Before I get started with the matter at hand, I'm baffled as to why my brain chooses to give me blogging inspiration at the inhuman hours in the morning. I was just about to wrap up the day when I started scribbling things down frantically in my cerebral notepad. There are quite a few uneventful minutes in my day, Brain. Why do you always so urgently have to cut into my sleeping time?

Someone may suggest jotting down ideas when I'm a little more, you know, awake. I can assure you that this does not work. See, for example, an old notepad document that I titled "blog ideas":

Reasons Why I Want a VW Beetle
Utah!
Hiccup Cures
My Brain is a Burden
How Dating Can Kill You

Do I have any idea what I'm going on about with any of these potential subjects? No. Not even a little bit. Case made.

The topic that sealed my late writing fate is Facebook, which I decided to check before going to bed. If the day involves me spending a lot of time on the internet (which, unfortunately, is every day since my job heavily involves internet usage) I end up checking this website more times than I can admit while having my dignity intact. However, checking Facebook to me is like smoking cigarettes; you get a little joy out of it in the moment and a craving is satisfied, but it's very hazardous in the long run.

I've been wondering lately why I have such an aversion to the popular social networking site known as Bookface regardless of how often I check it. This can be summed up in a basic mathematical (but this doesn't really use any numbers, so it's more like a wordmatical) formula:

social inadequacy + social anxiety (squared) x anti-social tendencies = aversion 2 FB (hardcore *)
* Maybe I would have been better at math if "hardcore" was normally used in formulas?

Explanation: I don't do well around people, people intimidate me, and that's okay because I prefer my alone time anyway. Ultimately Facebook involves people and social networking, two things I fail miserably at, which means that it baffles me to no end. I could probably share plenty of mini stories with you, but today let me tell you the tale of when I was a friend count slut.

Remember back in the days of yore of MySpace, when your friend count was tied into your value as a human being? I must have forgotten that MySpace is on its way out, now only used by people who try to make a world record of how many words they can misspell in a lifetime, and I carried this determining factor of worth to my Facebook for a minute. Maybe it's because I am a nice person under all of the layers of being so standoffish, but I add and accept anyone I ever knew by name, talked to, and who didn't annoy me completely. However, being so casual about how you befriend on Facebook only means that someone can also be casual in removing you. Easy come, easy go.

Instead of realizing that the ex Facebook friend probably thought they had an impersonal connection to their chain of friends and figured it would be fine to remove me (since neither of us talked to each other anyway), my mind ball jumped to the (not at all dramatic) conclusion of, "BAWL someone in this world hates me." I would panic a little on the inside. I would even look at other people's friend counts and compare myself to them. For someone who has such anti-social tendencies, I sometimes surprise myself how much I crave the approval of nameless and faceless people. I guess, since I am one of those people things that baffle me, I have to baffle myself as well. This bafflement (oh, hey "bafflement" is a word) includes the fact that even though friend counts don't mean near as much to me anymore, I can still tell you exactly how many Facebook friends I have. Checking the number is a habit I'm trying to break.

What probably astounded me the most is not that I lost a Facebook friend, or not that I even cared so much about it, but that I could never tell who the person was that removed me. I would pour over my friends list, wracking my brain to see who was missing, but to no avail. I gave myself cranial aneurysms over people that I didn't even notice were gone. This was a person I put little to no effort cultivating a friendship with. If I were more selective about who my Facebook friends were myself, I would probably have deleted them. One day I thought, 'Why should I care so much about a person that I really wasn't that close with to begin with?' Answer: I shouldn't. And that is when I stepped foot on the road to recovery.

The awkward factor still remains, however. Since I rarely realize who exactly deleted me, I will see their name come up somewhere and forget that that ship has sailed. When I send a request, I don't realize that I'm coming off as flailing and desperate to someone who had already deleted me. Just like a horrible image that cannot be unseen, the Facebook friend request cannot be undone. (Unless you do this. This has saved my ass from Awkwardtown on several occasions.) This more than likely leads to the person adding you again out of what they think is politeness (and is really just a beating around the bush and, ultimately, obnoxious), and then trying to sneakily re-delete you a month later. They try, and they fail, because this person is under your radar now. Your "I know you're a Facebook friend deleter" radar. I see very little point in befriending someone that you subconsciously know, whether it's in a month or in six, you are not comfortable with updating on your life and will delete anyways. I'd rather be rejected upfront.

Facebook does not alert you about deleted friends and rejected requests, even though it would prevent awkward encounters like these. The truth is that Facebook can be so impersonal that you forget that there are real people with real feelings on the other end. Before technology, the severing of a friendship involved a lot more respect. Arguably the Facebook friend deletion can be seen as a visual representation of two acquaintances that simply drifted apart, but even something as big as a break up can be done via Facebook. (Yes, that has happened to me. Twice. I have more in my arsenal as far as Facebook rants go, instead of just friend counts.)

