Kate Ryan

She gropes for attention while he dies in the other room.

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.

We all love our dogs. However, some of us take it a little too far, convincing ourselves that our dogs are actually our children. You call your dog your “baby” one day, and the next thing you know, you’re pushing him or her down the street in an expensive stroller. How did we get here? Trust me, it’s a slippery slope. Here are 12 signs you might have a dog-child.

Hollywood continues to flounder in a dick-sucking frenzy of self-congratulatory white male directors, writers, and producers.

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

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

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

The Gap come autumn: where normcore and film noir cleverly collide.

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

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.