real life

ok so maybe it’s important or something. sometimes i like to go out every weekend and get wasted and snort coke off hooker tits, but lately i’ve been growing tired of the same old tits and booze and drugs. ah; the life of a potential rock star. so now mostly i sit on the internet and get in long arguments over silly things. but my roommate, who has either got the biggest passive aggression issue of all time or she’s just stupid, took it upon herself to disconnect our internet service, rather than switching it to my name. this all means that i haven’t been able to talk to crowdpleaser in DAYS. to “real life” people, this might not seem like such a big deal, but a lot can happen on the internet and if you’re not there to catch it, you’re not there to respond to it. like, for instance, crowdpleaser’s ridiculous assertation that he has been winning most of our arguments. let me say right here for the record- that is 100% untrue. the last argument we had was whether biking is exercise, and whether the energy you spend biking 2 miles is the same amount of energy you spend biking 50 miles. i said you spend more biking 50 miles; crowdpleaser tried saying the opposite (since the orginal argument depended on it)
guess who won? it wasn’t crowdpleaser.
i feel like i should say a word about LDRs, being as how this is a blog about said subject and all. I’ve also just arrived in crowdpleaser’s city, so for the next 3 weeks it will NOT be an LDR (yeah!) and this adds to my desire to shed some light on the coming and going aspect of this relationship. but i’m afraid that all i can do is echo the sentiment below mine and think about not playing gameboy. stay tuned for any exciting turns as we face our longest period of time together EVER

The last 17 hours

You know that feeling when you’ve made a date with that really cute chick for Friday, but it’s only Monday, and you spend the whole week telling all your friends how exciting it will be, non-stop? Then come Thursday night you’re nervous, anxious, and filled with the excitement that has been brewing for the past week?

Imagine that for six months.

The Internet only sometimes works

Due to some roommate shuffling, Crowds is Internet-free while at home. It’s only been a week, and she is coming here in two days (!), so I’m still totally not adjusted to it. I’m constantly (like, every ten minutes) checking AIM to see if she’s online.

So a week of only talking with her for two days. That’s where the loneliness sets in. Here’s what I do to pass the time:

• Take photos to send to her when she leaves again.
• Re-watch videos and re-look at pictures that she has sent to me.
• Read old AIM logs from our past conversations. Keep score of arguments won and funniest comebacks. (I’m winning.)
• Read the online messageboards she posts to. She sometimes drops hints on gift ideas there.
• Follow her friends’ MySpace accounts. They might drop some hint that she’s not dead.
• Play with my digital camera. Discovery: it can do self-timed multishot.

Hm, that makes me seem stalker-ish. Here are some other things I do to pass the time:

• Work.
• Non-work programming. Almost ready for its first release!
• Go to local shows.
• Catch up on local news.
• See my local friends.

She threw a party on Friday (she told me about it today, while at work); her description of it reminds me of what she did two years ago when she partied all the time.

The theory is that it’s good to have a social life outside of your partner. Makes sense to me, but I’m excited to see her in 41 hours.

Gifts

Turns out that giving gifts to someone in a long-distance relationship is nearly identical to giving gifts to someone in a local relationship, except it’s more work. (Effort means you care. Or it doesn’t.)

Here’s what Crowds got me for Valentine’s Day this year:

• One bottle of Strawberry Crush;
• Euclid’s Elements;
• A box which once contained chocolates;
• A note explaining that only a dumb slut would send a box of chocolates for Valentine’s Day, and that she has a test on Elements on Tuesday.

I got her Google AdWords for her band (didn’t work as awesomely as I wanted, but still gave her twice as much traffic).

For her birthday I tried to get her a subscription to The Stranger (I think it failed), and I bought her (and I) one night at some fancy hotel in my city (she’s coming to visit! In five days! For three weeks!).

For my birthday she’s getting me something geeky that I already know about but have forgotten. Apparently I’ve mentioned wanting this item before.

So that’s what people in long-distance relationships give for gifts: the same thing we’d give if we lived together.

(She did watch me open the gift on my Web cam. Apparently I made a disgusted face when I found the box of chocolates, and happy-beyond-belief face when I opened it to find a book inside.)

How to take sexy pictures of yourself

Pictures are a rather crucial part to happy long-distance relationship. Sure, you should send pictures of things you do, your friends, your apartment, and other non-you stuff, but you should also send pictures of yourself. You know, to remind her of what you look like.

