For those of you who are wondering, here are the reasons why I haven't blogged in the better half of a year:

1. I got one of those job things people keep talking about. This takes up quite a bit of my time.
2. When I'm not working, I have to put that time into things that are not my job. For example: Eating, sleeping, errand running, or Tumblr.
3. It's a bit difficult to come up with blog ideas when you're dead tired all the time.
4. I know that the universal code of conduct for blogging is BLOG ALL THE TIME, but I'm a firm believer in quality rather than quantity. If I'm not married to a post idea, it won't happen. Trust me, it's better for everyone involved that these half-baked ideas never see the light of day.

I can come up with excuses all day. Believe me.

All of that being said, I miss this blog of mine. I refuse to let it die. (Although it may become the Rory Williams or Kenny McCormick of blogs, where it just dies over and over again.)

I'm going to make a promise to you, readers, here and now. I, Whitney, hereby promise to WRITE. More. Than I currently am! Yep. These are the general goals I make for my life. That probably explains why I'm broke and single, as well. Technically, from this post alone, I've already met my goal. Claps for me!

While it's best to not get unrealistic (like promising weekly blog posts...how do people even DO that?), and while it's very likely this post might crop up again in another eight months, know that my intentions are true in this moment. Know that I fully mean to blog again, even if it means pushing myself to a little bit. Even if it means using a few of my rapidly disappearing, short circuiting brain cells.

But of course, being...well...me, it's important to point out that harassment on your point is not only recommended, but encouraged.

As someone who regularly stutters, stumbles, bumbles, and tumbles over trying to form words with her mouth, especially when in the presence of another human being, technology is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I'm infinitely better at writing than talking. This explains why people like my blog more than they like the actual me.

Need to tell someone off? Send them a Facebook message! Is that not soap boxy enough for you? Post it publicly to their wall! Cryptic diary entries are a thing of the past. Why spend all that time penning about your life's angst when you can just vaguely tweet about it? Are you looking for that perfect way to say "I care enough about you to remember that you exist, but not enough to actually talk to you"? There's this wonderful invention called the text message!

The world is sunshine and rainbows and gigabytes and pixels.

However, even if it is technological communication, it's still communication. People are still involved with communication. In this case, there are going to be some flaws.

The major drawback with talking electronically is that it's impersonal. After a while, there hardly feels like any difference between talking to your friends and talking to Cleverbot. It's all too easy to forget that there is a person on the other end, a live person with opinions and standards and feelings and stuff. As a result, we do things that would never ever fly in real life interaction.

Here are some things that I have observed exclusively in technological communication, and how they would translate in 3D socialization. (3D Socialization sounds like another really bad premise for a 3D movie.)

1. Instant messaging availability never means what you think it means.

IM clients have this handy little feature that allows you to be able to tell if a certain friend of yours is available to talk or not. In my head, this is how that should work:

Online: I'm rearing and ready to talk to!
Away: I'm away from my computer. I probably won't respond if you try to contact me. Because I'm away.
Busy: I'm preoccupied with something really important, like curing cancer or splitting an atom. Don't disturb me.
Offline: I'm in no way, shape, or form associated with my IM client right now.

This is what it actually means:

Online: I forgot to put myself in "away" mode.
Away: I forgot to put myself in "online" mode.
Busy: I don't have the balls to remove people that annoy me off of my buddy list, so I'm perpetually in "busy" mode, avoiding them.
Offline: I'm in invisible mode! I will instant message you as if I have been resurrected from the dead!

I'm petrified to instigate chat conversations because my friends expect me to be psychic or Hermione Granger or something.

Put in real-life perspective:

Your friend is sitting at a table. You walk over to them and greet them. Whenever you attempt to say anything to them, they respond, "I am away from this table right now."

2. Electronic goodbyes matter, too.

After studying quantum physics to find out that you and your friend are both online at the same time, you engage them in conversation. You know, conversation. That thing where you are both saying things to one another. After a questionable gap in this conversation, you look at your buddy list. That's when you notice.

