Kate Ryan

Everyone wants to have the funny tweets because people equate them with wealth, power, and beauty. The problem is, we’re not all funny.

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.

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.

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

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

“You are the naked girl on horse, yes?” he said, approaching her table from across the café patio.

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…

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

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

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