Doranosaurus Rex

"Want to go to the store with me and Jim?"
"No, I don't think Jim and I should run hoover helicopters together. I just have a bad feeling that...even as an adult, Gummi Bears never made sense to me."

"It's either that, or I'm a dinosaur."

"I know where unicorns and dragons come from. There's a star cluster in the Milky Way. And I also learned how to defeat Slenderman, through the power of Nate's dad is a badass. He really needs to stop telling me what to do, though. I will not take a nap!"







"Adom! Mary is eating squirrels! Stop her!"
(He claims he said, "Skittles," referring to the school program he works in that doesn't allow candy to be consumed during program, but I know what I heard.)

"The problem with Data is that the King Midas pillow isn't in him."

Let Slip the Dogs of War

"You must not retreat, retreating is for the weak. Seventy three out of seventy nine golden retrievers retreat in the first week of battle. If you want to win the war, you need the good stuff. That's why I support the use of dalmatians."

"Adom!"
"Yes, love?"
"Are we still married?"
"Yes, love."
"Good. Oh, snap, I'm storing the three little pigs in the trunk of the car in storage. Just FYI."

"You gotta make sure the old people have a house, too. Everyone needs a house. Did you find the information on the caterpillars you were looking for? It's for the house."

I...I think the cat just told you to fuck off.

Today, Dorian and I are home sick after eating some depraved chili.

Me, at the computer, sipping Pepto-Bismol like a martini.
Dorian, in the bathroom.
Akhim, at the bathroom door, wanting to get in (presumably to use his catbox).

Akhim: "Meow. Mew. Mew. Meeeooorr. Meee-owrrr. Arrowww. Rowr. Rowr. ROWR. ROWRRR. ARRROWRRR."
Dorian, muffled through door of bathroom: "Stop it."
Akhim: "Fffuuuuuurrrowwwwrrfff!"

(We did let Akhim in to do his business.)

* * *

"The wheat farm with the blue thing. Nope, can’t do it. Seven bowls and a half. All three with a moon."

"Who’s in charge? Don’t let him stop."

"I don’t know why, but you have to, and they’re seventeen different, and I don’t know why, but you have to…zzzzz…"

"The fishing net was the first thing I saw of an Avatar thing. They firebend and caught the queso in it. Too bad there were no druids. But then they got the druids and there were flaming swords. Cheetos."

And he is still not a Nazi

"There are people on the roof!"

Dorian: "Adom, we have a problem."
Me: "What's that, love?"
Dorian: "It's...it's my arm."
Me: "What's wrong?"
Dorian: "The man. It's the man. He...my arm...KAPLOW!" (Dorian drives his elbow outward, jamming it into my eye.)
Me: "OW! Jesus fuck!"
Dorian: "Got 'im."

"Have you seen my d20? I think the rabbit hid it in the percolator. Tell Roger to get the gun."

"Where's the cat? Honey, where's the cat? You didn't let him outside, did you? We live on the second floor!"
"He's fine. He's standing on you."
"Well tell him to get a job!"

 A quick moment to talk about Akhim.

We brought Akhim home July of last year. He was twenty something then. At the time, he was a very old, old cat, who had been living in a house with another cat, three dogs, and smokers, so it was not surprising that he spent most of his day sleeping and moved very slowly. The intention upon bringing him home was to give him a place where he could comfortably, quietly, pass away.

This is a picture of Akhim the day we brought him home:

Photo courtesy of our roommate, Matt

By now, you may be thinking this is a memorial post, or a "my kitty is dying" message. It is not. Because in the last year, I've become convinced the cat is aging backwards and should have been named Merlin.

This is a much more recent picture of Akhim:

Photo also courtesy of our roommate, Matt

He's put on weight, he grooms himself, he climbs on things, he tears across the apartment chasing things only he can see, he turns the faucet on, he sits on character sheets during gaming, he plays with Tootsie Pops (inexplicably, his favorite toy), he wakes us up in the morning by brushing his tail across my face and sitting on Dorian's, he steals food he has no business eating (pizza, lemon cookies, saltines, and anything involving fried potatoes), mingles at parties, tolerates grabby babies, demands cuddles, and--when we're sad--he mimics what he sees when Dorian and I kiss by tilting his head and bopping his nose to ours multiple times.

