I have poop somewhere on my shirt. I never thought I’d be the person who can’t figure out where the smell is coming from, only to realize in a moment of horrifying clarity that they are the origin of the smell.
It’s me.
Somewhere on my person, there is poop…
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A 23-year-old journalist, she committed herself in 1887 to an asylum for the insane so she could write about the condition of the facility and the treatment of its patients. Her expose, published in New York World, would forever change the way we treat the mentally ill in this country…
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Simply put, I suck at social media. Oh, I’ve dabbled in MySpace (how I’ve dated myself with that!), Instagram — even SnapChat.
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In our Woman to Woman feature, two women share their take on a particular topic. This month it’s being emotional — something women through the ages have been talk they’re being…
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Our culture seems to herd everyone to the communal table, but with our busy lifestyles, and even busier brains, solo food adventures can be not only fun but also rejuvenating…
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My friend and I operate on magical, private plain of sarcasm, inside jokes, and our mutual, diehard devotion to the Golden Girls. We are both far too sassy for our own good, and our sassiness gets us both into trouble. Our humor-intentioned remarks can be hurtful, but maybe that’s true of most people. We all aim for funny or wise or relatable, and often miss to the tune of insulting others…
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It was September of 2012, and she lectured on leadership, global markets, and women in the workplace at Georgia Southern University in Statesboro, Georgia. Luckily, I got the assignment to cover the event. While I knew who she was, I did some extra research so I wouldn’t look like a total idiot when I got there…
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