Thursday, April 30, 2009

Just bein' Miley

Hello, kids. Today I took a complicated test on a complicated book. Luckily,

Oh, goody. I was going to say "I don't think I did that poorly," but I stopped in the middle to check if it'd been graded already. I got a D. On an ENGLISH test. Faaaantastic. On the bright side, it was the last real assignment I'll ever have to do in high school. On the not-so-bright side, I now have a C. In English. Kick me in the face. I'm totally not in the mood for blogging anymore at the present time. Here's another editorial I wrote yesterday for my school's newspaper:

Unless you’re elderly or a Pokemon master, chances are you know quite a bit about Miley Cyrus. At the age of sixteen, she has over 196,000,000 Google search results. According to Forbes magazine, she’s the world’s fifteenth richest person under the age of 25. Her TV show, Hannah Montana, has pulverized the Disney channel’s previous ratings. Both of her albums, Meet Miley Cyrus (2007) and Breakout (2008) went straight to number one. Her face is practically wallpaper at Wal-Mart and Claire’s. She’s starred in two feature films and sold out concert locations all across the country.

Oh yeah, and a lot of people hate her.

I’ll admit—when Cyrus first came on the scene as Hannah Montana in 2006, I thought she was annoying. Lots of mouthy overacting in the style of Raven-Symone, highly-edited children’s motivational songs, and one of those prepubescent ribcage-y body types: it all seemed enough for me to dismiss. Little did I know that Disney’s ability to reel in audiences of all ages would lead to my own succumbing to Miley Mania.

Though it was at first against my will, I found myself frequently impressed by Cyrus’s interview performance. She doesn’t answer questions like a ditz. She carries herself with a womanlike maturity while still trying to live down to America’s expectations for her to be a little girl.

The general public has formed the common misconception that Cyrus can’t sing. I understand why this would be assumed, as her most widely heard music is from when she was fourteen years old. Quite contrarily, however, Cyrus performs the majority of her concerts live and successfully. When was the last time Britney Spears even had her headset microphone turned on at a show? Cyrus beautifully delivered her new single, “The Climb,” at the children’s inaugural concert this winter, under an enormous amount of pressure, and the audience was visibly shaken.

It should also be noted that Cyrus wrote and cowrote the majority of both her albums, which is a pretty monumental feat for a young actress, especially considering that her competition, people like Jamie Lynn Spears and Lindsay Lohan-- who are respectively pregnant with a second illegitimate child and a rehab patient—have never penned a meaningful word in their lives. While somewhat trivial, (Who didn’t laugh when they heard “My best friend Leslie said, ‘Oh, she’s just bein’ Miley’?”) Cyrus’s lyrics speak to the souls of pre-teen girls everywhere. She sings about skateboarding after school; not indiscriminate sex.

Which brings us to the inevitable discussion of her sexy Internet photos. Last year, a set of photographs were leaked to the web, picturing Cyrus posing for a girlfriend’s digital camera with hints of her undergarments purposely showing. Yes, parents have reason to be cautious when their daughters’ favorite star is seen in a lime green bra, but in my opinion, the whole ordeal was wildly blown out of proportion. The pictures, while racy, were nothing you wouldn’t see on the Myspace pages of half our student body. They’re a far cry from child pornography, and incomparable to High School Musical’s Vanessa Hudgens’s nude photos. The real crime in this situation is that members of the media are exploiting the childish mistakes of a child for their own benefit.

While it is evident that Miley Cyrus has some growing up to do, I honestly cannot foresee a drug meltdown or head-shaving in her future. Being in the public eye 24/7, the self-proclaimed Christian teen deserves a medal for having so few strikes against her decency record to date. My advice? Leave her alone. She’s just bein’ Miley.

Weight: I don't know right now.
Chipotle burritos this year: 15
Subscribers: 15,732
Days left of high school: 16

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. Proooom niiiiight.

It's Called a Breakup Because It's Broken

I decided to save a special surprise for the last day of BEDA. I'm pregnant.
...No, I'm not. But I'm not just doing Blog Every Day April. I'm doing Blog Every Day Ever. BEDE. Or at least Blog Every Day Ever Almost. I'm doing BEDEA. Writing in this blog all month has consistently been one of the best parts of my day, and I'm not going to stop. It's relieving-- setting aside a few minutes to self-reflect and amuse the most loyal of my internet followers, all while making a little bit of ad revenue and keeping up to date on the lives of my friends. Plus, the entries of this blog are so ME. What you read is what you get. So thanks, Maureen Johnson. I die without you. (Heeheehee. Get it? A Rent joke? Because her name is Maureen Johnson? Heh?)