(There are usually trust issues with sending potentially-career-threatening pictures of yourself over the Internet. If you have those trust issues then you’re wasting everyone’s time by being in a relationship. Seriously, cut it out.)

Crowds is rather vain and, as such, had been sending me provocative, sexy pictures for some time. I had never reciprocated, partially because I didn’t know how to take a provocative, sexy picture of myself. So I asked her how a man can be sexy.

At first she had no idea. “Guys don’t relaly have anything to work with, except being attractive,” she explained. Then she gave suggestions. These are very her-specific (and perhaps me-specific), but it’s a good base:

• Boxer-briefs are sexier than boxers.
• Pants are unsexy.
• Let your hair down (I have long hair).
• If nude, have an erection.
• Don’t throw a “sexy face“.

Not Playing Gameboy

There’s a classic was to relieve the anxiety, one we’ve all known about since adolescence. Here’s my fantasy based around when Crowds comes to visit in 12 days:

It is her first time seeing my current apartment. She had heard lots about it and seen pictures, but she wants a tour anyway. I, however, meet her at the front door. “Come on! Hurry upstairs!” I say, grabbing her hand. She doesn’t hurry, ever, but she does follow me up the stairs, around the corner, up the second flight and into my room, closing the door behind us.

No tour yet.

She’s tossed against the wall as I press record on the digital camera aimed at the spot she’s in. (Evidence of moments like these make the six month drag between January and July bearable.) I press up against her, kissing as if I hadn’t seen her in half a year. Legs rub against legs; hands rub against backs; lips flutter around faces.

Annoyed with fighting her shirt in order to touch her skin, we part just with enough space and for just enough time for me to remove her shirt and, right afterwards, for her to unbutton mine. Nipples rub against bare chests as my lips find her ear lobes. Her ears are particularly sensitive, and she moans softly at the touch.

She is struggling with my belt, as always, so I remove it single-handedly, tossing it to the side; she takes advantage of this freedom to unbutton and unzip my shorts, which I step out of and kick to the side as they fall to the floor. Her hands find more skin and slightly less cloth as I use both hands to undo her belt.

The black jeans fit tightly on her thin body so I pull them down, crouching as I go. She kicks one leg out, and maybe the other but I’ve stopped paying attention to that: I’m now kissing the inside of her right thigh as I slowly move my way back to standing, pausing my upwards movement at her underwear (rather cute, possibly newly-purchased). I leave the underwear on, licking over it from underneath to her clit. She moans again and runs her fingers through my hair, but I continue upwards.

My right hand trail my lips by a foot, running up her right thigh and settling atop her underwear. My lips, meanwhile, have found her inverted left nipple; a combination of flicking, sucking, and nibbling arouses both her and I. My left hand finds her right breast and teases that nipple accordingly.

Leaving my left hand with her nipple I continue kissing up her neck and onto her lips again. Her hands, which had been through my hair and onto my back, reach lower and pull my hips into her. My right hand finds her butt as she reaches her right leg around my left leg, rocking both her and my hips in rhythm.

Breathing heavily, she tugs at my boxer-briefs; I reach for the previously-placed condom nearby and open the package. She wastes no time dropping my boxers, so I waste minimal time putting on the condom; simultaneously she removes her underwear.

We make lustful eye contact as we try to remember how it’s supposed to work. Six months without sex kills off some of the muscle-memory that we quickly regain within a few tries. We find a rhythm and position that works against the wall; I hold her arms to the wall, she stands on her toes, legs spread; I move both back and forth and up and down, using my toes and calf muscles.

She comes first, her quiet moans containing the joyful sigh of sex for the first time in months; I come almost immediately after, grunting into her ear and thrusting deeply.

We stay in our position, taking it all in, until it becomes obviously uncomfortable. After a few kisses our clothes are back on.

It’s time to give her the tour of the apartment. Good thing I hid a condom in the attic.

The Anxiety Builds

She comes in two weeks, and she’ll be staying for three weeks. This means I have two weeks to make all the plans perfect and think of something to talk about for 22 days.

Since I saw her in January we have been on a 12-hours-a-day IM kick. Recently we’ve discussed how a large portion of our 12 hour conversations are similar and perhaps boring.

She and I see our meet-up as the solution to our recent worries, but there’s no need for us to worry; everything is still perfect. It’s better than perfect; we even share a blog! My worry should really be whether I can find any more gifts for her birthday and whether I remember how to put a condom on. Maybe I should practice on a banana.

