Everything I Need to Know I Learned from Dungeons & Dragons
Read Everything I Need to Know I Learned from Dungeons & Dragons Online
Authors: Shelly Mazzanoble
EVERYTHING I NEED TO KNOW
I LEARNED FROM DUNGEONS & DRAGONS
“Mazzanoble is one brave she-warrior. In
Everything I Need to Know I Learned from Dungeons & Dragons
, she delightfully bares the mundane details of a 21st century woman's lifeâfrom religion to love, domesticity to dietary habitsârefracting her vision through the 20-sided prism of D&D. All the while, she battles and playfully defeats her most fearsome foe, her mother. Huzzah!”
âEthan Gilsdorf, author of
Fantasy Freaks and Gaming Geeks
“Looking at life as one big (adventuring) party, Shelly Mazzanoble shows us âhow she rolls,' by meeting her every day encounters with self-effacing charisma and plucky fortitude. If Carrie Bradshaw were a bard, this might be her tale. The characters we create in D&D must work harmoniously in a group and open themselves to unique philosophies, principles and strategies in order to help them overcome their obstacles. Applying that same open-mindedness to her daily life, Shelly shares with good humor her attempt to become âMaster of her own Dungeon,' as she goes outside her comfort zone to earn real-life experience and reach new levels of potential.”
âDan Milano, writer of TV series
Robot Chicken
“I love this book, especially the mother.”
âJudy Mazzanoble
SHELLY MAZZANOBLE:
Confessions of a Part-Time Sorceress:
A Girl's Guide to the Dungeons & Dragons Game
Everything I need to Know I Learned from Dungeons & Dragons
©2011 Wizards of the Coast LLC
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of Wizards of the Coast LLC.
Published by Wizards of the Coast LLC. Dungeons & Dragons, D&D, Wizards of the Coast, and their respective logos are trademarks of Wizards of the Coast LLC in the U.S.A. and other countries. Other trademarks are property of their respective owners.
All Wizards of the Coast characters and their distinctive likenesses are property of Wizards of the Coast LLC.
Cover photo by: Allison Shinkle
eISBN: 978-0-7869-5936-5
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Mazzanoble, Shelly, 1972-
  Everything I need to know I learned from Dungeons & Dragons / Shelly Mazzanoble.
     p. cm.
  Summary: “With tongue-in-cheek humor, the creator of the award-winning Confessions of a Part-Time Sorceress takes on the self-help section, proving that the benefits of the Dungeons & Dragons? game goes far beyond simple entertainment”âProvided by publisher.
  1. Dungeons and dragons (Game)âHumor. 2. Dungeons and dragons (Game)âSocial aspectsâHumor. 3. Women fantasy gamersâHumor. I.
Title.
  GV1469.62.D84M4 2011
  793.93âdc22
2011015518
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To Dungeons & Dragons playersâpast, present, and future.
And to Bartâbest adventuring buddy a girl could have.
Mothers are like dungeons. Some really stink and you'll do anything to avoid
them. And some are lush sanctuaries filled with gold, jewels, and butterscotch schnapps-spiked Nestlé Nesquik.
That's Judy, my mom and epic-level dungeon. Moms like Judy are few and far between, so when you find one, you should sit and relish their charms for hours. Though I suppose sitting in a dungeon is a little weird and potentially dangerousâbecause no matter how lush or treasure-filled, the bottom line is that all dungeons are filled with crap you best run away from.
This, too, is true of my mother.
Oh, come on. What did you think this was? A memoir of a 1980s sitcom family? I mean, even Elyse Keaton must have had her freak-outs, despite how maternally perfect she seemed to be. Bet you anything that as soon as the last of the craft service table had been packed away, she and Mallory had those kinds of unbridled fights only mothers and daughters can have. If you're a woman who grew up with a mother or a man who grew up with a sister, you know what I'm talking about. Screeching, tear-down-the-walls, full-on Animal Planet brawls. What did we fight about? Oh, I don't know. Forgetting to call when Mrs. Hopper got us to the mall safely. That time she crashed Chuck E. Cheese on Teen Night because my brother Mike told her his friend Mark's sister Pam's best friend Missy said she saw me smoking. (I wasn't. I didn't start smoking for at least eight months after this incident.)