I thought I'd get that out of the way so you didn't hate me for making this post so short and boring. If you're still mad, here's something funny to distract you

Okay, so I put off doing my heaps and heaps of AP English homework due tomorrow until the last second again, and instead read the book I got from the library yesterday. I made an excuse for myself by writing a review of it for my school newspaper. I cannot fathom why you would care, but here it is:

"Once upon a time, I got royally dumped. We were together, we were happy, and then we weren’t. Like most self-respecting young women, I made sure he knew what he was missing by leaving him teary, nonsensical middle-of-the-night voicemails including catch phrases like “I know you better than you do!” and “You’ll remember that we belong together!” I talked my friends’ ears off, I ate a lot of cheese fries, and I listened to Demi Lovato. And then I discovered It’s Called a Breakup Because It’s Broken: a girl’s self-help book by the author of He’s Just Not That Into You, Greg Behrendt.

Since its publication in 2005, this book has been saving lives like my own the world over. With step-by-step instructions for getting rid of his junk (return the laptop, toss the nail-clippers, box up the photographs), lists of things to do instead of stalk him (take up yoga, redecorate your bedroom) and a recipe for sorrow-drowning brownies, Because It’s Broken is the perfect manual for any psychopath.

One chapter, entitled “Why You Shouldn’t Call Him—And What He’s Thinking When You Do,” provides a link to a website where readers can download ringtones for their phones. “Really?” one ringtone shouts. “You’re gonna answer it? Is that what we’re doing now—backsliding? Really, we’re just gonna chuck our self-esteem out the window?”

Sure, many aspects of the book are undeniably corny. Behrendt frequently refers to the reader as “Superfox” and “Hot Stuff,” for example, and one page is a crossword puzzle that leads to writing out “I deserve better.” But at the end of the day, if the options are making another lonely 3AM phone call and calling yourself “Saucy Girl,” one is ultimately healthier than the other.

So if you’re still lipsynching to “All By Myself” in the kitchen wearing holey pajamas and remnants of your ice cream pint, run down to the library and pick up a copy of It’s Called a Breakup Because It’s Broken. You’re broken up. It’s over. It’s time for an Extreme Home Breakover."

Criticisms? Comments? I see that a lot of you went out and got Sloppy Firsts after I suggested it, so I think I can trust your taste. On an unrelated note (I just didn't want too many short paragraphs; they're ugly), sorry for not making a 5AG video today. Waaay too busy. I'll hopefully post a video this weekend with footage of my prom, which is Saturday.

Sexy: The Office. Not the characters (Jim reminds me way too much of my brother!) and not the... building... but, like, the essence of the show itself.
Unsexy: Hilary Duff. Ever. Sorry, sweetie. You tried.

Weight: 139
Chipotle burritos this year: 14
Subscribers: 15,704
Days left of high school: 17

Bye, guys! See you tomorrow. <3

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Singin' in the library

I'm at the library. No particular reason, other than that I look kind of foxy today (See that, people who comment on my lack of self-esteem? See that?) and didn't want to just sit at home, putting it to waste. I'm in the far back, shoved into a little cubicle, beside two special needs men who are singing separate songs at hilariously loud, unlibrary-like levels. It's really cute and sweet. The man directly on my left is now reading aloud the title of every movie coming out this summer. "I want to see Star Trek!" he just proclaimed, punching the air triumphantly. I'm not kidding; this is adorable. Vastly superior to doing homework at the kitchen table.

Here's some fun news for the day: I forgot The Exboyfriend's birthday! I woke up frantically this morning, like Shit shit shit, I forgot his birthday! April 26th! Shit! Then I opened my eyes, exhaled deeply, and smiled like a madwoman. I forgot his birthday! That's a serious step on the road to recovery. I'm no longer pouring over a large plate of cheese fries with a soggy copy of He's Just Not That Into You. I've progressed all the way to forgetting his birthday and checking It's Called a Breakup Because It's Broken out of the library, where I'm currently sitting on a chair from the 1970s that bares a suspicious maroon stain.

I'm home now, lacking people singing, creepy remnants of bodily fluids, and the fourteen dollars I'd accumulated in library fines. Who would have thought that the Hannah Montana and Miley Cyrus Best of Both Worlds Tour DVD in 3D could take so much out of my pocket for being just a few months late? Note to self: return Miles to Go on time. I'm just kidding. I didn't take out the Miley Cyrus autobiography. ...It's on hold.

Anyway, I just saw a commercial for a contest Hershey's is holding to win a S'MORES PARTY with RASCAL FLATTS. Although I'm not the world's hugest Rascal Flatts fan, I saw them in concert once and it was awesome. I am, however, THE WORLD'S HUGEST S'MORES FAN. Someone go win that for me.

