Winona Dimeo-Ediger

You’re washing dishes or sorting laundry or grocery shopping, half-listening to a random Pandora station when it happens: Your favorite song from 7th grade starts playing.

How does that old cliché go? “Love is not a noun, it’s a verb”? Loving your body is a verb. It’s an action — and in many ways it’s a sacred and defiant one.

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Seriously, I’m usually a “six sugars and a ton of cream” girl, but I drink Kao Jai black!

I grew up way out in the country, and lying in bed at night I used to gaze out my window and think, “Maybe someday I’ll live in a cool apartment in the city where I can walk to stuff.” That was literally my big dream of far-off adulthood.

It can be difficult to describe the pervasiveness of sexual harassment to people who don’t experience it firsthand.

Have you guys tried those “adult” Lego sets? They’re not “adult” in, like, a “build your own dildo” way (although I’m sure that’s a thing on eBay) but in a “you follow instructions that are probably too advanced for your 3-year-old nephew to follow and feel super smart and accomplished when you put the final piece on the top of your small-scale replica of the Eiffel Tower” way.

It’s the year of bountiful belly! If you have a flat belly (sigh, it’s something many of us struggle with), consider doing a pizza cleanse.

Hopefully you say “I love you” to your partner as often as possible. But how often do you tell them you like them? Because as much as we might take loving each other for granted, liking each other isn’t always guaranteed, and it’s rarely vocalized.

Half the fun (or maybe more than half? Maybe all the fun, actually) of going to the gym is getting decked out in cute workout clothes.