The point is that I have an idea. Facebook should alert you of these severed ties, but in a gentle almost motherly way. Such as:

Dear Stacy,

Facebook regrets to inform you that Veronica has removed you as a Facebook friend. Don't feel too bad about it, though. You had one class with her in your junior year of high school, and you just added her to be a nice and awesome person anyway. On the bright side, this is one less person that you could run into at the supermarket and feel obligated to struggle to say things to.

Sincerely,

Mark Zuckerberg

Yes, I think Mark Zuckerberg should personally write these. What else does a 26 year-old billionaire have to do with their time?

Also, an apology letter of those hours we will never get back from checking Facebook would be appreciated.

This entry is about a month premature, but I figured I would get my cynicism out of the way so I could spend this February 14th reveling in my single awesomeness.

As a single woman, it's practically my job to mock people who are in relationships. I have all this free time that I would otherwise be using by arguing with my boyfriend. When I have my own beau, I fully expect to be ridiculed. It's the Circle of Life.

Anyone that has been single for the majority of their life can more than likely come up with more than four obnoxious couples. These just came to me at random. Now, I bestow upon you...four types of obnoxious couples!

4. Conveniently Named Couples
Pretty much names that sound too perfect together. This includes couples that you don't have to force a celebrity couples name for (i.e. "Brangelina" and "Bennifer"), alliterations, names that rhyme and, God forbid, having the same name. These couples aren't inherently obnoxious. It's the way they're presented. They're like twins, or a circus sideshow act or something. It's unnatural.

I'm sure when the people involved in the couple think about it, it's like:
"My name is Zoey. His name is Zac. Kinda cool, huh?"

Whereas in my head, I picture this:
"I'm Zoey and he's Zac, and we searched the world in all of its E's and J's and R's to find each other. We're both also unconventionally spelled, which only adds to our soul mate factor. Stare at us in wonder and bow to us in our perfectly named glory!"

This is like Nicolas Sparks is planning out and writing their lives, and it's gross. Couples with quirks appeal to me more than the seemingly perfect ones. I am much more likely to swoon over a couple named Harry and Voldemorta. They beat the odds.

3. Teenagers
I try not to be ageist, but I'm not a fan of teenagers. I didn't like being around teenagers even when I actually was one, and that includes myself. Teens are irrational creatures and preoccupy themselves with several silly things. Put a few hundred of them together, add hormones and the opposite sex, and they're just hilarious.

You're probably thinking, 'C'mon, Whitney. Don't act like you had it all figured out at 16 years old." I didn't. I was stupid. Teenagers just should not date! Arguably this time in life does have a lot to do with learning, but it's like teaching someone how to swim. You could spend weeks watching them barely hold themselves above water, or you could throw them off of a pier while shouting, "Learn or die!"

That's cruel. However, we have student drivers at sixteen. We should start making student daters, as well. They could wear a t-shirt that says "Student Dater," and a dating instructor could bark instructions at them. "No, Sarah, you are only with this guy because you think he's hot. There is no lasting potential here beyond a few weeks tops." "Robert, stop making out with her! Talk to her about Nicki Minaj or something!" "Janet, just because you have the same favorite color doesn't mean you're in love with him!"

2. The Obsessed
This happens to everyone. You have a new boyfriend, and it's awesome. You can call him multiple times a day, and he won't place a restraining order on you. You can finally change your relationship status, and you're squeeing inside. He's your favorite topic of conversation. When you go out to lunch, you want to stand on your table with a megaphone and shout, "You see that guy?! That is my boyfriend!"

For most, within a few months, this wears off. You're still happy, but the feeling has transferred from a drug induced hyperactivity to a warm comforting glow worm in your tummy. Those that never progress to this next stage only worsen to the point of being unbearable over time.

I've been both the person with the boyfriend and the single one hearing about my friend's boyfriend. As someone who has had to deal with girls who I'm sure keep locks of their guy's hair in a bottle around their neck and make dolls out of his chewing gum, I have one mission and one mission only: Don't be obnoxious. Allow myself to talk about my boyfriend, but integrate that topic with your family and work and movies and all that other stuff that actually matters in my life.

It just doesn't seem worth it when you get into a conversation like this:
Friend: My boyfriend is so cute!
Me: Awww, that's awesome! Speaking of cute, today my niece...
Friend: Last Saturday we went on a date, and when he picked me up he was wearing a green shirt. He looks so good in green!
Me: ...He must be an autumn, then. So...
Friend: Then he took me to get pizza, and it's like, how does he know I love pizza? It's like he read my mind!
Me: I think that's a safe bet. Well...
Friend: And he held my hand! But he didn't interlace his fingers with mine, so I don't know what to make of that...
Me: I have cancer!
Friend: And than after that we went to see that new Jennifer Lopez movie...
Me: You realize there's a war going on, right?

