Kate Ryan

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?

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.

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

Sheila applied widely and on a whim. She needed a job and she needed one fast.

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

Alma couldn’t understand why her Yelp reviews were so dismal. She didn’t advertise herself as a magician. She was a hair stylist.

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.

It was a tradition of theirs. When siblings Sue and Johnny went home to their mother’s for Christmas, they watched the 11 o’clock local news.

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

I have no choice but to start all over again, tomorrow or not at all.