But you can't touch boobs by phone!

Like yin and yang or chocolate-chip morsels and spoonfuls of peanut butter — for every good, there is a negative. What’s so negative about the latter? Caloric intake, people. And I’m trying to curb my emotional eating.

We’re meeting again to continue our talk about long-distance relationships. Today: cons.

As most would predict, you cannot gauge one LDR by another - as differing personalities and values make for different relationships, just the same as a handsome-man-with-brown-hair-and-brown-eyes is not akin to the doppelganger to his left.

Obviously if you allow jealousy to rear its ugly green head, it will control your thoughts, emotions, heart and possibly even prompt an evil use of your vagina. I am happily of the non-jealous breed. I truly wouldn’t be able to handle yet another throw-away emotion in my arsenal where with social anxiety, fear of ladders and severe impatience impeding already on my daily activities. And if it makes any sense, I am non-jealous to the point of being overly perverse.

The hardest part for myself is loneliness. It could be as mild as the need for a body-length pillow for comfort or as major as a comfort for pillowed-lengths of bodies. But feeling lonely can be severe. In a lot of people, loneliness can equal pain. Pain, as I see it in that reference, can be unbearable. And then that pain gives us fear and disdain that relationships can even thrive under such circumstances. It’s also a different feeling of loneliness — one very unlike when you don’t have someone in your life, which leads to a depressive spiral. I believe that encountering loneliness while in a normal relationship far outweighs that of an LDR. And as the title of this post suggests, distrust is lonelier than loneliness.

Trust is an essential element to LDR relationships. So many relationships rarely have even that on which to base itself, which makes dating sometimes a sad position to be. We’ve all been burned — I have even admitted to jadedness. But you can’t go on through life and love thinking every thing with a penis has his a unique set of boobs in six states. And to be brutally frank, I wouldn’t even want to know who is touching you where. OK, maybe I do, but you need to put on your dirty voice.

When you care about someone, you need not only reach them, but touch them. I’m a firm believer that feeling up your own breasts can occur only so many times before you need a new hand. Touch is so extremely important. But on that same hand, if you’re able to resist from sexual relationships while maintaining an annoying single status over the course of MONTHS, then a short amount of time without a tongue and a penis never hurt anybody. Just wait. I have never felt my clothes come off faster than when the bad-businessman-that-does-his-business-while-he-can-but-does-his-business-bad knocked on my door. Completely intense. (And kudos if you caught the Squirrel Nut Zippers reference).

I’ve never considered the cons of an LDR to be so negative that they would dissuade me from pursuing an international man of mystery. As I stated in the pros portion of this two-part blog post, if you find someone that’s worth it — it’s worth it.

What are your pros and cons in long-distance relationships? Is there any one aspect that would prevent you from delving into the depths of LDR?

It was all caps too, which just makes it doubly annoying.

Obviously, if you meet someone that you feel is worth it, it works — you make certain sacrifices and you MAKE it work. While it may seem uber-cheesy, I love that feeling of missing someone. More so, after being separated, seeing that person for the first time in a sum of days/weeks/whatever. Nothing replaces that “I missed you” hug. Nothing. Not even the miss-you sexual escapades that may or may not occur immediately afterward. The genuine smile you admire is a close second.

A former ex-long-distance suitor (in his break-up speech) told me that we were always on our best behavior while seeing each other or on “vacation mode” as I believe his words resounded. But what he really wanted was to see me on a random Tuesday after work — casual, normal life with maybe a real fight or two. He seemed to mostly consider the long distance as a negative. I craved/needed/loved him from afar — and subsequently acted on my best behavior when we saw each other on every-other weekends. I never really considered the negative aspect of that, as I prompted the “this should be more serious” talk… in person, and we made a mutual agreement to both make an effort. Ironically, the day he broke up with me was a scheduled surprise meet-up during the week.

While long-distance relationships are not for everyone, in a lot of instances, I find them perfect.

