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.

Is flagging potentially offensive material taking the PC movement too far?

She knows you’re not supposed to call it an “it,” but she honestly can’t tell if it’s a boy or girl or . . . undecided.

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

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

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.

The birds abandon their posts in the pepper trees, sending tiny, oblong leaves raining to the ground.

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.

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