Monday, September 08, 2008

"The name's Crocker."

"Betty Crocker."

Yeah, I made Dad triceratops biscuits for Father's Day. I don't know if he liked them or not. I liked them.

After a mad search for envelopes I thought I had and did not have, the magazines were dropped in the post this morning. Arthur Miller should get his before the end of the week; you internetaional kids will have to wait and see. I've no idea how long they'll take, but it was airmail, so it shouldn't be too long.

I feel bad for those of you who missed out, so if you want to send me your postal address anyway, I think I have some squid and cuttlefish postcards still lying around. Somewhere. Possibly.

I'm having some trouble with myself. After a lovely couple of months respite the universe is reasserting itself, and the axis of Planet Tessa is a bit wobbly. I've also manaegd to fall behind on my own work, which is pretty impressive considering I don't actually have any deadlines to meet. Regardless, I'm behind, so blogging will be sparse for a while.

To keep you entertained while I am gone, I give you the end of the world, a la big ass asteroid.


  1. They look triceratastic!!

  2. The recipe said they were biscuits, they're cooked by me who says they're biscuits, THEY'RE BISCUITS DAMMIT

    And they're way triceratastic. They're fabusaurus.

  3. Anonymous9/9/08 09:09

    Are... are you wearing lipstick in that shot?

  4. Hell no! I don't need not stinking lipstick! I was BORN luscious!

    (Eddie's built in cam doesn't work so well with low light. It freaks out on the colour scale too. Lucky that photo isn't blue.)