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.]

There are times in our lives when we have experiences that change us, and we have to share them. They're filled with heart, soul, and character-building pain that shapes us into the people we are and who we will someday become.

I don't have a lot of these experiences, so I'll make due with this.

Last weekend, in the course of our family reunion, a troupe of aunts and uncles and grandchildren went to revisit an area that my mom's family had hiked every year. My life-changing incident involves how I hiked to the top of a mountain. And didn't die.

It wasn't even a mountain, really. It was steep, intimidating, and included a cave and a very important-looking series of power wires on the top. My perception on what should be considered a mountain is likely warped. Living in the Rockies, we usually throw our heads back and laugh at what people from other places consider "mountains." This hill-mountain cyborg is nothing compared to the mountains that constantly surround me.

To clear up any confusion amongst readers, for we all have different opinions of what constitutes as a mountain or not, let's just all assume whatever I climbed looked like this:



Even though it didn't.

A recurring theme in this coming-of-age tale, the point that made this "mountain" trek such a struggle for me, was not my inability to walk far. I'm awesome at walking. It's one of my many talents. Heights also don't intimidate me much. I'm not stellar with being in high places, but they're manageable.

My thing is this: I'm bathmophobic. That is not a fear of baths, although that would be very inconvenient. I'm scared of steepness. I'm not sure how to describe this, other than the fact that I'm the least sure-footed person on planet Earth. Whenever I walk down a steep slope, I subconsciously expect this to happen to me.



The caves were fairly easy to get to, by normal people standards. A trail conveniently paved the way to them. However, part of this path was too steep for my standards. I walked up with no problems, but I crab walked on the way back down. I have no shame in admitting that. (Well, maybe a little bit of shame.)

I can be an overly ambitious person. You know, when I feel like it. Regardless of that moment in the Whitney Hall of Shame,I felt like I could still make the hike to the very top of the hill-mountain lovechild. This involved a fairly extensive trail including many, many steep slopes.

I'm an idiot.

With a handful of family members, we set forth. The trail we hiked was a bit of a challenge, with inclines that hours of walking on the treadmill hadn't quite prepared me for. Do you remember the old nursery rhyme, the Bear Went Over the Mountain, where a bear had climbed up and over a mountain only to find another mountain he had to climb? I sympathized with that bear. Whenever we turned a corner, believing we were finally almost there, we found another obnoxious series of twisting and turning trails.

Then we saw it, the Grand Poobah of hills. The path leading to our very destination, the very top of the not mountain, was hardly a path at all. It was a series of rocks, hundreds of them that could break off the side and cause you to topple to your doom. It's also important for me to mention that this path was very steep. Remember, I don't like steep. Steep is bad. Very bad. The sight of it alone was enough for us to give up right then and there.

All of us except for my great Aunt Margaret. My great Aunt Margaret is in her 70's and very, very miniature. Just to give you an idea, here is an actual-size drawing.


Point being, she's elderly and frail and adorable and the last person there that would be expected to try tackling the Grand Poobah of hills. Yet she did. She stared it determinately in the face. Umbrella in hand, clad in a brightly colored floral jumpsuit, she began to climb.

My uncle Darren turned to me and said, "Look at Aunt Margaret! She's doing it! If she can do it, we can!" He began to follow her. Thinking bitter thoughts about peer pressure, I followed him.

I ended up crawling up on my hands and knees. Humans have the disadvantage of only being able to use two limbs for walking. You don't see a lot of bathmophobic mountain goats, so maybe they're onto something. It was then when I felt like I was in the climax of a movie. A movie about a girl on a family hike with a fear of slopes that she needs to conquer. (I have a feeling there isn't much of an audience for that movie.)

My hands were scratched up from climbing. I started sweating and panting, which I'm sure was ridiculously attractive. About a fourth of the way up, I sat on a rock to rest. My aunt, bringing up the rear, talks about how wonderful I was to "stop and wait" for her. I'll let her believe that. When my aunt caught up with me we walked, hand in hand (because having something sturdy to grab onto helps with my fear of slopes) the rest of the way.

The view was gorgeous, probably all the more so because I was thankful I didn't fall to my rocky doom. There was also a deer about ten yards away, who had four limbs to climb with and obviously did not share a fear of steep hills. The trail back down was easy, gorgeous, and rewarding.

And there were only a few steep areas where I had to cling onto my aunt for dear life.