Jody Allard

Once upon a time, a band of heavily-armed men decided to take over an Oregon federal building. Because they were white, the Feds didn't shoot them in 12 seconds, and nobody even really did anything about it. (Possibly also because these intrepid defenders of our Constitution decided to seize a bird sanctuary.)

If you were a teenager in the 90s, odds are that you screamed your heart out along to Alanis Morissette's music at least a few times.

It's hard to think of anything more synonymous with childhood than playing tag.

My favorite part about summer is the ability, for three short months, to stop looking at the clock or calendar and to start enjoying the present.

After eight-year-old Archer Nelson's mother was diagnosed with breast cancer, he had one thing on his mind: boobs.

Former Stone Temple Pilots and Velvet Revolver frontman Scott Weiland died yesterday, and with his death I've come to two unfortunate conclusions: 1.) Addiction is a bitch, and 2.) The 90s are officially dead.

You're 15 years old now. You're not a little girl anymore—even though you wish you were, just a little bit.

We came together and fought like hell for equality, and eventually we made a difference.

Before I went to therapy, I married a lot of men, had a lot of children, and worked myself to the bone to achieve career success. If I wasn't happy, it was easy to blame that on my alcoholic, cheating husband or raising a tribe of kids or even working too damn much.