He wakes us up when the alarm goes off, but lets us sleep in on the weekends, he greets anyone who enters the apartment as a friend, he demonstrates he understands some English. When he wants your attention, he taps you on the shoulder.

I didn't like cats before Akhim. I'm allergic, I grew up around dogs, and most cats I'd been introduced to were generally jerks. It was a while before I stopped insisting that I liked Akhim, and since I liked him, clearly he was a phouka, not a cat.

But I'm pretty sure that objective studies would conclude that Akhim is the best cat to ever exist. Our cat is awesome.

Photo by Matt. I'm not sure why Akhim is so reflective in this. He doesn't look like that, and the photo on my machine doesn't look like that, either, but the upload's colors are much less saturated. Ah well, it's a cute photo.

King Pumpkin

(Dorian starts to doze off while eating corn chips)
"Dorian! You're falling asleep with food in your mouth. Stop that."
"Mmf?...I was...contemplating the corn."

Me, trying to get out of bed to feed Akhim: "I love you."
Dorian, rolling over in his sleep and seizing my pants: "I love you, pants demon!"

"They said they had the strobe lights, but I lied. Don't worry, I'll protect you. Tobacco is a local product, it can't be grown in Iceland."

"I'm trying to wake up, but...there's...I'm trying to figure out what's real..."
(Akhim climbs onto Dorian, settles down and sits on Dorian's rear end.)
"...There's a cat on my butt...there's...lidless, upside down Tupperware stretching all the way from me to forever...and I'm looking into the Tupperware and there's all these connections to things and I'm trying to figure out what connections to connections are real and what connections to the Tupperware aren't real and I'm waking up...I guess I don't have three arms...oh, good, the only thing that was real was the cat butt."

* * *

Years and years ago, when I was very young, my family took a trip to Door County during Pumpkinfest. There were pumpkins everywhere, including on fence posts. According to my father, while my mother and I were off doing something, some other person knocked one of these post pumpkins off its perch, and my father (quick reflexes that he has) kicked out at the last second and saved the pumpkin from smashing against the hard concrete below by catching it between his foot and shin, perfectly balanced.

My mother and I still insist we don't believe that this happened.

Anyway, Dorian has heard this story...

"Your dad is sitting on the king pumpkin."
"Okay."
"Great Pumpkin."
"Uh-huh."
"He caught it with his foot."

Bruce Campbell

"Batarangs...juicy, hip-soaked pieces of foam...they don't do any damage...it's not my fault."

"Adom."
"Yes, love?"
"Adom?"
"Yes?"
"I love you. You're very special to me."
"I love you, too."
"No, no, I have to say this, it's important. I love you very much and I'm gonna be with you forever, I promise. I don't care what the Appleton Police Department says, that salad shooter was worth more than sixty bucks."

This bit sounded like he was rapping, but I couldn't make out most of what he said. Sounds like he was talking about the economy? Wouldn't surprise me if that was the case.
"Price depreciation...(mutter mutter) anticipation...(mutter mutter) in-fl-ation...(mutter mutter) imagination..."

"Waitaminute, you're not...you're not a centaur at all! Bullshit."

"Akhim ate a tube of lipstick but he refused to go to the bathroom and lie down."

"It can't be...Bruce Campbell is...traveling to other worlds, and stuff."

"One trick, sweet, is to do three or four sides and then rotate them...See? Very useful. And nice looking."

"If he wants to remain true to his thing...I have bad news, it seems your fucking guys forgot the flint and steel, so they'll have to hang out there and hope for the best."

Random Historical Facts With Dorian

Note: This was said very loudly and clearly, in such a matter-of-fact tone that I thought he was awake.

"That's right! The ancient Egyptians thought that the brain just made mucus."

A Cat Named Bacon

Hello again!

