Jody Amable

FINALLY someone acknowledges professional boundaries at Hogwarts.

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.

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.

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

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.”

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

Like most nerd realms, music writing is a predominantly male world. Especially if, like me, your greatest love is classic rock.

Harnessing the courage within myself—courage I didn’t even know I had—to coolly, calmly call this guy out has made me a better human being.

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.