Sexy: Dessert sandwiches made of chocolate and melted marshmallows folded between two graham crackers. Oh, and men who eat them in mass quantities.
Unsexy: Having a personal corndog fryer in your home kitchen.

Weight: 138
Chipotle burritos this year: 14
Subscribers: 15,677
Days left of high school: 18

Bye, guys! See you (hopefully in both blog and video) tomorrow. <3

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Kelly caught a fugitive!

My mother's making a scrapbook of my life for my graduation present. Although she shoos me away anytime I sneak a peek, at the end of the day she should know better than to conduct secret business in the middle of the kitchen. She's currently working on the pages for my school musicals, and the two of us just broke out into the Pippin finale. My mother and I are very different people, so when we have something in common (our love for theatre, our callings to work with abused children) I get kind of giddy. I like my mom.

In REALLY EXCITING NEWS, my sister sent me a text today, proclaiming, "I caught a fugitive!" I called to find out what was going on, and apparently she was sitting on her lawn at school and an escapee, dressed in his prison garb, ran past her. She called 911, and while it was still ringing, a cop pulled up next to her, chased the guy down the raggedy hill in Kelly's backyard, and tased the bro. She's quoted (sounding like the world's biggest ditz) on the front page of her city's news site.
"Ohio University students Courtney Walter and Kelly Hoover were busy studying outside their sorority house in Athens around 1 p.m. Tuesday, when they saw a man running down the street. 'I thought, Oh, somebody's late for class,' Hoover said. 'Then I'm like-- I think he's handcuffed!'"
So remember, kids: don't run past a sorority house next time you're handcuffed. One of 'em will talk to the press, sounding like a valley girl, and humiliate you further.

In youtubely news, I'm plotting a half-emo, half-funny video about recovering from breakups. I think it'll be a liberating experience for me, as well as a good outlet for the equally-scorned commenters. Also, Nikki (babyporridge) posted a new song, and, as expected, it's beyond beautiful. "Human condition says we're destined to be lonely, but maybe I don't want to be a part of this affliction," the song says. "I'd rather be destined to spend my life inspired." I want to be her.

Re: yesterday's blog commets, I have a few things to say: 1) Thank you, and 2) LOL. You guys are both hilarious and provide some good insights. The reason I trusted you, the blog readers, with in-depth information about my personal life... is because you're my favorites. Don't repeat that, but it's true. I think the hierarchy of how much I take input from strangers into consideration goes 1) blog readers, 2) twitter followers, 3) youtube subscribers, and 4) everyone else. You have to care about someone to bother reading their blogs. I therefore adore you. 

Re: yesterday's blog content: we'll see. And to Rufus, who asked what I'm going to do about prom, we're in luck-- the Boy and the Prom Date are the Same Person. :) OH, and I'm so sorry to anyone who clicked on the unsexy link yesterday. Y'all got what I've decided to call foot-rolled.

Sexy: Playing instruments. For one, passion and talent are always attractive, and it takes both to pursue learning to play. For two, the movements required to make noise come out of an instrument are similar to the movements required to make noise come out of a woman. (I'm sorry if my awkward pervy humor is catching some of you off guard. It's a pretty well-kept secret most of the time.)
Unsexy: Athletic shorts paired with nice shirts. Really, guys? Really?

Weight: 139
Chipotle burritos this year: 13
Subscribers: 15,635
Days left of high school: 19

Bye, guys! See you tomorrow. <3

Monday, April 27, 2009


I sort of have a boyfriendishthingalmost. Did you know that? Of course you didn't know that, because I've never told you. I've never told you, because I'm still training myself to say it. We've been playing the whole run-around-in-circles,-everyone-sees-it-but-us,-let's-give-'em-something-to-talk-about emotional schmorgusboard for, like... six years. And now high school is nearly over, and it's about time that the inevitable couple go for it.

Anyway, he's tall-- somewhere between six foot and 6'2"-- and, yeah, he's cute. An obvious fact that I somehow didn't notice until this year, when every single freshman and sophomore girl suddenly started desperately flirting with him. He's also (Ready for this?) valedictorian, Most Spirited, the leading non-singing male of every play, on the tennis team, taking the most intimidating schedule of classes I could ever imagine, on a statewide high school version of Jeopardy, my family is borderline obsessed with him, and, oh yeah, he's in love with me. It's really all my decision. Leave any thoughts on the matter in the comments. And, um... we'll see? *facepalm*

Sexy: Lying in the grass on a sunny day.
Unsexy: This, although it is HILARIOUS. Turn it off before four minutes, though!! Truly terrifying and disgusting. How does stuff like this exist?!

