kate rothwell

1. Hey, I like the BOBs, Corn Dog! (see comments in previous thread if you wonder what the hell I'm talking about.) I've even voted in them previous years.** In fact, you should be up for one. And so should doug and elsewhere and hula doula and bettie and tumperkin and sam and everyone else I read and admire. If I had any gumption, I'd go nominate you all (okay, maybe I won't nominate you, CD, after the comment, though I do think you should get some kind of this is a Great Blog award) . 2. Today I'm over at Hitting the Hotspot, inventing love holidays. I was inspired by today, which, as you know, is Steak and Blowjob day Oh, 3.14...it's also Pi day! Happy pi day! I'm rather smitten with my November 14 idea and might make up some cards for it. The October plan has the potential for even sicker and sadder results than Festivus. 3. Yes, the evidence is in. After getting a BOB nomination and a really nice letter from an editor, Kate is now strutting around l...

No authors lately. They're standing me up, the bassets. I'm haunting Diane Farr but until I nab someone, here's a different Thursday Thirteen...13 physical manifestations of love. 1. first and foremost (along with an explanation of what the hell I'm talking about): J's bathrobe. The night my father died, we all gathered around his body to say adios. When it was time to leave, I discovered that I couldn't drive. My brother drove my car and me to his house. I stayed there, awake all night, throwing up and watching movies. My sister in law loaned me a bathrobe. I think it was blue. All I truly recall is that the bathrobe was warm and soft and it held me all night long. And slightly delirious with panic and/or grief or whatever, I thought this is love. A bit of cloth wrapped around me is love. God is love, therefore this bathrobe is God . It was the closest I'd come to religion for a long time. But that sensation lingers now and then. When I look at some object...