So Dorian and I finally had our legal, official wedding last month (and I'm finally getting around to catching up on this), and I wanted to start off by sharing something from that. We got married out of town, and arrived a day earlier than we had the hotel room reserved. Fortunately, we have lots of friends and family there, and my close-friend-like-a-sister Sascha and her roommate Veronica (who is also a close friend) let us crash at their place for the night.

They have two cats: Sascha's is an enormous gray Maine Coon that may or may not have some bobcat in him named Spike. Veronica's is a shorthair tabby that was a mangy, skinny, flea-infested kitten at adoption. Because of the cat's appearance back then, Veronica named her "Bacon." (Bacon is a very healthy looking, slightly round, cat now.)

So Bacon woke up in the morning around six. I woke up around six thirty. Dorian was still sleeping at seven. I'm not sure what Bacon thought of the two people lying out on the futon in the living room, but she apparently wanted us up, and so shuffled over next to the futon and  began meowing loudly. This was just enough to rouse Dorian, but not wake him up.

He rolled over, pointed an accusing finger at Bacon, and, his fingertip an inch away from Bacon's nose, shouted, "YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT, DO YOU?"

This stunned Bacon into confused silence. Dorian grunted in satisfaction, and began to snore contentedly again.

And now for quotes that don't require context:

"Sweetie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make everyone gay narwhals."

"Coconuts. Coconut jam. Stick that up the calibrator. Boom!"

"Did everyone feed the giraffes? Are they still in their cage?...Oh, good, they can't come in...ceiling's too low."

Dorian: "Adom."
Me: "Mmmf."
Dorian: "We need to get more expendible friends. We're running out."
Me: 0.o

(Said in a cool, matter-of-fact tone) "There are scorpions dancing on my face. Please remove them."

"I didn't know about the orangutangs!"

Dorian: "Adom."
Me: "Uh?"
Dorian: "Adom."
Me: "What?"
Dorian: (Beatboxes, squirms rhythmically.)

Ganondorf

"Would you say that there is a brown tie...floating in water?"

"For your cake, you should make a nativity scene with Mary and Joseph and the three wise men all holding forks and knives."

"Don't believe in him...just don't...he's not Ganondorf...Ganondorf...Dannongorf..."

"Um. Why don't you have it on the shuffleboard court? Hmm?"
"Uh...it's raining."
"Ah. Hmm. Handjobs it is."

Lemon Pepper Jelly

Sometimes, when Dorian sleep talks, it seems his (considerable) vocabulary is set on "word salad." Tonight, as he fell asleep on the couch, was one of those times.

Dorian: "I got them to stop using the two liters. Now they're using parts of some guy named Logan.  The kids were...nonplussed...lunar...you don't have to be surprised when we get home...Adom, I figured it out...how you can be robust in public...pay taxes to the black guy...he took all the cashews. I'd do the same, come to think of it...Lemon pepper...jelly...Morocco...Adom, don't, I'm not, I'm not, I'm not, I'm not done. Don't listen to that fool, Adom! Gamestop is bad, no free tacos...ever. When you're out on the bridge with your friend, you don't turn on the weather, right? No good. Not nearly enough tartar sauce...Got to let 'em tie it. Does the name Lord Dunsany mean anything to you?...Dun-saney. Lovecraft read Dun-saney. That's where that name comes from. Ok, mystery solved. I can have a bit of wine, now..."
(He stirs and realizes he's fallen asleep on the couch.)
Dorian: "I think I'll go to bed, now..."
(He drifts off again, and startles awake, alarmed, a moment later.)
Dorian: "Uh! Do we have figs?"
Me: "Um, no."
Dorian: "Ok, then, I'll just go to bed."
(He falls asleep again, and the song on my early music Pandora station changes. He awakens again, startled.)
Me: "You okay, sweetie?"
Dorian: "Yeah, fuck flutes, dude. This flute song is incongruous with my idea of a brat."

What?

"I'm thinking about chickens with...math things."

"Sweetie...Adom..."
"Yes, love?"
"...Bananimals."

