While helping me with studies, HB has been assisting by quizzing me on the IPA chart vowel quadrilateral.

HB: It sounds  like some French guy being tickled in weird places.

I was going to post something about something he said about having to shave his moustache. Which I agree with you. It's a total tragedy. But then our conversation went this way

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Me: This is a nice song.

Me:  KT Tundstall - Heal Over

HB: I think I know this one. I liked that first big album for a while.

Me: It was the last track on it I think.

Me: This song fulfilled the role of a boyfriend when I didn’t have one.

Me: I would wrap myself up in it when I was sad.

Me: Like a fuzzy blanket

HB: Oh, sweetie…

Me: I like songs that don’t lie to you about shitty stuff.

HB: I want to be your fuzzy blanket. 

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Needless to say I'm all verklempt. 

Adorable crap volume one.

So my dude and I have been together for almost three months. (It will be 3 months on Sept. 22) So I need an outlet for me to squeee about him else I will probably drive all my friends away... permanently. So without further adieu... this conversation happened tonight:

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Me:     Hey can you do me a favor real quick?

Can you go ahead and read "Discriminability, response bias, and phoneme categories in discrimination of voice onset time" and then write a response paragraph? kthx

HB:     Discriminability, arguably the most sirious of miniabilities, can only be applied to phonemes of three distinct categories. The first, only relevant for its persuasive assent to vocal anomalies, will be disregarded outright. The second, only of particular value at given solar times, will be spoken of with greater reverence by other writers. The third is shit.

Later:

Me:     Dan[my roommate]'s friend Tony is here and I told him that you and I are having fertility issues.

But that we were keeping our chins up and continuing to try.

HB:     Well, my snoring has been known to induce miscarriages.

Me:     Not anymore.

As soon as you got them doing the right thing on your back the snoring calmed way down

HB:     Sweet. Now we can have a baby! Maybe with a nice pino grigio.

Me:     fava beans?

HB:     Sure. My crockpot fits 7 quarts. How many quarts in a baby?

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Can you understand why I'm a total fucking mess over this boy? He gets me.