Weight: 136
Chipotle burritos this year: 13
Subscribers: 15,607
Days left of high school: 20

Bye, guys! See you tomorrow. <3

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Hairs on my chest, children in my loins

Things I accomplished today:
--Went to church.
--Hiked for two hours with my mom.
--Bought a 90-cent change purse shaped like Nala from The Lion King.
--Chomped some Chip' with my lovely friend, Lauren.
--Had a nice conversation with my other lovely friend, Lauren (devilishlypure).
--Attended my church small group, where we were each given a dollar with which to do something nice for someone this week. I LOVE that idea. What would you guys do with your dollar?

Things I didn't accomplish today:

In youtubely news, I decided to re-watch every single RoboFillet video, since Rohan said that if I favorited any more of his old amateur vlogs, he would kill me in the style of The Ring. Within this video, I came across a gem of a quote: "This will put hair on your chest, and many children in your loins." And if I were not already in love with the kid (I was), I am now (still). Subscribe and pleasant emotion will overcome your soul.

Sexy: Mathieu Kassovitz. It's possible that I'm actually attracted to Nino, his character in Amelie, who's artistic and quirky and awkward and French, but either way... he's gorgeous.
Unsexy: A lot of things are sexy today! I'm going to have to say "animals," just as a cop-out answer. I promise I'll cop-in a better one tomorrow.

Weight: 138
Chipotle burritos this year: 13
Subscribers: 15, 576
Days left of high school: 21

Bye, guys! See you tomorrow. <3

Saturday, April 25, 2009

Thundercats, HO!

Hi! Yesterday's blog was really more of a blurb than it was a blog, and for that I apologize. Blame it on all the fun I was having. Or, if you'd rather, blame it on all the Jello I ate that was really more Vodka than it was Jello.

The party I went to last night was okay. Rather typical, what with all the beer ponging and togaing. I just sort of followed Kelly, smiled a lot, and obliged when strangers wanted to hug me and quote my videos. I went as the font Gothicum, and wore a tiny black dress, masses of black eyeliner, gold heels, and these awesome dangly gold earrings from the seventies that I got at the most adorable vintage shop in all the world, located underground on campus. It's strange that this isn't all dress-up anymore; I'm old enough to be here. Everyone's my age. If I want to wear a ton of eye makeup that looks nothing like me, no one cares, because they don't know me. I'm not the girl who made out with Mike at a party in eighth grade, or the rival of the middle school queen bee, or one of the weird "individual" chicks who sit in the corner and laugh at their in-jokes at mandatory assemblies. I'm interesting and confident and new and me. I like this.

We left at about midnight because it was eighty degrees and we were starting to suffocate in the tiny frat house. We went down to the student center, where they give out free nachos and hotdogs on weekend nights in an attempt to sober people up. This guy came out and announced then that an improv show was about to start inside a coffee house, and my little gothic ears perked all the way up. It was SO, SO FUNNY AND COOL. This group of four girls and five guys stood on the stage, asked for one word from the audience (toenail) and bounced back and forth off each other for half an hour. One sketch was clearly going nowhere, so in the middle of it one of the girls walked across the stage like a dinosaur. "Oh," said the main character of the sketch, nonchalantly, "I see you've met my raptor!" I was dying. The joy that kills. Another sketch went from being about a broken-down car to Narnia, to cannibalism, to the Lollipop Guild. It ended in a fit of giggles when one of the boys pushed his way through with his arm outstretched, declaring "Thundercats!" I erupted with fangirly laughter. "Any reference to Thundercats works on me," I said to Kelly at a conversational volume, forgetting that I was right next to the stage and they could all hear me. The boy performers laughed and pointed at me, and I swear we all fell in love with each other at that moment.

I feel like I could really fit in here! I'm already meeting people that could be my friends and flirting with funny nerd boys. There's a screenwriting major! The food is amazing! I feel so fresh and pretty and fun and adventurous. Remind me to reread this blog entry when I start getting nervous again.

Oh, and before we wrap this up, I must tell you about BagelStreet. It's a little alleyway-turned-deli with brick walls inside covered in sidewalk chalk, posters and customer-made foil sculptures. People are pressed wall-to-wall, fighting their way to the front for one of the greatest sandwiches ever. I had a sundried tomato bagel with veggie cream cheese, cucumbers, tomatoes, sprouts, and provolone cheese. There's a sandwich named after Kimmie Gibbler. They hold an annual pickle-eating contest that I fully intend to win before I graduate. Remember when I said it's sexy to walk around while eating warm food wrapped in foil? Bagelstreet made it unbearably sexier.

