Kate Ryan

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

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.

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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.

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