Kate Ryan

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

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

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.

The case of beer I brought, as my mother explained, is “pure poison” and so I must drink it all by myself.

His mind rode the lines, circling on an endless loop to nowhere as he attempted to go about his activities.

She knows you’re not supposed to call it an “it,” but she honestly can’t tell if it’s a boy or girl or . . . undecided.

“You are the naked girl on horse, yes?” he said, approaching her table from across the café patio.

Everywhere you look these days (on Instagram), beautiful pictures abound. From teacups overflowing with succulents to smoothie bowls arranged as art. All while a lavender-haired model casually eats ice cream in front of a stupidly gorgeous Tahitian sunset. All this endless beauty has become a bit dull.

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

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