This is her longest relationship (by a lot) and it’s quickly approaching the length of my longest. Three weeks will be the most time we’ve ever spent together non-stop. My friends are already placing their bets: “they’ll make it two-and-a-half”, “no way, things will explode in the hotel”, etc.

We’ve matured together, 1000 miles apart. We’ve discovered and discussed our differences but also how similar they are. For example, today we discussed how we share most of our respective lists of favorite bands, but for entirely different reasons (I only listen to the rhythm section; she likes guitars and vocals; we both love Talking Heads and Joy Division). We haven’t grown apart, we’ve grown comfortable.

If this sounds confused and rambling then it reflects quite accurately how the building excitement will make this the longest two weeks followed by the shortest three weeks of my life. I blame Einstein.

Her Birthday Shall be Amazing

Crowds’ birthday is coming up, and she’s coming to visit during it. Normally, I don’t care about birthdays, and I certainly don’t care about fancy things or dressing up, but she cares about her birthday and, in this one case, she cares about fancy things and dressing up.

This means that in addition to her surprise gift (ex-surprise really: she guessed it after two months of trying, based on hints like “there are words on it”), she requests a night at the bars that Lindsay Lohan would visit, and some karaoke. To top it off we will end the night at the kind of hotel Kate Moss would visit and subsequently trash, spilling cocaine everywhere.

It’s pretty easy to convince me to pay for and join her in this night out: I only see her a few weeks each year. As some blogger named Alex connects, this is based on the Alchian-Allen theorem.

To quote either Tim Hartford or Tyler Cowen:

The theorem, briefly, implies that Australians drink higher-quality Californian wine than Californians, and vice-versa, because it is only worth the transportation costs for the most expensive wine. Similarly, there is no point in traveling to see your boyfriend for a take-away Indian meal and an evening in front of the telly. To justify the trip’s fixed costs, you will require champagne, sparkling conversation and energetic sex. Insist on it.

She’ll get all that and hopefully more. However, sometimes even the best-arranged plans fall through. This is what I told her, and she agreed:

I have lots of faith that the night will work out exactly how we want, plus some. However, I won’t be disappointed if it doesn’t; it’s going to be an awesome night, regardless of what falls through.

And it’s true, too: the night will be amazing, because if the plans fall through they will fall through spectacularly and with a great story: kicked out of the hotel, denied access to a bar and a fight breaks out, mugged at gunpoint, and so on.

Another, equally important, reason the night will be fun: her presence is valuable.

Long-Distance Relationships Do Not Suck

Crowds and I have been doing this long-distance thing for two years (and nine days). That’s almost two years of me reading things about long-distance relationships. There’s a lot of crap out there; stuff like “call her every day” and “the 50 miles apart and weekend visits are quite the distance”.

CNN recently had the first good LDR article I’ve come across (found via the new Ask 3D). Much of the article matches our experience. For example:

Most women in super LDRs are not making decisions solely based on their significant others’ priorities, an attitude that has gained momentum as more women fill business school seats and corner offices. The other half of that attitude shift has been made by 21st century boyfriends and husbands, who are finding the independence attractive.

(The article deals mostly with people who are half the world apart (“super LDRs”, it calls them). Crowds and I are one timezone apart and in the same country. I’m tempted to say “it’s all solving the same problem”, but I know the conversations would be different if I were starting my day as she went to bed.)

get on the internet

i’ve lived with two people in long distance relationships and listened to plenty of drunk people give me their opinion about long distance relationships, and i can tell you this; that phone business is a killer. for some reason, everyone is under the impression that speaking on the telephone once a day or once a week is the key to maintaining a long distance relationship. everyone is wrong. talking on the phone is a chore. you have to take all this time out of your day, stop what you’re doing, come up with a steady stream of things to say, and then it’s over. it’s no wonder people get tired of doing it. apparently people don’t realize the internet is there. instant messaging is a miracle; no joke. you’re at work, or you’re just wandering around your apartment with AIM opened, and for as long as that’s going on, you’re open to conversation. you can start and stop as you please without worrying about awkward silences and that “i’m supposed to say something now because it’s our designated hour” deal. now, we have the advantage of both constantly being on the internet, so we end up talking regularly for about 12 hours a day, ever day, without interrupting our regular activities – but you can maintain pretty close communication even if you only talk for a a few hours every day. if that isn’t a shining demonstration of how easy it is to carry on a long distance relationship without a lot of hassle, then i don’t know what is. put your phone down for a second and log on.