They're no longer online.

Whatever happened to, "Hey. My person is going to leave the computer now. I just thought I'd let you know, so you don't wait up for my response that is never going to come or anything."? Even if there are lulls in conversation, or you both get distracted, it's still common courtesy. You say goodbye to that old high school friend you awkwardly engage in Wal*Mart even though you have nothing to talk about. This shouldn't be any different.

Put in real-life perspective:

You're talking to your friend. Suddenly, they get up and walk away from you, with no explanation whatsoever.

3. The many complexities of text messaging.

Actually, there's just one complexity: People suck at it.

The whole premise of texting is that you can carry all of your friendships in your pocket. Your friends can and will try to talk to you any day, at any time. There is rarely any urgency involved. You can reply to them at your utmost leisure. That's the blessing, as well as the curse.

You see, people are a bit too leisurely and not enough "utmost" when it comes to text messaging. People have busy lives. Or at least I assume that they do, because I'm between jobs and have the free time to be on top of my social life like some sort of ninja wizard. If it takes a couple hours to respond, that's okay. If it takes more than just a couple, that's also okay. That's about how long a work day is.

However, a full day? Multiple days? Never? What kind of person pours 10% of their earnings into a cell phone bill and then never checks it for messages?

The excuses are awesome, when you actually have the benefit of hearing them. "I'm so sorry I didn't respond to you! My phone was stolen by goblins, and I had thirteen hours to meander through this super complicated maze to get it back!" "Oh, really? That sounds an awful lot like Labyrinth." "...Yeah..."

Some situations are easy to explain. If you impale your friend with texts and they never respond, the truth is they probably don't like you. Other situations? Not so easy. There have been times when I've gotten a text from a friend, and I responded in a timely manner like a normal person. However, no response. Never a response. Was this person not holding their cell phone in their hands three minutes ago? The only scenario I can think of where that can actually happen is if they chuck their phone across a field, and then start sprinting in the opposite direction.

Put in real-life perspective:

You ask your friend a question, and they answer your question three days later. Either that your they talk to you next week, never acknowledging the fact that you asked them a question at all.


Yet, regardless of all of this, I would still deal with a confusing IM conversation over blundering through a two hour phone call.

Hello! I'm going to die one day, and so are you! (Whitnicism: the Feel-Good Blog of 2011.)

For starters, here are the three main components to understanding me:

1. I'm an incredibly anxious person.
2. Anxiety causes me to over think everything. And I mean everything.
3. Over thinking allows me to come to weird epiphanies, seemingly out of absolutely nowhere.

I've found, unsurprisingly, that these three ideas are hard for the majority of people to grasp individually, nevertheless combine and interweave together. (Don't feel too bad. I'm me, and I don't know what my brain is doing half the time.) However, that is the only way I could think of to explain how I went from relaxing after a busy weekend to pondering my mortality.

Last night there I was, rag curls in my hair, playing multiplayer iPod Touch Solitaire against a person who was too good at Solitaire to have any kind of social life. Then the thought came: 'Whitney. As far as anyone knows, you have one life to live on this Earth. And you're using this precious time tying rag curls and getting your ass handed to you on a platter via online Solitaire. Are these the moments you're going to tell your grandchildren about?'

Then I had an overwhelming urge to burst through the front door of my house and start living as much life as I could possibly find. I pondered everything from buying a plane ticket to Europe to finding a stranger to make out with. Unfortunately, it was midnight. I'm also broke, and throwing myself at the first attractive male I find while wearing rag curls isn't a much better story for the grandchildren. "And that, whippersnappers, was the night your father was conceived." Feeling like I had exhausted all of my options, I found myself a more evenly matched opponent on Solitaire.

As John Mayer put it in a song, I'm going through a "quarter-life crisis." Don't get me wrong. In my short life, I've gotten to do some pretty awesome things. I've been places. I've met people. I even fell in love that one time, even if it was with the undeniably wrong person. There are so many things left to be done, however, that I don't even know where to get started. I realized that the time to do these things is now, while I'm still young and fancy free.

