Kate Ryan

He thought I was mad, but in an artistic way; I thought he was horny all the time, but in an artistic way.

Someone would always cook in their tighty whities, his package at eye level for the person doing French homework at the kitchen table.

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.

One crawled up the side of the bag and opened her wings, a hardtop convertible with legs.

"No self-respecting journalist or publication would ever hire someone who employs the word 'sh--' as a title for anything."

Okay, so maybe she didn’t really understand feminism.

You could take this easy, informative quiz to find out with whom you side on important legislative issues and social policies. Or you could go my route and pick your candidate based on what dinosaur they resemble.

Surviving the Apocalypse didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy a little romance.

She closed in on the open pores enlarged ten times their normal size by a high magnification pocket mirror.

She got too high while watching The Bachelor and had a misanthropic breakdown.