Kate Ryan

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

One of my biggest fears is having a random stranger ask me, "how it’s going?" They might as well ask if I’d like to step into their van and get murdered.

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

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

I saw my old babysitter at a women’s wrestling cage match.

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

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.

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 . . .

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.