Kate Ryan

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

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.

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

She couldn’t imagine the water she sat in, the water that enveloped her body, wanted to be here.

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?

At Monster High, Jimmy Werewolf gets another demerit for forgetting to shave again.

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

Motherhood is easily the toughest, most sacred job on earth. Without moms, the human race simply wouldn’t be here. But personally, I’d rather dangle myself from dental floss over a volcano full of spiders than push another human being out of my body.

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

One crawled up the side of the bag and opened her wings, a hardtop convertible with legs.