Feed the Beast.

Feed the beast (as found on UrbanDictionary): to send a high-maintenance partner a text message in order to keep them sweet and avoid them getting upset that you are ignoring them.
Similar to a feeding a tamagotchi, you send these texts to keep the relationship alive.
A: You coming to the pub mate?
B: Yeah, of course. One minute though, I just gotta feed the beast first.

I do this with Mike.  I don’t think feeding the beast is a bad thing and I will go way beyond texting in my efforts. I will feed that beast, stroke that beast, surprise that beast more than once a day with gratifications of an oral nature…whatever I need to do to keep that beast happy and our relationship alive.  Why?  Because I love him and he is a good man.  He deserves it.  This is not a one-sided gesture, either. Oh, no.  He feeds my beast all the time.
Even when he’s tired and doesn’t want too. 🙂

Take this weekend, for instance.  I am headed on a mini vacation with Sailor Girl and Young ‘n’ Sassy (I gotta come up with a better name).  There will be mountains.  There will be ocean.  There will be a drunk picture or two as well, I’m afraid.  The getaway is much needed and Mike was gracious enough to offer to watch the kids while I go.  He rocks my socks.  He is amazing and wonderful and everything that a man should be.
He taught me how to play Pai Gow poker a few weeks ago while his parents were in town for his oldest son’s graduation.  His mom loves the game and he knew that we would be playing it at one point.  Since I’m not much of a gambler and I hate having to count to 21, it’s pretty much perfect for me.  I can sit and drink for free, the game gets more fun the drunker you get, you can interact with other people, and if you can’t tell what cards you have because you’re seeing 14 of them instead of 7, the dealer and other players can actually help you.  I figure with my love of Asian food of all kinds, Buddha, giving massages with happy endings, and now Asian games, I’m that much closer to becoming an Asian.  Something tells me I won’t get any complaints about that.  My next vehicle will be a drift car.  Or a rickshaw.  I haven’t decided.
Things became more official with he and I over the weekend.  It was the next step in becoming officially official, say…in October of 2012.  It was a few months ahead of schedule, but what is a few months anyway?  I am happy about it, he is happy about it, the kids are happy about it.  It’s all good.  It’s even good when I start craving chocolate and become Medusa for a week or so every month, which in itself should seal the deal (that, and when he told me to think of all the tattoos I could get with the money we’d be saving).  Before we know it, this might be me!

I don’t fucking think so.

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