Kate Ryan

Light some candles and use those bath salts you've been saving for a special occasion. Masturbate for 55 minutes.

I saw my old babysitter at a women’s wrestling cage match.

"No self-respecting journalist or publication would ever hire someone who employs the word 'sh--' as a title for anything."

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

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.

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

The case of beer I brought, as my mother explained, is “pure poison” and so I must drink it all by myself.

Alison learned from her grandmother how a plastic smile could take you places—especially in a place like Hollywood.

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

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?