Jody Allard

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.

Singer Ciara performed the national anthem before last night's college football national championship game, but it's not her vocal prowess making headlines today –– it's her boobs

As you've probably gathered by the explosion of pink everything, October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. And, while many people try to spread awareness with the best of intentions, there isn't anyone left on this planet who hasn't heard of breast cancer. Breast cancer patients need many things, but sharing silly Facebook statuses and engaging in other click-it-and-forget-about-it forms of awareness isn't one of them.

"The thing about trauma is that it is hard to remember many of the details, even though some of them remain eternally etched in your memory. I will never forget the pattern of my friend's curtains that I stared at all night long, willing the sun to rise so I could go home, and I will also never forget staring at the white liquid in my underwear and then standing in the shower, trying to burn away my skin, until the water became icy cold."

"However, if you've ever met a teenager, you know that roughly 75% of them will never willingly walk into the school nurse's office and ask about birth control. But, even if they do, they still won't necessarily know which form is best for them, and they certainly won't be given the advice they need to dump that player and move on already. That's where us parents come in. Except, of course, that half of our kids won't talk to us about the ins and outs of sex and relationships."

In today's WTF science news, two separate studies suggest that modern allergies may stem from long ago human-Neanderthal sex. Thanks, Obama.

Nothing says "Peace On Earth" like women bound and gagged, am I right? Believe it or not, that's exactly the premise behind a family's Christmas card gone horribly awry.

Well played, Amazon. Well played.

What I do know is what it is like to be the wife of an addict, and those years taught me to claim responsibility for addictions that aren't my own. Thankfully, while that is still my first instinct, I have come far enough now to pause and remind myself that I am no one's caretaker. I am not responsible for my ex-husband's addiction, and I am certainly not responsible for Macklemore's.