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.

I would send some chocolates, but I’m not allowed anymore since they found the shiv in the birthday cake I sent you.

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.

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

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.

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

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

His mind rode the lines, circling on an endless loop to nowhere as he attempted to go about his activities.

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.

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