Kate Ryan

My parents got the idea they’d send me to stay at my grandparents’ house in Florida for a week. I think my mother needed a week to herself.

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

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 bread had to be store-bought and white, of course, so as not to raise a red flag among my classmates. I still see rebellion in a ham sandwich.

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

“Don’t you smash that cake in my face, or I’ll never forgive you,” she said, and she never did, not really.

LAX, on the other hand, seemed like a perfect place to pick up the latest deadly virus.

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

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

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.