Sexy: Weird vintage jewelry, like the gold buckle bracelet I'm wearing that I got from my grandma. Or, for example, the nerdy eighties cartoon t-shirt the cute improv boy had on last night.
Unsexy: Having indiscriminate, intoxicated college sex. One aspect I will never truly comprehend or justify.

Weight: I don't know; I'm not home.
Chipotle burritos this year: 12
Subscribers: 15, 524
Days left of high school: 21

Bye, guys! See you tomorrow. <3

Friday, April 24, 2009

Font party

I'm sitting in the crook of a giant burgundy plush couch at my sisters' sorority house, chewing on ice cubes and observing the chaos that is ninety synchronized menstrual cycles. They're all really nice girls, but it's so stereotypical: mascara wands and theme parties and way too much emotion. Tonight I'm going to a "font party." Someone's wearing a toga and going as Times New Roman. I'll either be Gothic or Georgia-- whichever piece (black eyeliner or a cowgirl hat) looks more likely to start some sort of drunken literary discussion.

I forgot to mention that part. When I drink, I feel really compelled to talk about literature. "You're such a transcendentalist," I once told a creeper frat guy. Kelly forcefully pulled me away at that point, to which the boy shouted, "Like 'Walden,' right? Yeah! I am!"

I'm not in the mood to blog right now, to be honest. I'll catch up tomorrow. If I call or text you tonight... forgive me.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Scrubs, Adam and 'Nam

I think the fictional character I relate to most is Elliot Reid (played by Sarah Chalke) from Scrubs. I get told that I look like her. We're both cripplingly unstable, have disastrous quirks, played tambourine in Christian rock bands (Not really, but would you put it past me?), and have habits of dating guys we don't like. "I could never do yoga," Elliot once said. "All that heavy breathing. I hate breathing. Except, of course... to live." What about you, readers? What fake person do you relate to?

I'm skipping school tomorrow to visit my future home, Ohio University. All my siblings went there, so I'm going down with my oldest sister, Cori, to stay with my other sister, Kelly. It'll be like a normal college visit... except without all the orientation stuff... and a lot more mischievous... and altogether more fun. I'll have to steal someone's laptop to blog tomorrow and Saturday, but I'm going to try. BEDA is sort of like a game, and I REFUSE TO LOSE.

Unrelatedly, I posted a new Annoyance video yesterday. I'm going to give my completely unbiased, professional opinion and say that I think it's really funny. (What's that sound? Ah, yes: hundreds of people rolling their eyes and hitting "unsubscribe.") Let's just say that I adore my viewers. The majority of my comments now end with two periods. Hahahaha. Also, Alan (fallofautumndistro) posted a really cute video yesterday. I know this because it's a response to mine. I think he just craves my attention? Whatever; so would I.

OH, and in other youtubely news, I dreamt last night that I lived in the apartment complex from The Science of Sleep, next door to whataboutadam. I had some sort of big secret... that I can't remember... and Adam filmed it all and exposed me on his youtube channel. I remember feeling very confused, very betrayed, and very excited for all the new subscribers I'd gain. It's possible that this stems from my mission, HOAISSEDA, which stands for Hit On Adam In Sixty Seconds Every Day April. It's taking effort to come up with something creepy to comment each evening. I deserve a restraining order.

Sexy: John C. McGinley. I've mentioned before how his role in Scrubs revs me up (He's so damaged and dysfunctional and dreamy!) but I realized today, while watching Oliver Stone's horrific Platoon, that it's not just Dr. Cox. It's him. He sweats talent and sex.
Unsexy: The Vietnam War, while we're on the subject. I'm reading Tim O'Brien's Going After Cacciato, and it's really pulling at me. How awful.

Weight: 135
Chipotle burritos this year: 12
Subscribers: 15, 416
Days left of high school: 22

Bye, guys! See you tomorrow. <3

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Government, Q&As, Theme Weeks, snot

My Government teacher is a sweet, sweet man, but he's sort of all over the place. He has stacks of graded homework in his classroom dating back to the Ice Age, or, like, 2003. Nearly every day he waddles in ten minutes late, fuming, and shows us last night's Fox News stories on an ancient TV, held together quite literally with duct tape. "Fair and balanced!" he preaches as if his life depends upon it. "Fair and balanced, unlike Nancy--Mrs.--Madam--Speaker... MADAM PELOSI." If you ask him, all the world's problems stem from Nancy Pelosi. But then again, if you ask him, Fox News is "fair and balanced."

Right now, we're working on what he refers to as a "Point Power Program." This translates loosely to "PowerPoint presentation." As much as I'd love to make slides about Affirmative Action, I received a lot of questions in my comments yesterday, so I thought I'd answer a few.