I began to mentally compile my bucket list. It included what I considered to be the essentials: Figure out what I want to do with my life, and then go to school for that thing. Travel everywhere, a lot. Fall in love again, hopefully with the undeniably right person this time. Probably make him my husband. Have children with said husband that look vaguely like me, and hopefully act even more vaguely like me. You know, the basics.

However, there are a few things I've always wanted to do that are a bit...outlandish. As I daydreamed, each new bucket list item became more ludicrous than the last. Here are some examples. These are mostly unrealistic expectations that I've drawn from watching movies.

1. Be Involved in an Over-the-Top Introduction

I've always wanted to enter a room full of dozens, if not thousands, of people highly anticipating my arrival. My original plan that would have fulfilled this goal was to be a guest on Oprah. I'm not even a huge fan of Oprah. I just think I have a great Oprah announcing name. ("Whitneeeey HowAAAAAARD!")

With my Oprah dreams dashed, I must set my sights elsewhere. The current vision involves anything from a large gymnasium to a small stadium. My arrival will be announced via microphone, megaphone, or some other voice projecting device that more than likely starts with "m" and ends in "phone." There are balloons, metallic confetti, and/or streamers. There is either a marching band or that song they use to pump you up for basketball games is blaring through the speakers. I dance down the aisles toward a stage, and there are plenty of high fives to go around.

My only flaw with this plan is why I would be there in the first place, and how such a grand announcement for me of all people would be necessary. I'm an awkward public speaker (or public do anything-er) and I tend to avoid large crowds. As soon as the announcement is over, my mind draws a blank over what happens next. I assume I just stand there awkwardly for about thirty seconds and then leave the stage to an outro of "We Are the Champions" by Queen.

2. Have Many Excuses to Wear a Pretty Dress Somewhere

I don't know if this is to compensate for the few high school dances I went to, or if I've seen too many Disney movies, but I always welcome excuses to put on a dress and look pretty. I got to do that very thing just last weekend, as a matter of fact. I seem to lack the everyday opportunity to wear a formal, which is why I still feel unfulfilled in this aspect of my life.

I've imagined this scenario in several ways, but it always has these three elements in common: 1) I'm wearing a pretty dress, and I look smokin'. 2) There is a big ol' staircase. and 3) There is a really cute guy waiting somewhere along the stairs. He'll give me a look that says, "I had no idea how I subconsciously felt about you before this moment, but I'm pretty sure I want to marry you based solely on how you look in formal wear." Then we consummate our love in a huge room with a pool table in it. Because pool tables are classy.

For a film parallel, think a combination between Anastasia and Titanic. Mostly Anastasia.

3. Discover I Have Magical Powers

As many children do, I had imaginary friends. Their names were Jonathan, Missy, and Lou Lou, to be exact. Occasionally others made an appearance, such as Jessica (she was snooty, wore fur coats, and she was a major beeotch) and Reflection (who, as sad as it is to admit, was my freaking reflection.)

Instead of just materializing these imaginary friends from nowhere like a normal person, I had to create an elaborate back story in my seven year-old mind. Every once in a while, I would envision myself finding a pair of slightly rainbow tinted contact lenses. This is ironic because a) contact lenses are nearly impossible to find once dropped and b) I wear glasses just to avoid contacts. Rather than thinking, 'Gross. These contacts have been sitting on the ground for who knows how long. That's unsanitary,' I would put them on. They would enable me to see an entire world of Invisible People that secretly coexist with we Visible People. They rode on top of our cars. They sat in empty chairs and slept in unattended beds. They watched us do stupid things and wanted to offer their Invisible People wisdom, but they couldn't, because no one could see them but me with the magical contact lenses.

It's a good thing this was just my imagination, because this idea creeps me out nowadays. On the bright side, Jonathan and I fell in imaginary love. I think this is how my trend of fancying guys whose names start with J (especially guys named "Jonathan") found its origins.

