Sarah Gladstone

In case you didn’t know, Neville Longbottom is allllll grown up.

The 21st century is a full blown teenager now.

Yesterday morning, I was shaken by the 6.0 magnitude earthquake that struck the Bay Area.

As Americans we have fallen prey to a particular "look" —namely white and thin—and suffer from an inability to shatter it. The result? A backhanded compliment of the hybrid variety: “You’re pretty . . . for a black girl.”

Please stop referring to me as being “alone” when I am clearly walking in a group, simply because I am not attached to a man.

"No! Come back! I just want to love you!"

The internet is weird and gross and hilarious and helpful.

Olympians are the closest thing that humanity has to divine and holy athleticism.

A week of Instagram-able moments centers around the booming network of the millennial population.

When it comes to baby animals, oohing and ahhing and squeeeing around them (baby bunny . . . squeee!) is usually the way to go.