Clumsy is as Clumsy does

You totally read the title in Forrest Gump’s voice, didn’t you?



You guys, I have a confession to make. Or maybe not a confession so much as a realization.

I’m never going to grow out of my clumsy phase.




I mean, I am not Cato and Clouseau levels, but I am probably the only person I know who can be actively thinking to herself “I should probably be using the guard on this mandolin slicerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrOWWWWWW FUCK FUCK FUCK!”

Because that is pretty much exactly what happened.

To quote the Jerk, if you are squeamish and don’t like to see injuries or snails, look away.


I totally had to learn a new program to insert that snail over my [wee] injury.
I totally had to learn a new program to insert that snail over my [wee] injury.


Yep. I have managed to carve a tiny chunk of my finger off. Mandolin slicer is sharp, yo. And that is just one of the multitude of injuries that I have inflicted on myself. Whapping my knees on my desk is an everyday occurrence. Misjudging where the wall is in relation to the door and catching it with my shoulder or elbow is pretty common, too. Let’s not even talk about how many times I have broken my toes on walls, coffee tables, doorjambs, or bare fucking floors. Also, I cook and bake. Like, a lot. I have done all but set myself on fire.1


I actually kind of amazed that I have made it this far without, yanno, doing more lasting damage to myself.





1 — I have a gas stove. …..*knocks on wood to throw off jinxes*

Lizard Queen

What’s best in life?
Crush your coffee beans, see them drowned in water, and to hear the gurgling of the coffeepot.


I can tell that autumn has finally arrived.

It isn’t the changing leaves (please, this is Central Texas. The only time leaves change colors is when we spray paint them). It isn’t the arrival of orange/yellow/brown “decorations”in the seasonal aisle of our HEB. It isn’t even pumpkin spice EVERYTHING.

pumpkin spice

No. I can tell because this is the time of year when Mister Man insists that all the windows be open. He says that we only get six weeks total of acceptable weather – three in the spring and three in the fall. While he may be right about the weather, I spend those six weeks shivering in my own home. To be fair, he didn’t know I was a Lizard Person until after he moved in. But, still.

Y’all, it was 44 degrees this morning. FORTY FOUR. And every damn window in the place was chocked open, to let in the “fresh air.”

Fresh air, FFS.

Please bring blankets, as the floor is cold, too.

I have spent the last several days huddled under blankets, wearing sweaters and thermals and thick socks. Although, it is a little hard to type while swaddled up like a baby-burrito. But, my players need me to finish the Talislanta/DnD crossover game. I’d like to finish it because it will make a great story.

I peeled them off so you could see what I consider an acceptable layer of blankets.
I peeled them off so you could see what I consider an acceptable amount of blankets.


But I have to emerge from my warmliness-cocoon sometimes. Nachos and coffee don’t make themselves, you know.

mmm. Nachos. /hellboy
The amount of BTUs lost during the making of the nachos was staggering. Or shivering. …whatever.


For now, I must return to my work.
However, this evening is all about Machiavellianism and NPCs and meta-meta arcs.

Moo ha ha ha.
Moo ha ha ha.

And if you think I am giggling quietly to myself, you are quite wrong.

It’s more of a sinister chuckle, really.


I should really get a fluffy white cat to stroke while I plot.



1 – I use the word loosely.