Relationships = hairy legs, stinky breath and One Tree Hill. Wait a minute ...

(Note on this photo: apparently the only people in the world in long distance relationships live in the northeastern U.S. and Europe, as every photo and illo I could find depicts it this way.

Newsflash: long distance relationships are weird.

I mean, you’re with this person. But how serious you get, how soon, etc. is all jacked up because each date costs an average of $300 in transportation. So you’re like, I have to be pretty serious to go on this date, right? But at the same time you’re trying to be all, “Whatever, I’m coy. I’m taking this slow.”

And let’s just be honest, you really do wish you could see them more. I mean, it’s the beginning of a relationship. It’s that time when you want to see them every day, and introduce them to everyone and spin around in circles like Elf singing “I’m in love, I’m in love and I don’t care who knows it!” (For the record: not ready for the L word over here. May be getting there … Big step for me. But “I’m in like LIKE” doesn’t have the same ring.)

So, I’m trying to focus on the positive things about dating a person who lives 1,650 miles away from you (I Mapquested). Here’s what I’ve come up with:

You don’t have to shave every day. In fact, you don’t have to shave every week. I realized this morning as I picked up my razor and promptly set it back down that I can go three entire weeks without removing any hair from my body at all. This is life-changing. Since I’m all loyal and stuffs now, I don’t even have to worry that I might get too friendly with ol’ Jose C. tonight and then, in turn, get too friendly with guy-at-the-end-of-the-bar-who-looks-younger-and-less-like-a-monkey-in-bar-light. This is excellent. I may not even tweeze. I mean, who am I impressing? Think about all the things I can do in the time I’ll be saving. I feel like women must have felt upon the advent of the washing machine when they no longer had to spend the entire day down at the river scrubbing their husband’s disgusting underpants on a rock. (Let’s be honest, I’ll probably just drink more beer and sit around in my action pants listening to records.)

You can eat all the garlic you want. You can eat all the tuna salad you want. You can eat all the hot, yummy Cheetos you want. It does not matter. No one is getting close to your mouth for weeks. I mean, I suppose I could also think about sparing my friends and co-workers from my stank breath, but I don’t really care about that. My friends will love me anyway (and I don’t usually slip them the tongue, unless, again, I’ve gotten a little too friendly with Jose.) And my co-workers have to deal with it. Besides, I deal with them keeping the air set at 47 degrees and with them making up absolutely ridiculous words, like “phrasiologies.”

They don’t ever have to know until deep into your relationship that when you told them you LOVED One Tree Hill and they gave you a weird look so you laughed like it was a joke, that really, you weren’t joking. You really do love it. And when Lucas and Peyton FINALLY got married and you thought she died that you wept like a small child who had just been told there’s no Santa Claus. You also watch way more Everybody Loves Raymond than any person under the age of 67 should watch and you laugh like it’s the first time you’ve ever heard a joke.

You have a built in excuse to turn down offers to go out “to the club,” which you always hated but felt like you had to say yes to or else people would say, “Well you’re not going to meet anyone sitting around here.” You’ve already met someone. Na Na Na Na Phoo Phoo.

And, since your boyfriend is far away, you don’t have to do anything at all on a Friday if you don’t want to. You can sit in your living room, eating hot Cheetos, with hairy legs, watching One Tree Hill and Raymond and no one is the wiser.

I am so hot.

Remember when I used to ask, “Am I going to be single forever?” After writing this, I am asking myself how the frack I ever snagged a boyfriend. Oh yeah, it’s because he lives far, far away.

What would you do, or not do, if you only saw your SO once a month?

(P.S. I’m getting my first tattoo tomorrow night. It’s three years in the making. I’m so excited. Pictures to come!)