fact that the

So far, Deathly Hallows is, to me, about the divide between the living, the dead, and the living who have seen death. Harry and I are part of an exclusive club: Those under 30 who have experienced death. And when I say “experienced,” I don’t mean “witnessed.” I mean really, really felt it, all the way through.

No matter how drunk he is, he can’t NOT notice this. His hand is moving. What do I do? What do I do? Do I politely ask him to stop? Do I yell at him? Do I wheel around and whack him in the face? You don’t know what he’s doing, Jody. Calm down. Don’t make a scene.

I was waiting to finally not like a Harry Potter book, and folks, I found it. Half-Blood Prince was boring.

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

FINALLY someone acknowledges professional boundaries at Hogwarts.

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

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.

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

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.