Kate Ryan

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

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

Eva, having stayed up the whole night preoccupied with death and time, planned to call in sick.

Okay, so maybe she didn’t really understand feminism.

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

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

A bloated mother in her polka dot one-piece gnaws on a corndog while reading the romantic pulp she picked up on her way out of the supermarket . . .

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.

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.

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