Rebekah Kuschmider

Yesterday, the Republican National Convention kicked off in Cleveland, Ohio. One of my friends predicted it would be a spectacle of epic proportions, involving pyrotechnics, all-female military drills teams reminiscent of Ghadaffi’s personal guard, and jungle cats.

Do you want a man known for calling people “losers” to be sitting at a table with all the major economic powers in the world and trying to work out international trade deals or arms agreements? Or do you think he’d offend everyone in the room so much that he’d turn us into a global pariah?

Am I betraying the core values of feminism by voting for a man when there’s a woman candidate in the race?

I don’t want to know what it looks like. I want to know about it.

Yesterday, the big news in food science was that BUTTER ISN’T BAD FOR YOU AFTER ALL! It turns out that butter, like other saturated fats, isn’t the health demon-food that we were once told it was. I think now we’re supposed to do Kermit-arms and dance around rejoicing that we can butter our toast with impunity.

The SSRI I took didn’t have as dramatic an effect as my stimulants did, but it allowed me to laugh and love life again and still managed to take the rough edges off my concentration.

Earlier this week, the Trump administration decided that the most pressing issue on their plates is where school children pee.

In the space of less than a week, Trump has proved what we all suspected was true: He’s just an overblown internet troll who can’t handle it when a woman stands up to him.

Given the current gulf between the two candidates in terms of primaries and delegates won, it’s pretty safe to say that we’re looking at a Trump nomination.

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