Jess Lahitou

Four years ago, my husband took a job transfer to Bogota, Colombia.

This last Friday happened to be the inauguration of President Donald Trump.

Millennials know the '90s were the best decade for music in our lifetime (arguably, best decade EVER). But it’s easy to forget just how many un-freakin-believably kick-butt-love tunes were packed into that 10 years. Let’s rehash the '90s for the autumn lover.

When Americans pick a president, they are looking for someone who is right for the moment. A person who speaks for the time, who is equipped to react and respond accordingly.

The workings of Congress are pretty fascinating. If you like The Borgias, The Tudors, Game of Thrones, House of Cards, then following the seemingly innocuous happenings in DC is a fascinating enterprise. You know that this is where the real action happens.

The blatant promise of a career in the spotlight has stripped the Bachelor/Bachelorette of its beautiful, benign lie: that we could watch “regular” people navigate the perils and pitfalls of modern dating, that such a quest was in and of itself enough, and that a happy ending was a real possibility.

This is the first time I’ve seen a sitting president “spin” a clear military defeat to save his own ego, and use a bereft and heartbroken wife in order to get away with it. Disgust is not the right word. Horror, maybe. Disbelief and revulsion crashing into each other.

Good morning, America. Guess what happened yesterday? Donald Trump won six states in the primary, which puts him on the strongest path to the Republican nomination yet.

It’s early 2008 in Iowa. Hillary Clinton had been leading in the early polls, but her numbers have been steadily dropping when she is suddenly – shockingly – bested by a young, almost unknown senator from Illinois.

Welcome to #RavsWriters, an opportunity for you to get to know some of the outstanding human beings who fervently type to make Ravishly the aw