“If I wanted your advice, I would have asked!” I shouted at least 1,483 times a day.
“Fine,” she said, barely raising a brow even though I was yelling at a decibel even the neighbors' Australian Cattle Dog found inappropriate. “But you should really stop hanging out with Kim and Lisa. You're going to get a reputation as a pothead.”
A pothead
? “What do you mean by that?” I asked.
“I hear things.”
She “heard” lots of things, and often well before I heard them. Kim and Lisa
were
potheads. I thought they had allergies. So she got lucky on that one, but she didn't always know what's what. Like who was worthy of friendship, what was worthy of wearing, what shows were worthy of watching.
“Mommy knows best,” she always said. And when she wasn't saying it, she was showing it by sending me tiny satin embroidered pillows, coasters, even shot glasses with that saying on them.
“Someday, when you're a motherâGod willingâyou'll know what I mean.”
I know having a mother who bombards her daughter with unsolicited advice isn't exactly worthy of a
Dateline
investigation. But still, even at twelve I wanted to be in control of my own destiny. What did Judy know about perms and two-toned jeans?
But for all her buttinsky tendencies and amateur-shrink psychologies, my friends sure loved her. Growing up, our house was the house everyone went to after school, and I couldn't have been prouder.
Not only was our kitchen always stocked with Lender's bagels and Ring Dings, but we also had a pool table and my mom wasn't afraid to use it. When the guys came over before lacrosse practice to carb up, my mom would be slathering bagels with strawberry cream cheese one minute and then staring into the eyes of my future prom date the next, commanding him to “Rack 'em up.” We knew what that meant. Down to the basement we went to watch my forty-something mom banking and cutting and putting a little English on the “stripes.” The guys tried to win, knowing the worst thing you could do to Judy was show a little respect for your elders and let her beat you. She didn't need anyone to let her win. She was
really
good. And she was a horrible sport, which is by far the worst combination. Judy had this obnoxious march she'd do around the table, pumping her pool cue into the air and making
rum pum pum
noises. That's always been my mom. Always kicking someone's ass.
“Let me give you some advice,” she would tell the boys. “Never underestimate a woman's rack.”
That's also my mommy. Not just making high school kids blush but hustling anyone within earshot with unsolicited advice. My friends didn't seem to mind. She was the keeper of their deepest, darkest problems, and they all turned to her for help. Her advice was like a splotch of red juice and they were like a Bounty paper towel. She spoke. They absorbed.
Right around the time I moved to Seattle, Judy's love affair with advice kicked it up a notch. Self-help, in the form of television talk shows, satellite radio, and online book retailers that, like Judy, love giving you tips on what to read next based on a recent purchase for your friend's four-year-old boy, were all the rage. (Really, Amazon? You're sure I'll enjoy
Thomas and the Naughty Diesel
? Wait. Maybe that was based on a different purchase.)
No matter. The point is, all this technology meant Judy barely needed to lift a manicured fingernail to discover the next great bit of wisdom that would surely turn my life around. Why did I ever teach her how to bookmark Web sites?
But did my life need turning around? I didn't think so. I was a fairly typical twenty-something doing twenty-something things. I had a bitchin' apartment in Seattle's Capitol Hill neighborhood that I shared with a roommate. Between us we had six part-time jobs. My four were to support an unpaid internship at Sub Pop records. I lived off Taco del Mar burritos and pints of Ben and Jerry's. I never exercised. I took writing classes and started drinking coffee. I developed a love affair with the Space Needle and discontentment with camping, socks with sandals, and Tibetan prayer flags.
Overall, I was happy. Even the old journals I kept are embarrassingly angst-free. If anything was causing me anxiety, it was the lack of anxiety I was experiencing.