An important positive is the essence of space. I figure this to be an issue of both genders, as nobody desires to be smothered. Even if I live with someone, I require a certain amount of space. And please, save me all the negative connotations regarded to “space.” I enjoy unwinding (massage, anyone?) for about a half hour when I enter my home - a kiss hello is good, but I don’t want to relive my last 9 hours of shit before I even hang up my coat. I love my lazy off-days spent in my smelly flannel pajamas in front of the computer writing or whatever-the-fuck-I-want without someone giving me shit about alcohol sweats. I consider myself mostly a neat freak — possibly borderline OCD - but if I decide to not pick up my clothes or my slipper socks or keep shoes by the front door… well, I just don’t want someone giving. me. shit. The way I look at it, I have been living my life fine as is for the course of adulthood. I am also adult enough to ask for help if I need it. Space is natural for someone that has been subjected to independence for a majority of her adult life. And in long-distance relationships, you maintain a certain level of that independence.

In the scope of relationship flow, being in long-distance prevents me from becoming too-psycho-too-soon. I find myself quickly and incredibly attached (and possibly needy) when dating someone in whom I really like. Most (immature) men freak out and bail. When the boyfriend lives “not here” there is possibility of a more natural flow of really getting to know the other person, albeit through text, phone and email. Conversational skills are a must in this situation. And being that last phone call before bed is a reminder of who you want to dream about — and how important you are.

Drama is kept to a minimum because of limited visitations. And with that, you have an immense trust in another person. The trust is different and intense -  it’s all-or-nothing — no time for the degrading bullshit of misappropriated looks at big boobs with bleached-blond hair or part-time girlfriends half your age. You either take words for worth, or not. You are in control of whether you trust or not, and at what capacity. This is exceptionally difficult at the initial onset of a budding dating situation — when you barely know someone — and this is where trust and naiveté need to coexist.

Tomorrow, cons.

Thanksgiving is a time to enjoy massive amounts of pumpkin in three different locations  (including a piece of my pumpkin cake creation for breakfast and a sprinkle of pumpkin pie spice in my coffee) and even a huge piece of Patterson’s cherry pie (oh my God, yum!). As holidays normally progress, Apples to Apples and Catchphrase were huge successes (on both sides of the family) and the hidden bottle of Crown came out after imbibing in cans of Milwaukee’s Best. Gosh, just good fun.

I was able to visit both sets of grandparents and aunts from my mom’s side that I haven’t seen in too long. I also received updates on my cousin Roddy, who is doing some amazing recovery at Metro right now (I’m still not ready to see the accident photos) — so much that my aunt brought him three huge containers of Thanksgiving food. I was excited to see my cousin from Columbus and my uncle from South Carolina. I felt my pregnant sister’s belly too much (and may have spooned her and her dog after passing out at 3 a.m.). My mom let me lick the beaters after making her pumpkin roll (or First one home, licks the beavers, as my T9 predicted), then she made me peel potatoes — and I wouldn’t have chosen to be anywhere else. And I got to tease and have fun with my little brothers while we watched old birthday videotapes.

All-in-all, my entire family seemed in good spirits and happy — until the dogs started running circles around my grandparent’s house (they’re just not Dog People, but everyone brought theirs anyway).

Last year, I didn’t spend the holidays with my family (Thanksgiving or Christmas). I met majority of 10SB’s family (felt like 80 people) in Cincinnati in one day. I was uncomfortable to say the least, as early meetings of a significant other’s family usually unfold, but his family did make me feel at-ease. But it was nothing like my mother’s turkey. And my sister’s non-celery dressing. Or my extended step-family’s cheesy potatoes. And cinnamon rolls for breakfast. And my brother’s naming a screaming cat after me. That being said, nothing is comparable to acting your usual loud and obnoxious self, and having family love and accept you as is. And realizing where you acquired certain aspects of your personalities.

My mom videotaped everyone at the dinner table, and I shied away from the camera as usual. But she asked each of us for what we were thankful. Mine (off camera), is that I was home. Even though when asked about seeing me over Christmas, I vaguely said, “I should be home,” as if something magical would happen in four weeks. I don’t even know what that means.

It was endearing to me that my family asked about HG on Thanksgiving. As I mentioned, he met some members of my family at a dinner last week. Word spread fast, as what felt like the first time ever that family asked ME about a guy I am dating (instead of say, asking my dad or my sister). Most of the conversation stopped at “is HG coming today?” but I was able to maintain a certain flow of exchanges in talking about “the new guy.” And my grandfather poked fun about me having a new boyfriend (and remarked that he was “nice”).  It’s a start, I suppose.

