Kate Ryan

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

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

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

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

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

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.

The bread had to be store-bought and white, of course, so as not to raise a red flag among my classmates. I still see rebellion in a ham sandwich.

Recently, it was announced that the Ocean’s Eleven remake will be ladies-only too. Could it be that we’ve embarked on an era in which women take center stage?

It was a tradition of theirs. When siblings Sue and Johnny went home to their mother’s for Christmas, they watched the 11 o’clock local news.

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.