Then you go onto Facebook to talk to people without having to actually talk to people, and it's a couples frenzy. Statuses dedicated to each other. Multiple posts on each other's wall. Five profile picture changes, all of the two of you together. We get it. You're in a relationship. That's great. When you rub it into the rest of the world's faces, though? That's a little less great.

1. The Drama Llamas
This one is the doozy. Instead of thinking, 'Hey, this relationship sucks. I should get out of it,' they seem to thrive off of each other. They're constantly fighting. They're broken up and gotten back together multiple times. They hate how much they love each other and love how much they HATE each other! It's not real love unless it's difficult and passionate. Give me a break.

It's like the experiment with rats. One door electrocutes you when you touch it, while the other has cheese. Some only need to be electrocuted once to think, 'Hey. That hurt. I should go for the other door. It has cheese.' It seems to me that some want the electrocuting door to be the cheese door so badly that they're willing to zap themselves into a charred mess of defeat.

That may not sound very logical to you. That's because it's not logical. Neither is trying to talk to someone in a relationship like this:

"This is just a hunch, but your relationship with this girl isn't exactly healthy."
"But I love her! I love her!"
"Right, yeah, that many splendored thing. But do you remember that time she cheated on you with your brother? That doesn't sound very splendored to me."
"She just needed to be with that guy to show her that we're meant to be together."
"Um. Okay?"
"I'm accepting my constant heartache like a champ. If I am obsessed with her and in denial for long enough, she'll see how unshakable my love is and want to marry me. It's passionate."
"Or you could put all of that passion into something else? Like maybe a hobby? Or finding a therapist?"


Unfortunately it seems like more couples fit into the obnoxious category than the not-obnoxious category. That is what makes that one find so special. To the singles, we'll party it up in our singletude. To the healthy relationships, claps for you! And to the rest of you...go find your cheese.

I have the attention span of a pet hamster. Because of this, I love and leave writing projects like a writing whore. Hopefully this blog does not become another notch in my bedpost. That way I can send a link here to all of the important writer-y people I contact and say, "Lookie here! See?! I actually do write on a fairly regular basis!" This blog will hopefully help compensate for my tiny resume.

Also, writing is crucial to my survival. If I don't write, I die. This hasn't been confirmed, but I wouldn't want to test this theory out. I prefer myself alive.

When I write, I don't really write at all. I just talk through my fingers. The only difference is that I can actually consider things before I write them. With talking, unfortunately, you can't go back and edit it to sparkly perfection. If you could, I would be a lot less socially awkward.

Naturally, I wanted a blog name that perfectly embodies what this blog is going to be about. This was a challenge to me. I love naming things. If I had the option to name and constantly rename my future children I would, although I'm sure that would traumatize everyone involved.

My Poor Son's First Grade Teacher: "What is 2 + 2...Jimmy?"
My Poor Son: "My mom watched the Lord of the Rings movies, so I'm 'Dominic' this week."
My Poor Son's First Grade Teacher: "...."

I pondered, and I pondered, and I pondered some more. Then the perfect name came to me in an epiphany, and this is what it looked like in my brain.

Whiticism

It was personal, yet didn't simply involve my full name. (There are at least 100 people that share a name with me, so that would be moot.) It involved wordplay on "criticism," and I enjoy wordplay. I was even able to define it:

whit·i·cism - noun: A snarky sometimes witty take on the world through the eyes of someone named Whitney, who is snarky and sometimes witty.

I excitedly went online to register this name, when I discovered to my horror that it was taken. The way the person who thought up the name first defines "whiticism" is as follows:

whit·i·cism - noun: LOOK AT MY BABY!!!!

I tried to add an "s" at the end to make it "whiticisms," but this was also taken. For an extra emotional kick in the pants, this blog only has one entry...written six years ago. If I ran a blogging website, I would force those who never use their blogs to purge their awesome usernames and surrender them to those who plan to write regularly. The user who never writes would then receive a mediocre username in its place. (Examples: iusetoiletpaper, iownacomputer, puppiesarenice, or the most straightforward iamlameandneverupdate.)

This is how I compromised to "whitnicism," which sounds like "witness-ism" in my head and doesn't quite roll off the tongue the way "whiticism" does. Yet that is life. We settle for the cards we've been dealt. (At least we settle when we're too lazy to come up with a new username that hasn't already been taken.)