Partyweetow: "The only thing I can think of that comes in a plastic bag is, like, fruits and vegetables, and those are things you *should* be eating. "
Hayley: There's a girl in my class who always scoops ranch dressing out of a Ziploc baggy with a carrot. I can't think of anything grosser, save 2girls1cup.

Vena: "Are you thinking of going to Kenyon College? That's the one John Green went to."
Hayley: I've made my official decision to go to Ohio University in September, although, yes, John has yelled at me for not going to Kenyon. It's a really nice school, but it's not right for me.

Stefan: "Have you seen Spurlock's 30 Days show? It was okay. Though he is hardly a handsome man, but whatevs."
Hayley: I have, and I thoroughly disagree!

xOBrittxO: "You know, Jennifer Aniston doesn't dress girly and people still know she's a girl. And Ellen Page and Drew Barrymore and I'm sure there are tons more. You don't have to dress girly to be a girl."
Hayley: Haha. Thank you! I actually am kind of girly, though. My plan is more to remind myself to wake up early enough to put a tiny bit of effort into my appearance.

John: "Hayley, I assume you are going to major in English. Please tell me I'm right; otherwise it would be a travesty."
Hayley: Thanks! Yes, English is my first and most intense love. My whole life I was planning to major in Creative Writing, but lately I've been hearing a lot of negative sides to that idea. It's possible that I'll look into video editing of some sort, too. I love it, I think I'm pretty good at it, and I'd probably get to play with cool toys.

Kristi: "Thank you SO much for suggesting Sloppy Firsts the other day... I got it yesterday and can't stop reading! :)"
Hayley: I'M SO GLAD. You're welcome.

enchanted-lady7: "Hayley, you should know that you do not need to prove your femininity to people by painting your nails or putting on makeup. Just be yourself. Whether you're feminine or not, what's the big deal? I mean do men and women still need to abide to old stereotypes and customs so people can feel comfortable around us? Really, do not let other people's close-mindedness affect you. On another note, I was curious Hayley, how tall are you? :-P"
Hayley: Again, I appreciate your advice. :) But, as I said before, it's more about feeling more me than it is dressing to impress other people. As far as how tall I am, are you asking so you can figure out my body mass index and how many calories I need in a day? Sigh. I'm 5'5".

Kelly: "Well, you wouldn't wanna look like Sarah Jessica Parker anyway because she looks like a horse. Literally, there's even a website:"
Hayley: Awwww. I love Sarah Jessica Parker. That website is, admittedly, hilarious, but I still think she's beautiful.

Oh, while we're on the topic of dressing better to remind people I'm a girl... my best friend, Jess (I can't really explain her. I don't think anyone could) sometimes throws Theme Weeks, and currently it's Wear Ugly Clothes and Act Like They're Cute Week. I didn't participate Monday or yesterday, and she hit me. So right now I'm clad in a black skirt, vibrant primary blue tights, light blue and brown heels, a light blue shirt, giant white pearls and green and pink earrings. A few months ago, Jess wore nothing but chrome, and walked around saying "The-fut-ure-is-now" like a robot. Anytime someone mentions something happening after 2012, she laughs and informs them that the apocalypse is nigh. The characters in my life. Seriously.

Sexy: Slouching. This one came from Jess, but I totally agree with her. Looking bored is hot, whether we want to admit it or not.
Unsexy: Nose-blowing. Go to the bathroom to do that. Oh, oh, oh-- don't you dare put that tissue back in your pocket. It's not like you're going to want to use it again, and now you're just making the inside of your clothes mucus-y.

Weight: 137
Chipotle burritos this year: 12
Subscribers: 15, 398
Days left of high school: 23

Bye, guys! See you tomorrow. <3

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Burrito-bangin', self-improvement, Twitter and Spurlock

First, I'd like to address yesterday's comment from xObrittxO (Actually, I can't tell if those are zeros or O's?):
"Have you stopped eating? It seems like you've stopped eating. Don't. I better see that burrito count go up by one tomorrow or else."
Haha! No, that's one problem you'll never have to worry about with me. See, a normal person's burrito count right now should be, like, 3. By not eating Chipotle yet this week, I am not starving myself. I'm just being slightly closer to average. But thank you, Britt. Your concern made my day.

On a semi-related subject, I've created a list. Five steps to my self-improvement:
1. Start taking care of my body in general. Not to be worthy of anyone else, not to keep up with society, not to look like Sarah Jessica Parker. Because I want to start liking myself, and the first step to liking something is going through the motions of liking it.
2. Limit my ingestion of harmful substances, especially anything Alaska Young would say she does "to die."
3. Flex my femininity to remind people I'm a girl. Every day wear some combination of: nail polish, heels, jewelry, dresses.
4. Learn to read and respond to my email. I used to get notifications when someone subscribed to my channel, stopped following me on twitter, or sent me a facebook message. I turned them all off yesterday--partially because learning people are sick of your tweets is upsetting, but mostly because this crap takes up space. I now have control over my inbox. Rawr.
5. Do the mile-high stack of homework I've put off before the end of the grading period.

