Druid: My name is Erik with a k.
NPC: *writes name down* And your last name?
Druid: With a k.
NPC: No I got that: Erik. What’s your last name?
Druid: My last name is with a k.
NPC: Wait…is your name Erik Erik?
Druid: My last name is With a K.
NPC: Okay wait a minute, so to clarify —
Druid: My last name is literally the phrase *air quotes* “Withakay.” It is all one word.
NPC: *finishes writing* So review the document to make sure I got this right.
Druid: *looks* No I spell Eric with a C
Rogue: “I’d like to buy this flute!”
Merchant NPC: “Beware… a evil Demon lives inside it, he may come out if you play it.”
Ogre: “What? Let me have a look at it….”
Ogre: *puts the flute to his eye and looks inside*
Ogre: “Nope, there’s nothing inside. Buy it.”
The Dark Eye (German: Das Schwarze Auge (DSA))
DM: The Dragon awakens.
Rogue: Yes, hello! This crafty mage here was trying to abscond with all your gold and I am trying to bring it back to you, which is why I’m the one holding it.
new favorite blog
"The royal archmage can’t actually perform any magic. He just maxed out his Bluff and now he’s in way over his head."
Me: Roll over.
GM: The hedgehog rolls over. It’s adorable.
GM: You take a few steps away. The hedgehog remains where it is.
GM: The hedgehog heals you for 5 HP.
Me: Holy shit.
We’ve started placing non-monetary bets on the likelihood that I’m asked about my personal life during publicity interviews.
So far I’ve been correct 100% of the time.
I can’t completely understand the fascination with my dating life; maybe I just really do a stellar job of keeping it ambiguous and therefore compellingly mysterious, such that it warrants questioning during professional interviews. But more often there’s this awe-like oscillation between “It must be really hard for you to date because your job is so unique and you do gross things sometime” and “You must get dates all of the time.”
Like today. I mention how I find standing in the dermestid colony room is comforting; it’s an area I wander to when I need to clear my head. It’s quiet, save for the gentle crackling of the busy beetles, hungrily going about their lives while they eat and breed and die among eviscerated fauna. Pretty soothing. Believe me, there is no quieter place in the Museum. But the minute I being this up the response is “oh giiiirrrrlll we’ve got to get you a date.”
I get that I’m this quirky paradox of a woman: how is it possible I’m pretty, articulate, and also smart? and kinda weird? Gosh the solution to those problems must mean I only got this way because I didn’t have a man in my life to keep me boring and level-headed. Ignore the fact they assume I am also straight.
It comes up again: “do you work with any hot, Indiana Jones scientists?” Hey here’s one for you: are you going to ask my male colleagues these same questions? Going to imply they need to get a date instead of publish so many compelling papers about their research? And I’ll have you know that I’m infinitely more attracted to someone’s wit and candor, and the quality of the work they publish in reputable scientific journals and the eagerness they have to explore our world than whatever physical form they ended up taking. I would marry a gorilla if it were so sophisticated.
Sometimes I feel the most sexism occurring in these fields comes in the form of awkward publicity. I’ve also been asked by reporters if I would pose for Playboy if approached - and what I would charge to accept. If you want to ask me about natural history, or museums, or social media, or science literacy - be my guest. But don’t expect a straightforward answer if you derail the conversation to pry into my personal life.