Thursday, January 31, 2013

Must have been some sandwich.

"There's have's my sandwich! Okay, you can have a bite, but only because I love you. Colin Powell's secretary has the release forms."

"I have the thing. Hey, look at my butt, it's ready to go!"

"Dorian, c'mon, let's go to bed."
"Okay, let me undo the thing."
"I have to undo it!"
(Playing along) "It's already undone."
"No, not the long-legged taxes."

"Why are there only three chocolate cakes? We need at least six more."
"Wanna go to bed?"
"We are in bed."
"Wanna go to bed?"
"All the beds are our beds!"
 "Dorian, can we please go to bed?"
"I told you, I already went to bed, you weren't there, the cat was wearing a burqa, and it was all horrible!"

"C'mon, Dorian."
"Okay, okay. Do you have your phone?"
"Did you pick up the newspaper?"
(We have no newspaper, but I wanted to get him off the couch.) "Yeah."
"Did you remember to empty the cat?"

Wednesday, January 30, 2013


"Did you see that? I kicked him in the nose. I was like, SHAZAM! nose-punch-kick. Six dollar no tax son of a bitch. Cheap bastard."

"Yeah, what you needed to do was...okay, no, it's fine, you got it. Just paint it blue next time like I told you. Dammit, Julio. Doesn't listen, too lazy to use the tungsten. Seventeen kids running around everywhere. This is why we don't hire Catholics!..J-C-T jub jub jub jub jub...Adom...Adom!"
"It's okay. Jub jub jub jub jub..."
("Jub jub jub" was clearly supposed to be a sound effect for something, but I've no idea what.)

"Did you let the breakfast crowd out already? Dammit, no! It's icy! They'll slip, and the hippo will get them...oh, ha, ha, yeah, laugh off the hippo, he is dangerous! Hippos eat our children! Three kids a week, POOF! It's a wonder we stay in business."

"Someone took my two towels!"
"Someone took my towels!"
(I toss a bit of blanket over Dorian's upper body.)

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

An ex of mine once described me as a "grumpy bluebird."

Dorian and I discuss if I'm "cute."

"You are cute."
"I am not cute."
"You are cuter than a baby's buttocks."
"See, you say these things, yet I still have sex with you."
(My tactic does not work, and he continues teasing me.) "Do a mean face."
"Make a mean face."
"Mean face!"
(I mean mug him. He giggles.)
"D'awww...that's less intimidating than three kittens in a basket."

On the subject of this blog:
Dorian: "You know, if you keep this up, there's a chance somebody might contact me to be a comedy writer."
Me: "Is that a bad thing?"
Dorian. "No, I would jump at the chance to really disappoint somebody for a lot of money."

Monday, January 28, 2013

Four shore and twenty Nabisco...

"Hey, Dorian, what rhymes with 'shore?'"
"Lore. Boar. Door. Gore. Four. Core."
"'Core,' I can use 'core,' thanks."
"Whore. Score. Chore."
"I'm good, I got it."
"I got it."

Saturday, January 26, 2013

Festive Aneurisms

Overheard while Dorian and Jim played Black Ops 2:

Jim: "AHH! Fuck me in the butt!"
Dorian: "No, thank you."
Jim: "That was a rhetorical 'fuck me in the butt.'"

(I'm not a fan of first person shooter games, so I'm sure this makes more sense to someone who's actually played Black Ops.)
Jim: "It's probably better on softcore, but this is still pretty good."
Dorian: "No, there's not much difference. But there is no dick in softcore. Or penetration."

Jim: "OLE!...Dammit."
Dorian: "Sorry, you walked in front of me."
Jim: "Was that you who shot me?"
Dorian: "You walked in front of me."
Jim. "Sorry, I was matadoring."
Dorian: "Matadoring?"
Jim: "That's what I call fighting guys with shields."
Dorian: "Oh, that's pretty clever."
Jim: "That's why I was shouting 'Ole!' a lot the other night."
Dorian: "Ah, I just thought you were having a fit of some kind."
Jim: "Festive aneurisms!"

Jim: "I fight like I'm from the streets."
Dorian: "Jim, you are not 'from the streets,' you are white."
Jim: "I know...I fight like my dick. Hard, and accurate."
Dorian: "Accurate?"
Jim: "You know, that's what's important to women. Precision."

Dorian: "I'm like the Val Kilmer of this game, except I don't suck."
Jim: "I'm like the John Wayne of this game. Awkward."

(Dorian goes into the kitchen by himself. Jim and I hear him murmuring conversationally.)
Jim: "What is going on in there?"
Me: "I don't know. I'm trying to figure out if he's talking to someone, or not."
Jim: "I think I've established I'm the guy who talks to himself."
Me: "Dorian, you're muscling in on Jim's territory, stop that!"
Dorian, slightly louder: "...Deliberately, he ignored both of them..."
Jim: "He's self-narrating!"

Jim: "GodDAMMIT, these pistols are amazing!"
Dorian: "That's what she said?"
Jim: "No, my sentence structure was totally inappropriate."

