Rebekah Kuschmider

Now, listen. I know that anything that happens in 45 minutes with an aesthetician isn't going to be wizardry. It might not even be noticeable. But I also know that I am not very good at treating myself to nice things that involve sitting down and letting other people take care of me.

BREAKING NEWS –– or maybe epic flashback? I don’t know what to call this exactly.

This week, the golfer in chief launched TrumpTV, a series of Facebook live updates detailing the great state of the universe according to Donald Trump.

Nike is getting ready to debut a line of sport hijabs for Muslim athletes.

Someone is going to try and tell you that John McCain saved Obamacare. Or Lisa Murkowski. Or Susan Collins. But it was you. YOU.

Women I’ve known with breast cancer are willing to go through screening, diagnosis, and treatment once — and only once.

If you’re like me, you’ve probably been getting annual pelvic exams since you were a teenager. You did this because conventional wisdom told you that you needed a Pap smear and a physical exam to keep your vagina and uterus up and running. Also, your doctor probably held your birth control prescription hostage every year until you came in to get checked out.

Underpants are how you dress your CLITORIS! Your clitoris desires something fancy, don’t you think? Something soft and slinky or lacy and feminine or red and racy.

For a long time, one of the central flaws in civil rights for the LGBT community has been a lack of employment protections.

I got a puppy last fall, and I’ve spent about a zillion dollars on different things for her to chew. She really likes bully sticks, which are dehydrated bull penises. It cracks me up every time I give one to her and say, “Here. Go eat a dick.”