Santa came early this year. And ho-ho-ho, he brought me a ginormous package. Meaning: The Baconator's. But that’s not why I dig him so much. As he said the other night, “Sex should be the perk of the relationship.” And it is. What I love about The Baconator is that his heart is as big as that *other* part of his anatomy (I’m trying to polite. It’s the Lord’s day after all.) The Baconator keeps in touch everyday. He cooks for me. He makes me laugh with tickling attacks. He gives me thoughtful gifts, like Jazz apples, Dove Promises and windshield scrapers (you’d have to live in MN to truly appreciate that last one). He always asks that I let him know when I get home safe at night.
What’s transpired over the past two weeks hasn’t been a crazy this-is-happening-so-fast-I-can’t-breathe affair. It’s a steadily building bonfire of attraction. It feels natural. And safe. And 100% drama-free. Sometimes we go out. Sometimes we stay in. We eat fantastic food, we talk a lot, we fuck like rabbits. Does that sound simple? It is. But with The Baconator, simple is not the least bit boring.
I know I’m in a healthy relationship when everything else in my life just falls into place. I sleep better, I eat better, I take care of business better and I have more energy than ever. A good partner should bring out the best version of yourself. The Baconator has done that for me.
This is where my BIG NEWS was supposed to go. Because what I wanted to share with you all is in limbo, let’s just say that an opportunity arose (and no, it wasn’t sex-related) and I jumped on it (No pun intended...though jumping on beds never fails to make me giddy).
This new endeavor would require an incredible amount of work. I was looking forward to it. I like being busy (in addition to getting busy).
The Baconator was the first person I told about the big news and last week, over one of our co-created kick-ass recipes, he and I discussed the future of the Man Eater blog. To my surprise, The Baconator was the one advocating for me continuing to write. I was the one enumerating the reasons to stop.
“What you write about might have to change, but you shouldn’t stop. The blog is what keeps you going," The Baconator insisted between bites of what we dubbed Stir-Fry-Or-Something-Like-It.
"True..." I said. "But aren’t you afraid I’ll write about you?"
"I don't mind if you do."
“Everybody says that in the beginning,” I sighed.
“And then they turn into jerks, right? I already told you: I’m going to be different.”
Dare I say I believed him? If everything else that’s transpired thus far (great sex, creative dates, unconditional acceptance, little gestures that make me melt), then this was going to be different from anything I’d ever experienced before. And because I wanted it to be different, I decided the blog would have to end. For once, keeping our most intimate moments private was more important to me than entertaining my readers.
Everything was on the upschwing (err…I mean "upswing") as I mentally prepared myself to wrap up this blog by the end of the year. Then, last night, as I was leaving for my Christmas Eve Eve date with The Baconator, that fateful phone call came and my world came crashing down.
At first I thought, Guh-reat timing! Now I’m going to show up on my date and start bawling! (Which is not conducive to balling, natch.) Then I arrived at The Baconator’s, where, enveloped in his embrace, I felt completely comfortable letting go. I cried. And as I did, he held me tighter and reassured me that everything happens for a reason. I realized there was no better time to have received bad news than right before getting together with The Baconator.
Within minutes, The Baconator had me giggling through the tears. Afterwards, he took me out for what can only be described as a foodie’s dream date. (The deets are in my next post.) At the end of the evening as we cuddled naked in bed, he said, “What are you thinking?”
I nuzzled my face into his fuzzy cheek and said, "That I really, really like you."
Understatement of the century. Confession: I’ve fallen. And I don’t want to get up. I’m very happy prostrate, head over heels. I couldn’t ask for anything more from Santa than this.
Want to know what I’m giving The Baconator for Christmas? Can you keep a secret? (Just kidding, I already let it slip.) It’s something I haven’t given any man in years: a sleepover...plus breakfast. (The few sleepovers I've had this year were hump-and-runs. No lingering in bed the morning after.) There’s just one condition that must be met beforehand…which we have yet to discuss… (Cue "Honey? We need to talk...")
As for the future of this blog…I don’t know what to tell you, dear addicted readers of mine. I have a few straggler posts and plenty of oldies-but-goodies to keep you entertained until Man Eater calls it quits...and Erica Rivera embarks on a whole new chapter...
As for eats, Santa deserves something spectacular for giving me such a big package this year. What better edible metaphor than a big hole (err...I mean "wreath")? Made from Rice Krispies treats, this dessert is hassle-free, super sweet, and topped with red hots for a spicy bite. And yes, you still have time to make one before Old Saint Nick slides down your chimney (heh heh) tonight!
Wishing you all a very sexxxy xmas!
MERRY XXXMAS WREATH
Ingredients
3 tablespoons butter
4 cups mini marshmallows
6 cups Rice Krispies cereal
1 can green icing
¼ cup red hots
Method
• Melt butter and marshmallows in microwaveable bowl for 1 minute (or heat in saucepan over low heat on stove until melted).
• Stir in Rice Krispies cereal. Coat evenly with marshmallow mix.
• Immediately shape Rice Krispies into wreath shape on waxed paper. Let cool, then freeze until firm.
• About an hour before serving, remove wreath from fridge and decorate with icing and red hots.
• Serve, then unwrap his package before the sugar puts him to sleep!
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