He also slept for a while in the "Child Pose" position

Dorian hurt his back at Dagorhir practice today, so he lounged out on the living room floor, and, eventually, inevitably, fell asleep there. At one point, he sat up, but fell asleep again, and Akhim walked over to see what the hell he was doing.
"Sweetie."
"Uh?"
"Sweetie!"
"Uh."
"Dorian. Dorian. DORIAN!"
"Uhhh."
"Logus!" (Dorian's Dagorhir character name.) "DORIAN!"
"Uuuh...what?"
(As Akhim climbs into Dorian's lap.) "I didn't want you to get spooked by the cat."
(Falling back to sleep.) "Oh...he's a cannibal, you know."
"It's about seventeen feet tall, with seven legs...don't talk about your pregnancy, Java."

"Nope! You lose your armor!" (Swings his arm repeatedly, as though holding a sword.)

"See, now you have to consider, what about you're on the roof?" (Pushes someone or something, waves, and giggles.) "It flies! Whee!"

"If I were Batman, I'd sneak into people's houses and clean their bathroom mirrors. And that'd be the first thing they saw in the morning. They'd be like, 'oh, shit, this place is clean, what else happened?' and I'd be like, 'BAM! Took your couch!'"

The Bed

Ragnarok was last week, and so Dorian and I spent the week camping. Dorian, having served in the military, has a much greater commitment to Spartan living and minimalist camping than I do. Furthermore, the week leading up to Rag (and throughout most of Rag itself), I was very, very sick, and wasn't able to contribute much to the packing venture.

So let me tell you about our bed.

Our bed at Rag this year was a thick 5x6 floor rug, upon which was laid two layers of polar fleece. I had a pillow, because I insisted upon it, but Dorian used folded up clothes. This was a very economical use of packing space, but also incredibly, incredibly uncomfortable. And also far too small for two people who are not what you might call "lithe."

As I was ill, I frequently had to sit up in the middle of the night to accommodate a coughing fit. Each and every time I did, Dorian would sense there was suddenly more room in the bed, and roll over to take advantage of it. One can hardly blame him for wanting to be comfortable, but that's how this conversation ended up taking place:

"Dorian, you took my part of the bed again."
He continued to sleep. "Uhhng...no, I didn't."
"Yes, you did, love. Could you please move?"
"I didn't! See, I'm on the edge," he said, still not rousing.
At this point, Dorian reached to the right and tapped his hand against the edge of the rug...then did the same with his other hand, on the left hand side.
"You're on both edges, sweetie. I need some space."
"Uuuhhhhhhnnnnhhh...."

This continued like this for a while, until I just grabbed my pillow and laid down on top of my cloak, which had until this point been pulling double duty as my blanket. After a while, I was able to fall asleep again.

Until Dorian elbowed me in the eye.

"Ow! Dorian! That was my eyeball!"
"I need the pillow!" He shouted, wedging his arm in under my head as I sat up. "My arm will break!"
"...What."
"My arm's breaking," he insisted in his sleep, stretching his arm out over my pillow, his face buried in his cloak, which served as his pillow that evening. Sighing in irritation, I attempted to move his arm. "No! Don't! You'll break it!"
"For fuck's...Could you please move your arm."
"Can't, it'll break if I don't elevate it."

I waited a moment, then tried to lie down with my head on top of his arm--one of our cuddling positions, something I was reasonably certain he wouldn't object to.

"Noooo! Your hair will break my arm!"

And that's when I shook him awake.

We have agreed that a more serviceable bed is required for next year.



The rest are just random quotes from the week:

"It had eight months of banana, but the caltrops were too much for the raquetball administration."

"William's got to get the fire going, if he doesn't, the spoons will go hungry...he's got this...he's got this."

"Hmm. I love you."
"I love you, too."
"What time is pants?"
"...One o'clock."
"Hm...I have to...zzz..."

"There is just too much bacon...going to have to make bacon lamps."

(Long, angry groan) "I'm hot to trot."

"One brain bubble. Gotta fix. TV fix. Brain fix."

Living Room

"...living room."
"Uh? What?"
"There's a yakuza in the living room."