In internetly news, my English teacher/Newspaper advisor just informed me that our school tech guy explained Twitter at a staff meeting, and pulled up @hayleyghoover for the example. "It's interesting to hear who you think is a good kisser!" she says. The worst part of this all is that I'm not embarrassed. I've never been a... discreet person. The idea of my teachers sitting around discussing my month-long romantic experiment with my friend is just hilarious. Hahahaha.

Sexy: Morgan Spurlock. I've seen Supersize Me about four times, and I'm always shocked by his talent as a documentary filmmaker. Oh, and he's funny and good-looking.
Unsexy: Eating anything out of a plastic bag-- especially liquids, semi-liquids, or anything warm that would cause the bag to look all foggy. Thinking about it now makes me gag. Ugh. Don't even try.

Weight: 135
Chipotle burritos this year: 12
Subscribers: 15,361
Days left of high school: 24

Bye, guys! See you tomorrow. <3

Monday, April 20, 2009


I have this theory that everyone's soul is a certain age. Some people are bored in grade school because they're supposed to be thirty-eight. Some people are tortured by office jobs because they have the spirit of eleven-year-olds. My prom date is a fifty-five-year-old man trapped in an eighteen-year-old's body. There's no shame in being a young soul; my best friend, Jess, is ridiculously smart and in most ways very mature, but her soulage is about six. And there's nothing frumpy about having an old soul; my friend, Sarah Keeler, is vivacious and youthful, but her soul is an older adult. (Here's an interesting side note: I googled "soulage" to see if I did, in fact, make that word up. It's apparently the first-person singular present indicative form of the French word soulager, which means, more or less, "to relieve.") What age is your soul?

I think mine is fourteen. Fourteen-year-olds are on the barrier between middle school and high school, waiting for the next thing to start. They're in between little girl and grown woman, displaying some qualities of both, physically and mentally. They're accused of being self-absorbed, but that's really not true-- they just feel things so deeply and everything matters to them. They're on a constant quest to understand the world, and they long to be accepted as real people with real thoughts. They feel like there are opposing forces acting upon them at all times, and they're really never relaxed, despite how it looks.

I started keeping a diary when I was fourteen. I funneled every ounce of my hyperactive emotion into hundreds of pages, forming analytical lists about the guy I was obsessed with, coming up with one-word, all-telling nicknames for every important character in my life, practicing third person and present tense and dramaturgy. For years, I narrated my life in Bradley Hand ITC. And although I was miserable at that time in every possible way-- stressed, confused, sad and angry-- I felt so very, purely myself. My soul is fourteen. My soul is part slacker, part nervous wreck, pouring over a hot pink livejournal in an attempt to solve the riddle of myself.

This sounds like a video to me. Maybe I'll make it one, if you guys will promise to make video responses. In other youtubely news, the "italktosnakes Throwdown" is being BOMBARDED with sporm. I think even the porn sites are yelling at me for not posting anything in three weeks. They're right. I know. Oh, and I continue my terrible habit of developing crushes on strangers on the internet.

Sexy: Let's face it: video bloggers. I like a guy who knows his way around editing software.
Unsexy: "Frosted tips." Ew, guys. Keep the yellow hair dye away from your scraggily, over-gelled man 'do.

Weight: 135
Chipotle burritos this year: 12
Subscribers: 15,349
Days left of high school: 25

Bye, guys! See you tomorrow. <3

Sunday, April 19, 2009

I'm a playwright! A bloody, red one.

First, a shout-out to my dear friend, Kristina, who managed to feel left out yesterday even though I talk about her constantly. Moving right along.

Hey there, blog. I really like you. I like thinking of things to tell you, I like seeing what comes out of my head, and I like rereading you the next morning when I check my comments. All in all, we have a pretty good relationship. Except for the part where, like, sometimes I have nothing of importance to say.

I guess I'll use this opportunity to tell you about Bloody Red Heart-- the stage play adaptation of the essay anthology I'm published in, Red: The Next Generation of American Writers--Teenage Girls--On What Fires Up Their Lives Today.  I submitted a random eighth grade diary entry to a writing contest I saw advertised on Myspace a few years ago, having no idea that it would turn into a real book, with a real NYC release party, leading to real publicity (We were in Vanity Fair and Teen Vogue, to name a few,) and, now, a real play. It's hard to grasp the idea of an actress in LA playing my fourteen-year-old self. My editor, Amy Goldwasser, says that if things go well, the play could become something and start traveling. I can't very well up and go to LA anytime soon, but who knows? Maybe someday I'll see my diary performed live on stage. If you live around the area and are interested in trying to catch a show, you can go to the Red website.

