Kate Ryan

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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