Covered in Bears

Our schedules finally synched up last night.

"Vegetable sprouts, bitches."

"I love you, but don't carve that in bacon, yet."
"Uh, why?"
"Jim. Bacon eater."

"What?...No, I don't have pants on fire!"

"I love you, except for one thing."
"What's that?"
(Alarmed) "You're covered in bears!"

"Uh? What? Adom?"
"Yes, love?"
"Can I have some water?"
"Sure."
"Bring it in my gray cup."
"Ok."
(Falls asleep.) "Y'...y'know why?"
"No, why?"
"Because it's the One Ring of cups. The Rick James of cups."

"There are no problems on the space station that can't be solved by drop kicking...This is a drop kick house."

(Dorian grabs my chest.)
Dorian: "Hm. I've found a D-class planet."
Me, dryly: "Yes. Double D, at that."
Dorian: "Hmm. Uninhabitable. I think I need to terraform it. With my penis."
Me: *Horrified look*
(Oh, yeah, can't wait until my father reads this entry.)

"This is full of balloons. Not like a Bajoran. Which is full of boring."

"Cute like a mouse. A little mouse...." A moment, passes, and in a very high, cute voice, he says: "Squeak!"

"Put the wig on. Get into the flying box."

I'm not sure what to think of this one. All of the implications are troubling.
(Rolls over, grabs my butt.) "Hm. Not Jim. Jim isn't mostly in Pennsylvania."

Me: "Sweetie--"
Dorian: "No! I'm reading it right now. I have to ship these orders out for movement! I'm doing it now!"
(Akhim, who has not yet been fed, mewls at the foot of the bed.)
Me: "I gotta go feed the fuzzbutt."
Dorian: "He's just pissed because he's no longer a solid."
Me: "What was he before? A gas?" (He shakes his head.) "A liquid?" (Head shake.) "Plasma?"
Dorian: "A Founder! Like Odo."
Me: "...You really have been watching too much Star Trek lately."
Dorian: "...Fire photon torpedoes."

Brimstone

Dorian talks the most in his sleep just before he wakes up, and work has had us at divergent sleep schedules the last few weeks. But I do have an update for you!

"You just wait until you get to the...flippy thing. Then you'll see."

"You really need to take into consideration just how much bacon it can withstand."

"Ravus? No, not Ravus. Can't be Ravus. He doesn't smell of brimstone."

Soggy Tacos

Nothing from Dorian this time. This is a sequence from a Facebook exchange between two of my Dagorhir friends, Kotaro and Tumbark. (With their permission, of course.)

Kotaro: “True, but who would have expected Dolph 'I must break you' Lundgren to have a Masters in a totally scientific discipline?”

Tumbark: “I would”

Kotaro: “You expect baboons to bring you pizza when you speak the right incantation.”

Tumbark: “Guess who's NOT getting delicious pizza brought by a baboon next time?”

Kotaro: “Baboon pizzas are so last year. I get my tacos delivered by phoenix now.”

Tumbark: “pfff... phoenix tacos... they burn the darn thing before you get it. Not to mention they might just take a while to be born again and then? Yup burnt and soggy tacos.”

Kotaro: “I like my tacos crispy.”

Tumbark: “... and you just walked into that one... giggity”

Kotaro: “I stand by my statement.”

And who puts a counselor on the bridge?

I think I've figured out the sign in issue!

This post will likely make little sense if you haven't seen Encounter At Farpoint or are totally unfamiliar with Star Trek.

Dorian and I sat down this evening to watch Star Trek: The Next Generation. It's worth noting Dorian really doesn't care for the Trek franchise (the DVDs are mine), and had never seen the first episode. Naturally, he repeatedly fell asleep. Watching him try to make sense of  the slices of episode he caught was hilarious.

(Before falling asleep)
"Is that guy not wearing pants?"
"He's in a dress."
"Just walking around? Why?"
"Because these are modern times."
"Huh?"
"Gene Roddenberry figured that in the future, people would no longer care if someone was gay, lesbian, or trans."
"No one else is in a dress."
"Yeah, they are. Look, she is."
"Ok. In the first show, all women wore dresses. And later on, they switched to everyone wearing the same thing."
"Yeah. Because it actually became modern times."

