Thursday, July 26, 2012

James Bond, he is not.

"Dorian, time to wake up."
"Dorian, gotta get up."
"I AM A SPY! (Rattles off something in Russian, wakes himself up) Unh? Sweetie, no, mission'll be comprimi...zzzzz..."

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Senatorial Kittens art!

My friend Shanice made some art for the blog. I give you...senatorial kittens!

Get 'im!

Dorian fell asleep on the couch again last night. He was doing the Zoidberg arm flail through most of this.

" 'im, Akhim! Sweetie, don't let him get away! He took the purse...all the tie-dye!"

Monday, July 23, 2012

And I thought he was just playing Skyrim

Matt was fixing something on Phil's new computer:

Phil: (Alarmed shout)
Dorian: "Didja break it?"
Phil: "No, he turned it on."
Dorian: "Did it take your hand off? That almost happened to me. I'm not sayin' I'm dumb, or nothin', just that it happens and it's understandable."

He also gave me a very sweet card and took me fishing

"Hey, so you know that thing? That thing people say to you on your birthday?"
"Yeah. That."

Sunday, July 22, 2012


This morning, as I woke Dorian up to go fishing:

Dorian: "I love you."
Me: "I love you, too."
Dorian: "High five! (Puts his hand up in the "high five" position) ...Four...nine one one..."

This was at six am and I just now realized that he was actually reciting our area zip code.

(Derp. Thanks, commenter!)

Saturday, July 21, 2012

Eject the warp core!

Phil has a new computer.
Dorian: "What type of warp core does that thing have?"
Phil: "What?"
Dorian: "What size warp core does it take?"
Phil has a blank look.
 I shake my head, and mouth, "Star Trek," knowing Dorian's just making fun of him.

Phil: "What?"
I make the Live Long and Prosper hand signal.
Dorian: "What kind of warp core does it take?"
Phil: "Eight."

Thursday, July 19, 2012

Do the Penguin

Dorian wasn't feeling too well last night, and fell asleep on the couch.

"It's okay, just tell him I sent you...I'm trying to get the thing to move, but it won't, so we'll have to use the mushroom...Sweetie? It's okay, don't worry...Oh fuck, damn, I'll move it, just don't...I'll, I'll find him! You gotta has...(distressed moan) I just don't get enough [REDACTED]*."

And then he threw up.

He was feeling much better by the time we actually went to bed, so I felt okay with messing with him this morning as he slept.
"Dorian, look at all the penguins. Thousands of them."
"They're riding pogo sticks. Pogoing penguins."
"Stop being silly."
"And walruses. They're on scooters."
"Stop being silly. Walruses can't ride scooters. No feet. And can't wear helmets. Tusks." *Pokes two fingers in front of his face, simulating tusks*
"Ok. I'll just put party hats on the penguins."
"Can't wear hats. No chins."
"Party jackets, then."
"No. Not fancy."
"Fancy dinnerwear. Ok. What music should we play?"
(A few minutes pass, and I figure he's fallen into a deeper sleep. Then...) "Flapper music. Yeah. Do the penguin."
Then he locked his legs like a penguin and began to wiggle back and forth to a beat only he could hear.

* I run all my posts by Dorian before publishing them. So far, the only content he's objected to (and thus, has not been shared) has been sexually graphic, or relates to My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. I'll leave it up to you to decide which this was.

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

It's a rough economy. It's hard for a feline to find work.

I tried to get up and out of bed several times this morning. Dorian kept grabbing me with one leg halfway over the edge of the bed, rolling over, and pinning me back down. So much for that idea.

"Dorian, wake up, you wanted me to make you coffee and breakfast."
(As he falls back to sleep) "I am waking up. I'm just doing it at my pace so I don't Hulk out...(softly) rawwwrrr..."

"You should come with me to the bank naked...we'll get a better price...and perks."

(Dorian flinches)
"Stop poking me with your guinea pig!...Stoppit!..."
(Dorian wakes)
"Your own hair brushed across your face and you accused me of poking you with my guinea pig."
(Falling back to sleep) "That's right, you're getting all the small mammals today...dip you in butter...WAH-BAM, you're delicious!"
(A moment passes. Dorian begins smacking his lips.)

(Akhim mews at the door, wanting to be fed.)
"Ahh! We're being robbed!"
"...No, we're not."
"It's your cat. He's hungry."
"I'm hungry. Fuck that freeloader. Fuck, fuck, fuck, goddamn, fuck...Will you make me some coffee?"
"Sure, but you have to actually let me out of bed this time."
"I will."
(I sit up to leave the bed. Dorian grabs me and pulls me back down.)
(Whining) "Gimme! No! I already laquered your hair."

"I don't have to mow the lawn."
(Akhim meows)
"Unemployed fuck. Get a job, cat."

