Kate Ryan

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.

My tights are cutting me in half at the waist . . . just like a sausage in its casing.

12:48 AM. Why would someone schedule an exorcism for the middle of a weeknight?

She doesn’t know how to communicate the feeling that all is for nothing, nothing is normal.

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.

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

Is flagging potentially offensive material taking the PC movement too far?

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

One of my biggest fears is having a random stranger ask me, "how it’s going?" They might as well ask if I’d like to step into their van and get murdered.

I have no choice but to start all over again, tomorrow or not at all.