Jody Amable

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.”

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.

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.

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

A few weeks back, I got looped into an Instagram chat with some coworkers from one of my gigs, who were snarking about the fact that the

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

I couldn’t help but assume the reason these people were telling me not to say even a word to this troll was because women aren’t supposed to fight back. We’re supposed to rise above — to “not stoop to their level,” as my mom used to say.

The neighbors turned their lights off. My dog fell sound asleep. I kept reading. And at 1:03 am, I finished. All was well.

I was waiting to finally not like a Harry Potter book, and folks, I found it. Half-Blood Prince was boring.

I'm 30 years old and stuck in San Jose, the hometown I always wanted to leave. What happened?