"Wha? They were just in a trial...why are there woods? I missed...I missed everything. Who's that guy?"
"It's okay, sweetie. You missed, like, an episode. Want me to go back to where you were?"
"No. I'll have to get it again later, anyway. Who the fuck is that guy?"
"That's William Riker. He's the first offi--"
"Zzzz..."
(A few minutes pass)
"...What? Huh? No! Wait, who the fuck is that guy?"
"That's William Riker, the firs--"
"Zzzz...Whuh? Ah! Who the fuck is that guy?"
"...Riker, first officer."
"And the wet twerp?"
"Wesley Crusher. Whil Wheaton."
"Fuck that guy."
"Yeah, that's what a lot of people said."
"Zzzz...who...the fuck...is that guy..."
(I can't wait until he starts falling asleep between beard phases.)

Later in the episode, the away team is poking around under Farpoint Station, and the resident empath "turns on" her abilities and describes--in the kind of over simplified, limited vocabulary that makes one wonder how the hell she got a certification as ship's counselor that for reasons beyond my ken the writers kept sticking into the character's dialogue--and Dorian keyed in to some of the words.

(Deanna Troi says something akin to "Pain, terrible loneliness, sorrow, more pain!")
"Oh no! No! Run away! Get the ice packs!"

And then he fell asleep for good.

"Attacked by a source...I stole the limo. Rub all the holodecks."


"...Later on, they find out Data doesn't know what the fuck he is doing."

"Dress guy is just everywhere. Just walking around. Look at him go! Places to be."

"I love you...I'll show you the Fava Technique."

(Dorian bellows a shockingly loud, impressively extended moan not unlike that of a zombie. I'm unsure how he slept through his own noise.) "...That's why you don't let Akhim eat the peas."

"What? No, he doesn't eat meat...Okay, that's not a tree, then. He doesn't usually eat meat."

"You don't, you don't, you don't, you don't, you don't, you don't, you don't, you don't need....um....zzz..."


(Distressed) "Aaaaaddoooommm!"
"Yes, love? It's okay, I'm right here."
(Satisfied) "Tacos."

Good Kitty

One of the little things Dorian and I "argue" about is how much Akhim has become "my cat," when Dorian was the one who raised him. Akhim follows me around the house, sits on whatever part of me is available if I'm stationary too long, sleeps curled up against me every night (and goes to bed with me), and comes when I call his name. He's also a ridiculously intelligent cat, and many of our friends have joked that he's more person than cat, or that he clearly understands English.

"Sweetie, it's time to get up."
"You and what army?"
(Akhim walks into the room.) "Uh...this one. Akhim, help me wake up daddy."
(Akhim jumps onto the bed.) "He won't do it. He fears my power."
"Akhim, wake up daddy."
(Akhim jumps onto Dorian's back, proceeds to walk all over it and tickle his face with his whiskers.)
"Akhim, you are an embarrassment to the entire Bolshoi Theatre."

The Sandwiches are Groovy

I have to apologize for not updating this more often than I have. The email account I had connected with this blog was compromised, and, long story short, I had to create a new account to connect to the blog, which for reasons beyond my understanding, doesn't always allow me to log in.

Anyway, here's some gems from the last couple of weeks:

"Minus the caterers, you still have the muffins...just take it out of the bar tab."

Dorian: "Did you find your keys?"
Me: "No, I'm about to look for them."
Dorian: "Did you check inside the keys?"
Me: "Did I look inside the keys for the keys?"
Dorian: "Yes."
Me: "No, I did not."
Dorian: "Well, no wonder you haven't found them yet."

"Yeah, yeah, just pour the mustard directly over me...no, that's too much."

Dorian: "Whaa? No! Is it my fault?"
Me: "No, it's okay, it's just a thing that happens sometimes."
Dorian: "Oh, and what about...butt-er-fly?"
Me: "...That's fine, too."

