Woo-oo!

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!"