Dorian: "I'm keeping it real, son."
Jim: "Oh, YOU'RE keeping it real?"
Dorian, as his character gets shot in the back: "...It's really all I can do."

Jim: "What's it called when you print and make your own money?"
Dorian: "Counterfieting."
Jim: "I wonder if those guys tip well."

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Beer Valkyrie

Dorian and I were happy to discover The West Wing has recently been added to Netflix. We'd only seen three seasons, so the chance to watch the show again led to a bit of a marathon yesterday. Of course, this did have an affect on Dorian's dreams.

"You're up ten points in exit polls...'Merica has spoken, you're sexy...No! Don't leave me to become President, the apartment is so expensive. (Wails) I'll have to live in a box!"
"I don't want to be President, sweetie."
"Ok, then, I'll be President, so we can live together...Jim can't be Press Secretary."
"He looks weird without a beard! All our friends need beards. We're like the gnomes of Appleton."
"I'll get the hats made up right away."
"Nope, can't, not enough blood."
"Wow, you're really taking this old school, aren't you?"
"Yeah, have to if you're the Presidents of Wisconsin...and...uh-huh, we can take Rhinelander, too...and uh...yeah, take Michigan, too, make it one big state. Take their people. Huh, then we could make the hats. I really, really want a beer."
"I think there's one in the fridge."
(Dorian sits up, opens eyes.) "WHO? REALLY?" (He grabs my head.) "You descended into my dream like a sweet, glorious Valkyrie of beer!"

Monday, January 21, 2013

Fezzes Are Cool

4:38 AM, Dorian rolls over and smacks the top of my head with his cupped hand, fingers splayed out like a catcher's mitt. He giggles. He giggles a lot.
Me: "Uh, what?"
Dorian: "You're wearing a fez!"

Saturday, January 19, 2013

Of course.

"Of course, we'll need the transportation recipient manager to intake the jewel encrusted pacifier in the buttocks."

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

In other news, I've discovered Akhim's not too old to enjoy a laser pointer.

"The hamburgers, pass me the hamburgers. We'll need to throw them at the woodpeckers. Muffle their beaks."

(Ahkim sneezes, Dorian stirs)
"Goddamn cat! He's a fascist!"
"No, he's not, love."
"Yeah, he's a cat."
"Yeah, he's a cat."
"No. Besides, self-interest kind of goes against the spirit of Communism."
"Sleeps all day."
"He's twenty-one. And a cat."
"Mom said to stop calling the cat a Nazi, remember?"

Friday, January 11, 2013

Dad's not the only one who can write poems about Dorian

Tomorrow is Cheesemas, the biggest (and best) of our made-up holidays. This morning, Dorian pinned me into the bed for what was supposed to be a short cuddle, then turned into him falling asleep with half his weight on me. Since I was waiting for our friend Scotti to arrive from out of town, I had my cell phone with me, and, when attempts to free myself proved fruitless, I started texting a poem to some friends.

Once he started talking, I worked the nonsense into the poem. The poem is below, the actual quotes below it.

(Yes, dad, the meter isn't perfect, I know.)

T'was the morn before Cheesemas, and all through the house,

The only sound that was sounding, the click of Dom's mouse.
Guest's shoes all arranged by the doorway with care
In hopes that Scotti (Lastname) soon would be there.

And Dorian in his slumber, and I in my cast,

Had just settled down for a short winter's nap
When up from the pillow there arose such a clatter
I reached for my notebook to record all his chatter.

"The bagels attack!" he exclaimed with dismay,
"We must return fire with the cream cheese array!"
"Fire latke torpedoes! Give them all that we have!"

That I had chosen this man, I was once again glad.

A handsome young man, so sweet and so kind
Sharing his nonsense, something he did not mind.
More mumbled than spoken, his sleep-words they came,
As he rolled over, and snored, and called out my name.

"Adom! I got you! Keep down, and make breakfast!
The bagels are coming, their attack can not last!
But could you order some pizza, I am quite hungry.
Get me sausage and cheese, and pepperoni."

And then, with a shuffling, I heard on the bed
A purring and pawing and bump of a head.
As I pulled away and was turning around
Up came Akhim with a geriatric bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his nose to his tail
And sat upon Dorian with a mewling wail.
He had not yet been fed, his bowl was empty!
It was clear to him who was delaying me.

Dorian, he stirred, and swatted away
The cat, who insisted he must start his day.
"Goway damn cat," he said without care
So my face was covered with feline derriere.

He was fuzzy, and bony, his foot on my nose
 Little furry tufts sticking out between his toes.
A stumble of Akhim and a twist of my head
Finally had the cat expelled from the bed.

Dorian spoke another word, which was "filibuster,"
And returned to his snoring, with a snort and a bluster.
And, laying his hand on top of my face,
Assured me that he was not asleep in this place.

I crawled from the bed, he gave a little moan

And I pulled myself into crutches, with nary a groan.
But I heard him exclaim, as I hobbled out of sight
"There's not enough latkes for all, this will be our last night!"

"! Savage bagels are attacking!...Fire the latke torpedoes! Adom, get down!...Yeah, we've got them. Not enough potatoes to eat, though. Can't survive a second wave."