"...And the sandwiches are groovy."

(Dorian snores, partially wakes up from the noise)
"God, why do my snores sound like two chainsaws fucking?" (Makes chainsaw noises with his mouth, accompanied by enthusiastic pelvic thrusts.) "Rrrarrrr! Rrrrrrr! RRRRRananananananarrr!"

Huh?

"When I try to make a fully peaceful and a completely war society, the war city will be on a timer...so it's like as soon as the region grows, the army automatically...what you have to understand is that it's very...did you get that taken care of, already, or is there more?"

Tastes Like Chicken

"Cockatrices!...The whole basement is full of cockatrices. What should we do?...Jim!...JIM!.. (literally shouting) .JIM!...Yeah,  they would taste like chicken...Barbeque sauce? No, need some Tapatio...We're out? Ok, yeah, I guess we could use barbeque sauce...What kind?...No, that's no good...No...Jim, your taste in barbeque sauce is...No...What, a rake? What is this shit, Harvest Moon?"

(Us, in bed, snuggling. Dorian has fallen asleep. I cough, very quietly.)
Dorian: "Shh."
(A few minutes go by. I cough again.)
Dorian: "Mmf. Shh! That's two."

Ghetto Bandages

*Akhim jumps up onto the table*
Dorian: "Akhim, what in the buttery cat hell do you think you're doing?"
*Akhim steps onto a chair, sits, looks at Dorian*
Dorian: "That's what I fucking thought."

Last night:

"What? No, not the Cheese Whiz. No, tell it to the other packaging."

"Huh? I don't think I did it! Did I?"

"Ghetto bandages...on the...face...marsupials."

Happy Overpass!

Dorian made a lovely dinner for us tonight--pork ribs, gravy, and stuffing. As he sat down and took his first bite:

Dorian: "Oh, shit! Do you know what today is?"
Me, alarmed: "No, what?"
Dorian: "It's one of the last days of Passover. And I'm...eating pork cooked in butter and milk, with bread stuffing."
Me: "You have failed as a Jew."
Dorian: "Actually, I think I'm winning, because this is delicious!"

Lust of the Mohicans

"I don't have a crush on Daniel Day-Lewis. I have the exact amount of affection appropriate for someone as awesome and amazing as Daniel Day-Lewis existing in this universe."

The Ducks Are Nigh

"Well, he should stop being a sparkly gay unicorn, then!" (This was said with great indignation, with nothing said before or after to provide a hint as to what the hell he was talking about.)

"Zzzz...Adom! They're not playing the game right."
"Uh? Who?"
(With deep offense) "The Dutch."
(Wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep.) "Well, tell them to stop it."
"I can't!"
"Why not?"
"Because I don't speak Dutch. Duh."
"Okay, well, tell Jim to tell them, then." (I assume that Dorian's sleep logic will be satisfied with Jim's Dutch heritage, and we can move on.)
"Jim won't work."
"Why?"
"Because he doesn't speak Dutch, either. Get it together, Adom."

"I have the basket! It's in the bag. And it's full of fishes!"

"Hitler didn't use guns, that's an urban myth. The Nazis, they fired ducks...Quack, quack...semi-auto ducks, quacka-quacka-quacka. It's all a conspiracy to keep people from knowing about how dangerous the ducks are...Dammit, Jim, I've had just about enough of your racism! The ducks are nigh."

(Jim is, for the record, not a racist. He and Dorian tease each other by accusing the other of horrible things he'd never do. It makes for interesting first impressions when they forget to turn it off around new people.)

Troy

"No, Keebler, you're not a Moose Elf. Those guys fuck trees. We keep it classy in this bitch."

Last night, Dorian woke up suddenly.
"Zzz--snort! Whuh? What? Dammit, I slept through the entire Trojan war."

While Dorian and Jim were playing Black Ops the other day:

Jim: "The scientific method is crucial to my lovemaking technique. You can laugh, but I'm totally serious. It gets results."

