I was born an emotional tampon in a cauldron of dysfunction.

Our dog just wanders around the house with a concerned look on his face. Dogs are just people who can't find their phone.

If anything, I believe that when I die, I will have to stand in front of all the children who went to bed hungry while I was on earth and read aloud a list of my eBay purchases. I shudder to think of it. Explaining to a poor child with a swollen belly why I didn't give his village fifty cents a week but spent twenty-seven dollars in a bidding war for a Mars Attacks coffee cup.

There's nothing like a string of Xmas lights inside the house to make the whole family feel like they live in a vintage clothing store.

Like many indelible family memories, carving a pumpkin begins with someone grabbing a really sharp knife.

Catholic Church reasserts its moral authority on contraception: If God believed in birth control, altar boys would have a uterus.

It might not be rational, but I am terrified of getting stuck in an elevator with a bear.