Kate Ryan

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.

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

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

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 . . .

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

He died a violent death. I saw him myself, flopping between wooden blades, his head bent back strangely.

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

One of my biggest fears is having a random stranger ask me, "how it’s going?" They might as well ask if I’d like to step into their van and get murdered.

For the record, I didn’t mean to be born so tall. I didn’t ask for bulky shoulders or a head that doesn’t fit most hats.

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?