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.

Is laughter the best medicine?

Culturally speaking, though, it’s pretty much set in stone. Even if I left the church entirely, there’s no getting out of my heritage. Cut me open; I’ll bleed funeral potatoes. I’m what you call a “legacy Mormon” — my ancestors migrated across the frontier and settled in Utah (then Mexico) after facing unspeakable persecution from countless communities in the United States. You probably know my ancestors best as the people with the wives.

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.

[CN: vomit] Having been an unfeeling, sluggish husk of a person with the nap-taking skills of an elderly sloth for the past five months or so, I have reemerged too tender for this world.

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

If you find yourself feeling hurt, mad, sad, etc. about the election this year, go ahead and feel it. Cry in front of your dad. Eat some queso. When it’s all said and done, feel how you need to feel. The only way to foster a healthy relationship between emotion and politics is to acknowledge that there is one in the first place, and that it probably needs fixing.

"I had always pictured myself spending afternoons studying there. I instead found myself curled up on one of those benches at five in the morning, promising the crises hotline operator that no, I did not want to kill myself. I just didn’t know who else to call."

I don’t think the bar is low enough. We obviously need a way to work up to the Bechdel Test. Baby steps. And we all know women love babies.

We have returned from our long (jk, two week) hiatus to deliver you the Internet you live and breathe for!