Jody Amable

In the aftermath of my mom passing, I've learned to reconcile our rocky relationship with the knowledge that she loved me.

FINALLY someone acknowledges professional boundaries at Hogwarts.

Jon Stewart, step aside. Your heir apparent has arrived.

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

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

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.

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

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

Creator of grungy, gritty rock and roll with a poet’s heart, her critically-lauded record, Beyond the Bloodhounds, tells tales of a tumultuous childhood and split geographical identity.