Analyzing my younger self now, I think this reflected a desire to feel special, to do something that my peers couldn't. I still have this desire every once in a great while, although I cope now by trying to refine my talents and strengths rather than seeing invisible people. (I'm still a slightly lost cause, though, because I still yearn for a Hogwarts acceptance letter.) However, I haven't lost the opinion that having some sort of superhuman ability would still be awesome. I'd love to be able to read minds, or read lightning fast, or shoot spaghetti lasers out of my eyeballs, or something.


Yep. You're right. This entire spiel came quite literally from playing Solitaire. Welcome to my insane membrane.

As a single person, I tease people in relationships like it's my job. Seriously. It's what I do. While it's not my job to judge anyone on what makes them happy, some couples make me shake my head disappointingly.

I suppose I break a female stereotype. For example, romantic relationships depicted in the media usually don't do it for me. * I tsk at romantic movies. I avoid romance novels like the plague. And don't even get me started on Twilight. I've questioned the legitimacy of fictional relationships so often, it's trickled into my real life perceptions as well.

* I'm not completely heartless, though. I promise. For example, my heart is still recovering from Rose/Ten in Doctor Who. Oh, how I cried! Hitler could have made a jacuzzi from my tears.

Don't get me wrong. I believe in love. I've seen examples that it exists. I think it's pretty awesome, you know, in theory. I just think finding love -- that once-in-a-lifetime love based on compatibility, selflessness, trust, and honesty -- is unlikely. It's like winning the lottery, or having a unicorn sighting. While I consider myself a romantic, I'm also a realist.

I may have become too cynical to function, however. This is when I found Love Gives Me Hope. LGMH is a collection of stories submitted by readers, which are supposed to invoke within you feelings of "hope" about "love." Pretty self explanatory.

This website follows through on its goal. Some of the stories are pretty freaking adorable and have managed to melt their way to the tootsie roll center of my tootsie pop heart. However, I would occasionally run into stories that made my brain convulse. For some of these stories, it seemed like there needed to be a spin-off site: LGMWTF.

And am I going to share some of these findings with you? Absolutely, I am.



Why this gives me WTF?:
I would have payed money and brought popcorn to hear this apology. "Baby, I'm so sorry! A hoard of cell phone imps stole my phone. You know the odd voicemails you received from me that sounded mysteriously like me having relations with another girl? Those were also the phone imps. That is their mating call."

Do these two not have Facebook accounts? There wasn't a mutual friend he could have alerted? Didn't this guy know where his girlfriend LIVES? It's hard for me to believe that there was no humanly possible way for him to have let his girlfriend know of his situation. Hire a skywriter if you have to! Just don't let your girlfriend worry!

This is discourteous at best and fishy at worst. Having a mutual understanding of life's circumstances, yet still making the effort to take time out for each other whenever possible, is one thing. Disappearing with no explanation is another entirely.

"He pulled a douche move, but he 'apologized about a million times' so all is okay again!" No. Trust is hard to rebuild once broken. It's possible to fix broken trust by making up for the mistake, and not pulling the same douche move again. That's my philosophy, anyway. I demand respect for myself. And this is why I'm going to die an old maid surrounded by cats.



Why this gives me WTF?:
Love happens at all different speeds, but this scares the bejesus out of me. Marriage is a big step, the biggest step, the stepiest of the steps. It's a decision that I think some people take too lightly.

How well do you really know a person after three months? Could I have said most, if not all, of these wonderful things about guys I've dated after three months? Yes. Should I have married them? Definitely not. The only way I could've possibly known that was by giving the relationship time. People put their best foot forward when you start dating them. When you let your heart get ahead of itself, you're in danger of missing the things you might not be able to deal with in the future.

If she still feels this way in another three months, and then another three months, power to her. Sometimes you can tell right off the bat that something is right. It's just that when it's right, it'll feel right even after the warm fuzzies of the beginning of a relationship wear off.



Why this gives me WTF?:
What the...? How is this romantic? You guys are thirteen! You're not even in high school yet! You still watch Spongebob Squarepants! You can't be engaged! I just...I can't even... Ugh. Teenagers.