And as long-distance dating usually goes, HG & I on an extended time away because of the holiday and with our respective families being on opposite sides of the state.

I’m really excited for HG’s return to Cleveland next week. And maybe, just maybe I’ll have something more for which to be thankful.

U can haz luv?

Peoples, I gots that tingle with the impermeable smile. The corny smile that I repeat in text, that gets returned. That, “Me, too!” That sappiness that you want to bottle up and savor for eternity, for when the shit (and the butterscotch-morsel cookie) starts to crumble. I am smiling. I am singing while driving to-and-from the office (including head bounces and driver-seat dancing much to the chagrin of my Carnegie Avenue commuters). Talking to old ladies in grocery stores about cans of pumpkin. Saying “Hi!” to strangers in hallways and crosswalks. I’m acting all goofy. I’m in the moment of 40-minute phone conversations.  I’m also acting a good mood at work that the guys think I’m getting laid (heh).

Wow. I feel fucking fantastic.

So, without further ado, let’s smile, shall we?

I randomly smelled hot chocolate in my office this afternoon. And through the luxury of modern eateries (aka: Subway), I regularly smell baking bread through the HVAC — NOT hot chocolate. Regardless, I bundled up to get out of the office for a second (enjoying every piece of horizontal snow to hit my face) and walk down to the newly-renovated Starbucks in Cedar Hill. Nicely done, by the way…

I ordered my drink, but realized I might need a bit of an afternoon pick-me-up, so I asked for a quarter-filled regular coffee in that same cup. (Sounds weird, right? No, it’s actually a good way to balance out the gross chocolate that Starbucks serves). But I digress…

As I sipped a bit on my walk back up to my office, I realized how long it had been since I ordered my cocoa in this manner. Then, it all struck me: I suddenly thought about L, of all people! I got this big chocolate idea from L while we dated (ironic because we dated during baseball season). I received a flashback of his facial expression all cute-and-geeked about the barista getting it right and “YOU HAVE GOT TO TRY THIS! (in the sexiest Boston accent I can remember). To summon someone as such in the middle of a sip of warm goodness was strange. ed: I suck. This sentence has WAY too much alliteration, yet I cannot thesaurasus-ize any better options. Harumph. Smells remind us of the cologne of ex-boyfriends in passing or flipping (and drooling) through men’s magazines (Mmmm… Jean-Paul Gauthier still makes me quiver). A glimpse of an old car makes us laugh about our “first time” (certainly not mine). Certain songs reflect the awkwardness of junior high school when we tried to slow dance to Mr. Big (Oooh, Greg Orosz… *sigh*).

I haven’t thought about L in a while — he, being married and all now — but he made me smile regardless. No more anger or anything sinister. I suppose there have been others more deserving in the interim to replace. And yes, I’ll cop to a fucked-up drunken night of tearing through my file cabinet to find an old at&t bill with his number in a detailed statement just to say, “Randomly thought about you tonight.” Yeah, it may or may not have been last year… just saying, crazy drunken Bandwagoners.

Then I thought how that might occur to someone else remembering you. I have had completely random memories pop up in the middle of nowhere about some guy that had a crush on me in eighth grade after recognizing me in the audience of a local drama production. Or this chick Suzy Peeler who was my BFF in Girl Scouts summer camp who was over-taken by demons of the underworld when we performed “People dying, Children crying… concentrate” on her. For srsly.

What other people have I had such an effect in their own memory, that they would conjure a tiny blip about me… and smile (I hope)?

Have you had a random memory about an ex: friend, lover, father, dog… Giant Eagle cashier?

I believe how you determine your resulting feeling about past relationships is in direct accordance to your current relationship status: if you’re happy with someone new, you rarely give two craps about someone that fucked you over — you’ll smile. Reminisce. Maybe e-mail him and say “Thank you for making me a better girlfriend.” But if you’re miserable (and alone)? Then, well, you want to cut balls off every man within 20 yards and a free drink.

