Kate Ryan

Fresh orange juice, milk, thick slices of ham, a block of cheese, a carton of eggs—her husband kept it this way should this moment arrive.

LAX, on the other hand, seemed like a perfect place to pick up the latest deadly virus.

“Don’t you smash that cake in my face, or I’ll never forgive you,” she said, and she never did, not really.

The case of beer I brought, as my mother explained, is “pure poison” and so I must drink it all by myself.

Everywhere you look these days (on Instagram), beautiful pictures abound. From teacups overflowing with succulents to smoothie bowls arranged as art. All while a lavender-haired model casually eats ice cream in front of a stupidly gorgeous Tahitian sunset. All this endless beauty has become a bit dull.

Eva, having stayed up the whole night preoccupied with death and time, planned to call in sick.

For all of you crazy people that think going to Target is ever a good idea during the holiday season, this is a list on how to survive a shopping trip to Target is for you…

I saw my old babysitter at a women’s wrestling cage match.

She gropes for attention while he dies in the other room.

She knows you’re not supposed to call it an “it,” but she honestly can’t tell if it’s a boy or girl or . . . undecided.