Jim: "I'm going to be all over you. Like my glorious, glorious handjobs."
Dorian: "Jim."
Jim: "Yeah?"
Dorian: "Shut the fuck up."

Camel Luger

"The camel luger...he's the Olympic luge champion...but he's an asshole, you gotta watch out for him...him and the rest of his team...too many humps to be trustworthy."

"Go get him, Pizza Man!...NO, DON'T DO IT, PIZZA MAN!"

Yes, Oostburg is a real place.

"Well, the good news is, if I come across a hydra, I will fight it for you. It's your fault. You're all like, 'Let's hang out in Oostburg,' and I'm all like, 'Hell no!'and you're all like, 'C'mon,' and I'm all, 'dammit.' I was not at all surprised to discover there's a hydra in Oostburg. Fortunately, I know all I have to do is cut off its head...well, damn."

I can't even remember what the joke was, now.

(I tell a joke, badly.)
Dorian: "You totally ruined that delivery. You're like the Vlastic Pickle stork."

Colander

Dorian has not been feeling well the last month or so (hence the lack of updates), but here's one from last night:

(Angrily) "Well tell him he's going to have to pay full price if he wants the colander...asshole."

Pillow Talk

Why yes, we are still alive!

"Adom. Knock, knock."
"Ugh?"
"Knock, knock."
"Who's...who's there?"
"Ostrich."
"Ostrich, who?"
"Ostrich pistachios!" (Giggles)
(I raise an eyebrow at the non sequitor, and close my eyes again after a moment.)
"Knock, knock."
"Ugh, no." (With this, I roll over and try to go back to sleep.)
"Knock, knock...Adom! Adom!"
"Uh?"
"Knock, knock."
(Annoyed, and a bit too loudly) "Ugh, who's there?!"
(Dorian wakes up) "Hnuh? Adom, stop it."
"Stop what?"
"Telling knock knock jokes. You woke me up."

"Adom..."
"Yes?"
"Your boobs smell like pierogi."
(Extremely confused) "Um...I'm sorry?"
"No, it is awesome."

"You're sweet like ant poison."

'Cause I'm baked...not...fried?

"TELL HIM TO MAKE AN APPOINTMENT!"

"I am going to sleep. I am walking down the street right now. Just need to sequester the zebras."

(sings) "I love the fishes, 'cause they're so delicious! Gotta go fishin'...now replace 'fish' with 'Adom."

*Akim climbs on top of Dorian, sits*
"Tzar cat, taking all the mustard. Bastard...need it for the sandwich!"

Swarm of Umlauts

"Federal deficit...fuckers."

"Let's go to bed."
"That's what I did."
"No, you're on the couch."
"No, it's got the bear."

"Swarm of...umlauts."

Why haven't I thought of this before?

"Dorian, wake up."
"Muuuh."
"Dorian, wake up."
"Muuuh."
"Dorian, wake up."
"Mmmpf!"
"Dorian, the narwhal is on fire!"
(He sits up) "What? Get him back in the ocean!...Wait, what?"

Must have been some sandwich.

"There's seven...you have seven...it'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."
"Dorian--"
"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?"
"Yep."
"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?"
"Sure."

Hippo

"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!"
"Wha?"
"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!"
"Uh?"
"Someone took my towels!"
(I toss a bit of blanket over Dorian's upper body.)
"Mmm...towel."

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."
"No."
"Make a mean face."
"No."
"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."

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."
"Troubadour."
"I got it."
"Na-bis-co."

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."

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."
"Why?"
"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!"

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!"

Of course.

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

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."
"Self-interested."
"Yeah, he's a cat."
"Lazy."
"Yeah, he's a cat."
"Illiterate."
"Cat."
"Communist."
"No. Besides, self-interest kind of goes against the spirit of Communism."
"Sleeps all day."
"He's twenty-one. And a cat."
"Nazi."
"Mom said to stop calling the cat a Nazi, remember?"
"...Bacon."

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!"

"No...no! 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."

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."

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. So...watch out!..zzz..."

Also:

"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?"
"No."
"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."

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, but...gaaahhhhh...no, 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!"

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!"