Right. It’s February. Always a month that gives me jitters. It’s a birthday month, the birthday of my best friend, Wendy, who would be turning, what, 56 now? Fuck. It’s all just flying past, these years, the memories slipping too, those details of trips, or working together, or the places we ate at, or time spent in her apartment talking about nothing and everything. Writing, writing has been helpful in preserving the memories of her, her laughter, the way she held her cigarette, her wide-eyed stare. She chose her end, she did, I’ve made my peace with it, reluctantly. Still, the month of February. It’s a clusterfuck of breakdown, of emptiness, of nostalgia. The silver lining? February is only 28 days long. So there’s that.

Gladys Knight singing the National Anthem is a treasure.

Did you peep Aparna Nancherla in a Superbowl ad? I sure did and I didn’t even watch the game!

Lily Burana: “The small, sweet refrain inside the longer, seamier song is that when you’re in love with a ghost, you are never alone.”

On the women running for the Presidency.

Watch Regina Hall in Support The Girls. Like Now.

So SCAD (spontaneous coronary artery dissection). is something women need to be concerned about. Great. Another thing.

And now have a laugh with Mia Jackson.