I’m currently in that particular dating position where I am really (really!) happy, but I’m trying not to be all happy because you know, you have to play cat-and-mouse for a while longer while staying aloof and attempting to be interesting and sexy but flirty but not slutty and not complaining too much but feigning excitement over a paycheck and lack of budgeting but that makes you awesome and independent regardless and and and why do I keep having dreams about him naked… God, I need a drink.

I’m already deflecting all the questions from my family that have already met him (yes, I know, a small gathering of my family has already been introduced… what?!) and those that wonder if they will on Thanksgiving (sadly, no). And of course, I’m feeling my usual insecurities that go along with that — not tooooo much information, save for the fact of looking like an ass (again) in front of family, which they seemingly thrive on. Self-deprecation at its best in this space of the net.

But I’m in a good head game place, and it seems that he’s equally as eager to putting up with my bullshit lovin’ it, so we’ll just proceed with that nightmare happy place.

But for the record, I have smiled non-stop for at least a week without the aid of Xanax or Viva Viagra. And that, my friends, is huge — regardless of what the condom wrapper says.

- photo by nookiez

I tried hard not to share this week’s selection for Penis Tuesday. Really, really hard… I couldn’t resist. It is so disgusting and hilarious at the same time, I am probably the only one that can give it to you proper. You know, like a peanut-butter cup. Once you poke a hole in the middle…

Need something different to add to your naughty Thanksgiving dinner this year? What? Your house doesn’t do naughty Thanksgiving. For srsly, internetz. OK, let’s try this again: quitting your job after the holidays and ironically, there’s an office potluck next week starring the office receptionist who gets on your last nerve with all the passive-aggressive notes posted in the breakroom? Let me suggest… well, no I’d rather not give anyone the wrong idea.

Look no further than this cookbook from Natural Harvest — the perfect gift for your favorite pervy neighbor (and if you’ve maintained some sort of humor, read the comments).

You will either throw up your lunch or roll over laughing in hysterics. I personally have to wonder now at some of those “desserts” I’ve been served by former first-and-only-date assmunches.

taurus (Apr. 21st-May 20th)

It’s a good thing a bunch of family holidays are coming up, because you need some kind of speed bump on your highway of sin. And what better to keep your mind off of cheap and easy sex than a visit with your big, blue-haired Auntie Bertha? The only legs that should be spreading in anticipation of a good stuffing this Thanksgiving are the turkey’s.

Coincidentally, I both love stuffing and being stufffed. Well, those are about the only good things about Thanksgiving. And it looks as though I’ll have to offset being stuffed by eating more stuffing this year.

Which ironically indicates me being stuffed anyway. Woah, this post just became too big for me.

I heart you!

The Frisky posted tits and tidbits in How To Tell If A Guy is Serious About You online recently. In expected fashion, guys buying flowers and stalking/jealous tendencies are classified as “not interested.” But using “we” in conversation, revealing intimate feelings and being nice to your friends (not including wanting to get with your friends) are on all included on their list to decipher his boyfriend capabilities.

While intimacy could be on the list in its vagueness (or could be result of a true player douchebag), one aspect I consider to be on the serious path is when and how he holds your hand. After suffering through a few relationships with insane voids in intimate touching (that did not include sex), I remembered how an action as small as another person holding your hand symbolized more.

Hand-holding seemed as such an huge first-act of dating when we were all younger. I’m fairly certain it counted as one the bases before we all knew and understood what sex was all about. We held hands with our girlfriends in junior high school because we were BFF and completely and wholly inseparable. We hold hands in support of family — at church, hospitals, funerals. To help or aid another person in and around obstacles. Or when the plane hits a rough patch of turbulence, you grab the hand of the stranger to your left (just me, then?). And if you’re my age, I’m certain you remember Hands Across America.

While a seemingly immature and unrecognized act, I view it as the ultimate measure of intimate affection. In public, you’re displaying to everyone, “I’m with this person.” It may seem too cute or pathetically overlooked in an anti-public display world of today (and of men I have dated that are completely out of touch with romanticism). Or worse — controlling and leading.

But stop for a second, and think about the potential of its affectionate meaning:

When walking over patches of ice in a chivalrous manner, his hand-holding could feel like “I’ve got you” in an unintended (sweet, not scary) measure of possession.

