Kate Ryan

Light some candles and use those bath salts you've been saving for a special occasion. Masturbate for 55 minutes.

A bloated mother in her polka dot one-piece gnaws on a corndog while reading the romantic pulp she picked up on her way out of the supermarket . . .

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

My parents got the idea they’d send me to stay at my grandparents’ house in Florida for a week. I think my mother needed a week to herself.

Like booster engines emptied of fuel, my limbs become disposable, useless tanks as the blood rushes from them.

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…

Alison learned from her grandmother how a plastic smile could take you places—especially in a place like Hollywood.

As an Uber driver, I have the privilege of talking to and eavesdropping on a sampling of L.A.’s finest, ranging from the clinically insane to the simply self-absorbed. As a writer, there is no end to the amount of inspiration my passengers provide.

At Monster High, Jimmy Werewolf gets another demerit for forgetting to shave again.

Writing simply does for me what long walks do for small dogs; it makes me tired and happy.