Jody Amable

A new feature with music picks tailor-made to ensure your weekend jam sessions are absolutely ravishing.

According to the magazine, women need special help understanding sports. Cue the glorious, hilarious Twitter outrage.

In this time of toy-giving, I'm reflecting on the impact one doll made on me and, I'm willing to bet, a small subset of other girls, too.

In the aftermath of my mom passing, I've learned to reconcile our rocky relationship with the knowledge that she loved me.

Harnessing the courage within myself—courage I didn’t even know I had—to coolly, calmly call this guy out has made me a better human being.

No matter how drunk he is, he can’t NOT notice this. His hand is moving. What do I do? What do I do? Do I politely ask him to stop? Do I yell at him? Do I wheel around and whack him in the face? You don’t know what he’s doing, Jody. Calm down. Don’t make a scene.

If I let everyone off the hook for extenuating circumstances like, “He’s over 50, so he probably just doesn’t know any better,” no one’s ever going to stop calling me “sweetie.”

The further I get into this series, the harder time I am having remembering what the eff has happened so far. You see, I am an Old Lady.

Jon Stewart, step aside. Your heir apparent has arrived.

Like most nerd realms, music writing is a predominantly male world. Especially if, like me, your greatest love is classic rock.