"Take that, fuzzy wine!"

"I'm sorry!"
"I'm sorry the box I bought didn't work."
"It's okay."
(Dorian begins feeling the walls of a box, like a mime.)
"I'm looking for cold."

"What was I just doing?"
"You were pantomiming being stuck in a box."
"No, I was looking for cold...what was my plan again?"
"I don't--I wouldn't know."
"It had something to do with mammals."
(Ahkim meows)
"Goddamn, there aren't even mice, he just freeloads."
"He's your cat."
"Fuck. He doesn't even kill things."
"He took out some fruit flies."
"Tape could take care of fruit flies...(falls asleep)...gotta sell the thing...why aren't I wearing pants?"

Monday, July 16, 2012


*Dorian, sleeping, moves his arm, slapping me in the head*
"Oh, I'm sorry, sweet...we should lie down...huevos."

Saturday, July 14, 2012


(Alarmed) "...There's a bug in the oil."
(More alarmed) "...The bug...pour the oil into the cup..."
"I'll take care of it, don't worry."
(Very soft whisper) "Don't drink the oil."

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Woo hoo!

No real anecdotes today. I just wanted to share that Dorian's search for gainful employment has found success. His interview was today, he starts tomorrow morning. The job is perfect for him, too.


After some normal shopping and the leftover dry goods from Ragnarok, Dorian discovered this problem:

"I can't believe we have seventeen quarts of oatmeal in the house."
"I know."
"We gotta start eating that, Adom. Like for dinners and stuff."
"Fine, I'll figure out something I can make with it."
"There's lots of things you can make with oatmeal."
"Look, I told you before you bought it that I won't eat oatmeal."
"I thought you said you didn't like grits."
"No, grits, I'll eat. I hate oatmeal."
"Well, fuck. How do I keep messing that up?"
"I don't know, but it's resulted in us having seventeen quarts of oatmeal."

Sunday, July 8, 2012


Dorian had a cat in middle school, an eightish year old male cat named Akhim.

Well, the cat is still alive (he's around twenty now), and we brought him home from Dorian's grandmother's house today. He's very, very sweet, and Dorian's been extremely happy since Akhim entered our apartment. The cat's not too unhappy, either, he was walking around and greeting people within half an hour of entering. No yowling, no spraying, no problems at all. In fact, he very readily claimed the comfiest piece of furniture as his own.

So now there's an actual Senatorial Kitten. Sort of. As much as a geriatric, sleeping cat can be called a "kitten."

                                                                                  Photo courtesy our flatmate Matt.

But did I mention I'm allergic to cats?

So last night, at his grandmother's, as I was coughing, and Dorian was stoned on Benadryl (he's allergic to her feather pillows), Dorian suggested, in earnest, a solution to my post-nasal drip:

"We're gonna fill your lower sinuses with sand!"

 My response to this idea was less than enthusiastic, as you can imagine.

This afternoon, as we were driving back home and passing through Waupaca, Akhim was meowing anxiously in the back of the car. Dorian's response:

Dorian: "It's okay, Akhim."
Akhim: (Meows plaintively)
Dorian: "I know, I know you don't like Waupaca."
Akhim: (Meows again)
Dorian: "It's okay, I know you don't like it. Don't be too hard on them because their softball team sucks."
Me, driving: "What the hell?"

I suggested putting that exchange on the blog. Dorian said he'd worry about angry emails from the entire population of Waupaca, Wisconsin.

Still later:

Me: "Sweetie, were you serious about me not putting your disparagement of the Waupaca softball team up on Senatorial Kittens?"
Dorian: "Do whatever you want. They can fuckin' bring it."

Monday, July 2, 2012

Dutch Elm

We had a very long day today. Dorian fell asleep while sitting at the table with Matt, Phil, and myself.

Dorian: "We'll get a bunch of gnomes and we'll like 'em up like this." (Dorian extends his arms outward.)
Phil: "What?"
Dorian: "'Cause when you hit gnomes with a hammer, they turn into diamond. So we'll have a really hard fence."
Phil: "What?"
Dorian: "I may be mostly asleep."

"Did you just ask how late Sirilay is open? She's open 24/7. She's like Kinko's. She's never too late. Don't tell Sirilay I said that, it's inappropriate. You know what, fuck it, tell her. What's she gonna do, climb on me? I've had my Dutch Elm immunization."

"The trick with straws is, you gotta treat it a small ferret." (Dorian presses the tip of his straw against his nose) "You gotta keep your nose on it  so you know where it is."

"Coconut...You smell like potatoes. You taste like potatoes all the time."

"And you know, you can just extrapolate time back to...whenever."

"Take the box. If you don't, I'm going to staple it to your car...with"

"Am I wearing pants?"
"That's not fair."

"I don't wanna take the pat on the back."