Why this gives me WTF?:
You know what would have made this story really touching? If this guy wasn't such a jerkface.

Not only is this guy completely leading Girl A on, but consistently disrespecting Girl B. This isn't love. This is...teenage male. If he truly cared about either one of these girls, he would either stay loyal to the first girl or admit he has the hots for the second one. Either way, he needs to stop wasting both of their time.



Why this gives me WTF?:
Love gives me hope, but stalking doesn't. It's not a crime to miss your girlfriend when she's not around, but pull yourself together! She'll be back in a month! In the meantime, you still have the telephone. And Skype. And your hobbies. I'm assuming you still have hobbies outside of Girlfriend Infatuating, right?

I knew a guy like this once. He kept a diary exclusively about his girlfriend as well. Her name was also on a few of his inanimate objects. I couldn't help but ask if he was also working on a necklace made of locks of her hair, or how his life sized statue of her likeness built with wads of her used gum was coming along.


I would take it upon myself to build LGMWTF.com, but I may die due to repeated aneurysms. As an alternative, I may have to open Kittens Give Me Hope. The tagline? You may be single, but at least there are kittens.

I'm one of the few people that can say that they have professional experience in answering questions. (No, really! I worked at ChaCha Search Inc. for a year. My IQ may never recover from the experience.) I figured some of you would like to take advantage of my inquiry expertise. Normally you'd have to pay money for my services. Actually, no you don't. ChaCha is funded by advertising and free to use. Normally you'd have to look at ads for my services. But being a good Samaritan, I thought I would extend my skills out to my adoring readers. (All fourteen of you.)

I opened an online forum for questions. (This is just a fancy way of saying that I posted a Facebook status asking for questions, and some of my friends responded.) Now that the amount of questions pleases me, it's time for...

Whitnicism's Question Corner
[Insert Mr. Rogers-esque theme song here.]

How do I become awesome?

Luckily you asked the Regional Ambassador of Awesomeness. (Well, not really, but this should seriously be a thing.) It's fairly complicated being as awesome as I am, but here are my three most crucial tips:

1. On the Office, Dwight's favorite piece of advice from his boss was as follows: Don't be an idiot. "Changed my life," Dwight said. "Whenever I'm about to do something, I think, 'Would an idiot do that?' And if they would, I do not do that thing."

The same applies to awesome. "Be awesome." Whenever you're about to do something, think, 'Would an awesome person do that?' If they wouldn't, don't do that thing.

2. Become a Nerdfighter, since they're made of awesome rather than cells and tissue. I'm one of those.

3. Dance like a crazy person in your room by yourself to a song from Glee or a pop song from the 90's, at least once a week.

Do boys not like me because of my Harry Potter/Glee/Darren Criss/watching gay kisses obsessions?

Yeah, probably. Or at least most of them.

Yet it seems to be that everyone has a handful of quirks that make themselves think, 'Wow. It'll be really hard to find someone of the opposite genitalia that will want to come near me.' (Or the same, if that's how you roll.) It's about finding that one in a thousand person that will find these quirks endearing, rather than running for the hills. People get into relationships all the time with more serious issues than just "quirks." Toenail collectors. Kleptomaniacs. Spencer Pratt. There is love in this crazy world for everybody.

You should probably take down the Kurt and Blaine shrine in the back of your closet before you invite any boys over, however.

Do you think it will be legal someday to marry my cat?

You might as well have asked me, "Do you think it will be legal someday to marry my child?"

How do you beef up a resume?

I'm supremely employed and I have an answer to this! (That was called sarcasm. Sarcasm is something you will need to learn before reading this blog much more.)

My latest quest is to find myself employment, and I haven't had luck in that so far. If you're like me, you're trapped in the "you can't get a job without experience and you can't get experience without a job" paradox. Of course lying on a resume is prohibited, but if you need that extra umph, add jobs and employers that are impossible to get in contact with and trace back to. For example:

Occupation: Ninja
Employer: Sensei (name withheld.)
Contact Information: N/A. He lives in a hut somewhere on a cliff in China, meditating for 15 hours a day in his zen garden. He doesn't believe in phones.