"Hey, could you order pizza for breakfast? I'll have the Big Topper. Just put mine in the microwave...mmm, that's good pizza."

"Break the filibuster! No, I'm not asleep." *Drops hand over my face* "Snooze button."

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

Let's eat grandma!

I slipped on some ice at work yesterday, and, one trip to urgent care later, am in a leg immobilizer and on crutches for an indeterminate amount of time. Jim came over once we got home.

As he walked into the apartment, Jim greeted me with a smile and said, "Hey, Adom, so I hear from Dorian you hurt your leg things."
"What?" I responded.
"Yeah, he said you hurt 'your 'leg things.'"
Realizing that perhaps there had been a misunderstanding, I clarified. "Ligament. I tore a ligament."
Jim pulled out his phone and retrieved his text messages. "'Adom fell hurt leg things ok.'" He looked back up and grinned. "Punctuation is important."

Sunday, January 6, 2013

He finally let me mention ponies here

Dorian fell asleep on the couch while we were watching My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. Now, I've been a pony fan/collector since the 1980's, and was one of the numerous people delighted by the new TV show, but Dorian only watches the show because it's something pleasant to do together. That being said...

"Zzz...she's an evil enchantress, and she does evil dances, and if you look into her eyes, she will put you in trances. Then what will she do, she'll mix up an evil brew, and gobble you up in a big, tasty stew. out!..zzz..."


"Zzz...I got a leaf!"

"Ah!" Dorian sits up and looks around, alarmed. Gravely, he puts his hand on my shoulder. "Did we leave the pancakes out?"
"Uh, no."
"Were we robbed?"
"Okay, then." And, jabbing a finger into my forehead, he went back to sleep.

Seven Things

(Said in a very professional demeanor)
"There are seven things...There are six or seven things. I can't get you your foot back. What I can do is check out that doorway for you. It's not haunted."

Friday, January 4, 2013

Cuckoo Scoops

Dorian fell asleep while we were watching a movie. He then fell over on the couch, landing on the cat, turning Akhim into a warm, furry, moderately irritated pillow.

"That's okay, I don't need it. Just plug it back off."

"I love you."
"Two cuckoo scoops."
"...I love you very much."
"No spaghetti, thank you."

"Akhim's been very patient with you. You should know that."
"I've been very patient with him. Non-driving son of a bitch. I think cat development impairs very different...I don't know how this thing is done,, that's close, though."

"Did Jim have his mind made up for what flavor tomorrow is?"
"...Yes, it's all taken care of."
"What about the tray? If I didn't start it before, it would have been too much now."

"Don't, don't be the one to put on the turret without a splash guard!"

Thursday, January 3, 2013


We hope everyone had a very happy new year!

All of these were from last night. He also chided me a few times for giggling. I think it'll be obvious why. Apparently, too much D&D and Call of Duty make for, as Dorian put it this morning, "making my brain do weird things when I'm not paying attention."

Me: "So you don't like it when I [stroke your back in a particular fashion]?"
Dorian: "No, sometimes, it's really ticklish. Like vaginas."
Me: "What?"
Dorian: "Hunh? Oh, I fell asleep. What were we talking about?"

"Watch out for the pasta dragon. We need to feed it."

(I roll over to check to make sure my cell phone--which has my alarm--is in the room)
"No, don't leave me!"
"I'm not leaving you, I'm getting my phone."
(Dorian raises his hand) "I'm your phone."
"You're not my phone, sweetie."
(Distressed) "Yes, I am."
"Okay, you're my phone. I lo--" (Dorian drops his hand on my head)
"Call dropped!"

"Hey, who's got INT plus three?"

"OH DEAR GOD, IT'S A CAT IN A BOX!...No, don't grab that, it just makes a cat in a box. Boxes full of cats. I dunno, maybe it's a singleplayer thing."

"Someday, but he's not ready for the kukri."

"Don't worry about the salt pile, they'll just turn somebody away."

"It's like drifting with a Roman. It's not weird, just slightly gay."

"For we need possibly to mute the slug!"

"Nobody has aortas anymore...there's six of them. Don't worry about the pickled arrows, either."

"My love, I'm going to get up for a second, I'll be right back."
"Ugh...Okay." (I get up, and as I'm walking out of the room...) "Bring me a beer!"

"I love you. You took my pillow."
(Dorian rolls off my pillow, which he has again seized.)
"I love you, too, just don't get too comfortable with the pillows, 'cause they're all owned by Tiamat. See, I didn't take your pillow."

I return to bed. Dorian rolls over, throws his arm over me, and rests his mouth on my forehead. He begins humming the theme to Ducktales. At the end of the theme, he switches to some other song I don't recognize. Since there's no way I can get to sleep with a crazy man using my forehead like a digeridoo, I don't mind risking waking him up.
"Sweetie, what was that song?"
"What song?"
"The song you were just singing."
"I don't sing."
"The song you were just humming."
"I don't hum."
"You were just humming in your sleep, love. And talking."
(In a tone that suggests this is the most preposterous idea in the history of mankind) "I don't talk in my sleep!"