The NERVE of Some People.

I was standing in line at a gas station this morning, waiting to pay for gas, when I felt like someone was standing way too close to me.
I hate those kind of people...the ones that stand right up your ass in line, like we're a bunch of kids in the lunchroom and someone might come and cut in front of you if you leave too much of a space between yourself and another person.  I turned my head to glare at said no-space-giver and as I did my face was literally met with his.  An older gentleman's fucking face was practically all up in my neck.  As I turned, he caught a glimpse of my chest tattoo and said how nice it was.  "It's beautiful work. Did you get it done here in town?"

I was in the middle of saying thank you and telling him where I get my work done, when he started circling me and inspecting me like I was a display at a gallery.  He pondered over each piece...studying it.  At this point, I'm just keeping my eyes forward.  I could feel my cheeks getting red and I just wanted to push him.  Seriously...what the hell was taking the guy at the register so long?! It felt like the longest line on Earth and there were only 2 people ahead of me.

Then no-space-giver spoke. I guess he could see the look of disgust on my face or something.

"It's ok. I tattoo."

Like this is supposed to make me feel more comfortable about him being all up on me.  Really.

So, if some random dude in a bar starts pawing at my boobs with one hand and sticks his hand in my hoo-ha with the other, then tells me, "It's ok. I'm a gynecologist." I shouldn't be worried? Or freaked out in the least bit?

I felt yucky.  He did step back when I obviously wasn't going to engage in conversation and told me to take care of myself as I walked out the door.  Oh, I'll take care of myself, mister.  Especially with weirdos like you walking around this city.  Fuck.

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.