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!"