OR

Occupation: FBI Agent
Employer: Federal Bureau of Investigation
Contact Information: I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.

You could also add some pizazz to your resume by filling the "skills and abilities" section with a ton of flashy nouns and adjectives. Your prospective employer will be so taken in by all of the awesome words that you'll be hired for sure. Some examples are: Hyperintelligent, wizard, alive, flying, pirate, reads books, important, vast, American, sparkling, melodic, obedient, early, nutritious, Gryffindor, substantial, optimal... I could go on, really. The more words, the better. Fill pages and pages of words.

Can one simply walk into Morodor?

I'm not really sure. Let's ask Boromir.

Nope. One can't.

Do you think someday it will be possible for me to have a coffee IV?

I'm no medical expert but WOWEE I HOPE SO. I would constantly be tempted to drink my own blood, though. 'Tis a blessing and a curse.

Is it possible to love all my shoes equally?

It's not possible for me, personally, to love all of my shoes equally. I like my comfortable black flats more than the vindictive brown ones that dig painfully into the back of my heels. My brown flats are aware of my prejudice, too. I always tell them, "I wish you were more like Black Flats. Black Flats never causes any trouble." Brown Flats will probably grow up to be a whore, I've damaged her self-esteem so badly.

Perhaps it is possible, if you're a better shoe parent than I am.

How does one cope with Post Potter Depression (aka PPD)?

Be right back, sobbing.

I've been dealing with Post Potter Depression off and on for years now (during the waiting period between new books and movies.) Not only have I not managed to get a grip on that, but this new PPD is an entirely new breed. It's like the rest of my life is this vast, grey, Hogwartsless field of nothingness.

The only thing I can suggest that has helped me is denial. Wrap yourself in a warm, fuzzy, invisibility cloak of denial and stay there at all costs. Reread the Harry Potter books. When you're done, read them again. Show up to work wearing Hogwarts robes. Bring your wand everywhere (I know you have one) and use spells. Develop a British accent. Spend all night in the woods trying to trap an owl to keep as a pet and train to deliver letters for you.

Or you could just check into therapy, but that's no fun.

How crazy is it to go to a bookstore and hug books/whisper sweet nothings to them?

Not crazy at all! I've hugged people and whispered sweet nothings to them. I like most books more than most people. Therefore it should be showing affection towards people that should be questioned, not books.

How do I get that cute boy at school to like me?

I didn't have much luck in high school in the boy department, but I learned a lot via quiet observation. It seemed to me that the majority of high school aged kids haven't grown up yet, and this goes double for boys. To be in a young student relationship, you must conform to young student standards. Some rules of thumb seem to be...

1. Take your IQ. Act like you're at least half that intelligent.
2. Take your level of niceness. Divide this by 1/8th.
3. Take your normal speaking pitch and raise it about five octaves.
4. Be annoying.

For some reason, boys 15-18 go nuts over girls like this. This is why I didn't acquire any boyfriends until after I graduated.

How should I deal with my Darren [Criss] obsession?

You've asked me one of life's most difficult questions, my dear. Darren Criss is hard to defeat. He is actually a cyborg that has been created in a factory, part of a vast scientific research on how to make girls go absolutely bonkers. It also comes in handy for the government if they need to shut the internet down. Darren just releases a shirtless picture of himself. Bam! Darren broke the internet.

I don't know how to deal with a Darren obsession, myself. I'm powerless against the government. But my first suggestion is to purge yourself of friends that ask questions like this:

How can one make Darren Criss marry Angel so that I can be a bridesmaid and hook up with the best man, Joey (if he's not off with Evanna Lynch)?

They only encourage your unhealthy behavior.

By the way, Joey Richter is a cyborg, too. It all makes sense now, doesn't it?

[Insert Mr. Rogers-esque outro.]