Jody Amable

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

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.

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

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.

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

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

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.

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.