For security in moments of fear or uncertainty, you grab the nearest hand, thinking, I’ll protect you which feels very much like “I trust you enough to touch you.”

He reaches over on a drive in the car maybe because your hands are warm — maybe because you feel so far over there in the passenger seat.

Or as a result of nervous acknowledgment underneath or over the table at dinner.  Reminds you, “I’m here… I’m happy that I’m here with you.” Whew, makes me melt.

Not only the grabbing and the intertwining of fingers, but better yet, when the fingers caress over the back of your hand or in the palm in a constant reminder this other person is there.

And while asleep or half-asleep and spooning? That grip cannot be faked. Not only displays an “I’m glad you’re here (even while semi-unconscious in dreamland),” but makes you feel wanted in a way that seems all too forgotten. And… to get closer.

Does anything else truly reflect I like you like hand-holding?

The idea of heading to yet another table full of plus one dinner guests physically makes me sick to my insides. In the essential sense of dating and relationships, I have not cleared that level of the game (no matter how it has been hinted).

Single women know the quizzical routine: Dating anyone? If you’re dating: Is it serious? If it’s serious: is he going to propose? If he’s proposed: When’s the wedding? If you’re married: Where are my fucking grandchildren?

Or in the case of my mother: Why don’t you just get yourself knocked up already? You would probably fare better as a single mother anyway.

Right?

All kidding aside, if that particular version of relationship advice was bestowed to me by her experience, or her believing she knows me better than I have ever imagined (or wanted), it’s all, well, very fucked up being a woman in a nosy family during the holidays.

And then we wonder why we eat two plates at Thanksgiving. Personally, I’m hoping the tryptophan will lull me into a slumber until at least until 11:54 on New Year’s Eve.

By then there will be enough champagne to fake it until St. Patrick’s Day. Then enough Jameson to diminish the pain of wedding season.

Regardless of intentions either good, bad or naughty, I asked the guy I had been dating barely a month to a dinner… a dinner with some VIPs. Of mine.

And I am so sick to my stomach. And not because I don’t want him there, but because I somehow feel as though I have created a dating faux pas. You know, all that “too soon” bullshit. Glamour Magazine told me so. (Which is probably the reason I feel so out-of-touch and canceled my subscription).

I instantly texted my best of guy friends to figure if I had.

To which, he called me a crazy bitch (that was not foolish). Told me to chill the fuck out (relax sweetheart). And something to the effect that I needed to get laid (just go with it). Soon (no no not too soon). And then something resembling smilie smilie (smilie smilie). See, ladies? Guys do smileys.

These are the dimensions of crazy with single women: Do you call/Don’t you call? Do you act interested/Do you act aloof? Do you play dumb/Do you impress him with your wordsmith intellect? Independent/Can’t change a light bulb? Bald/Landing strip? Seriously, it’s enough to want to hibernate for three seasons with eight bottles of xanax and a jar of peanut butter.

And so the dating rituals perpetuate…

I just wanted The New Guy with me because, well, he doesn’t make me feel like such a plus zero.

I giggled like a fucking crazy girl. And he totally called me out on it. And then I smiled more. We switched smartphones — he played my sextuplet word game; I became obsessed with Bubble Breaker. Neither of us won our bet against the other. I really like being around him. And it’s scary comfortable.

By the by, I think a night of beer or wine flights is great date idea. In essence, a perfect opportunity to try, nay SHARE liquor, and the likes/dislikes that go along with that. HG is convinced that our food differences will eventually separate us. Falling for the hook/line/sinker, I argued that food was a ridiculous reason to dismiss someone that’s awesome. Then smiled because then I realized I cracked my shell, essentially telling him that I thought he was awesome. Seriously though, if you find me in an emergency room, it’s because he force-fed me calamari.

But I flaked on the “tell me something I don’t know about you” question, and chose an answer indirectly about my creation (ie: my parents). I flipped through my brain files — we had covered a lot of ground already in previous conversations. I was a total blank.

What would your answer be?

I had an incredible answer later that evening to make up for my initial memory blackout. It was about Spiderman, which continues to perpetuate my dorkiness.

Blame the beer… or my childhood. But I think it’s kind of awesome being referred to as a dork.