Kate Ryan

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

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

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

He thought I was mad, but in an artistic way; I thought he was horny all the time, but in an artistic way.

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.

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

Everyone wants to have the funny tweets because people equate them with wealth, power, and beauty. The problem is, we’re not all funny.

Surviving the Apocalypse didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy a little romance.

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.