Much less excitingly, today I hung out with my prom date, Andrew. We watched Lord of the Rings and debated at great length the superior character: Gandalf (his) or Dumbledore (mine). The arguments were based in fact and well-executed, like "ALBUS DUMBLEDORE IS THE PERSONIFICATION OF A GREATER-THAN SYMBOL!" and "GANDALF THE WHITE MAKES ALL OTHERS HIS BITCH LOVER!" The discussion, at the end of the day, is pointless. I've never read his series, and he remembers very little of the Potter books. He was, however, extremely amused by wizard rock. Perhaps I'll allow him to accompany me to meet Potter people sometimes. Perhaps.

In youtubely news, I've decided to take a bit of a break from the internet. I'm going to try to limit my computer time to blogging, watching necessary subscriptions, answering my email like a responsible citizen, and uploading videos. I know that still sounds like a lot to some people, but I'm trying to ween myself off checking Mugglenet twenty times a day, obsessing over my Twitter @replies, stalking people on Facebook and looking at Dailybooth pictures. None of these add any joy to my life, so I'm letting them, for the most part, go.

Sexy: Being straightforward, saying what you need to say, and not sugar-coating your feelings. There's nothing you can say to shock people anymore-- especially me. If you think it, say it.
Unsexy: Closed-mindedness. I know that's hypocritical for me to say, because I'm a big fan of my opinions and don't take well to being told what to do, but I mean, like, rejecting religion of all kinds. Or blind affiliation with one political party. Truth is multi-faceted, and you don't know everything.

Weight: 138
Chipotle burritos this year: 12
Subscribers: 15,328
Days left of high school: 26

Bye, guys! See you tomorrow. <3

Saturday, April 18, 2009


I just want to say that my blog followers are the COOLEST PEOPLE ALIVE. You guys... your comments made me so, so happy this morning. Love and thanks to A.J., Katy, Gabby, Joy, Catherine, Harberette, Catherine (a different one, I think!), Callie, someone cool and anonymous, Katy (a different one!), Kristen, Carina, Lindy, inkstainedpages, Allison, Larangutang, Erin Meagan, Manda, passionateforwords, Rosianna, another cool anonymous person, VicMorrowsGhost, Kristy, Baz, Nicholas, Rohan, Jesse, Shakethedust, one more cool anonymous person, and Melody. You're why today is awesome.

This morning my mother shook me awake at 7:00AM, exuding joy. "Do you want to go with me to buy a new vacuum?!" The offer was a tempting one. "I want to sleep," I informed her with the half of my mouth not dripping saliva onto my pillow. With a "Suit yourself!" she left, bouncing and beaming. I slept for another half hour or so, feeling guilty in the part of my brain that was conscious for being the bratty teenager. Then I realized that I get ready for school at seven thirty and it's a Saturday. When I decided to get up, I was greeted by an equally as enthusi-spastic call from my sister. "Guuuuueeees whaaaat!" she squealed. "You've won a special prize." The Special Prize, I soon found out, was the opportunity to watch her get her hair done. Special! And prizing! So after about four hours of reading bridal magazines while Cori got highlights, I returned home to meet our new pet, Dyson. I mean, like, if a pet is something cute you bring into your house for care and entertainment, then to my mother, her vacuum cleaner is, indeed, a pet. Every single corner of my house is now lined with clean streaks. Today was one of the first nice, warm days all year, and my mom was upstairs with all the lights on, stroking her favorite toy lovingly. "Mother," I half gasped, half whined. "How many times have you emptied the canister so far?" A trashcan sat in the center of the room, holding masses of dust and dog fur and staples and human hair. "A MILLION!" she responded, shaking the contents into the garbage bag once again. A million. I would totally believe it.

This afternoon I went for a walk and got ice cream with my friend, Lauren. I love spending time with her, and we're really close, but the two of us collectively are so boring. It's not that we run out of things to talk about, but we frequently end up blaring Miley Cyrus and banging our heads against the dashboard in wishful misery. So here I am now, writing a blog post entirely out of obligation, listening to A Cinderella Story play in the background, home on a Saturday night before my parents are.

In youtubely news, Alan (fallofautumndistro) came up with a really awesome idea for a vlogging game. You should participate. He's cute.

Sexy: Weird clothes. As long as they fit. Do whatever you want, but make sure your ugly white socks don't show when you sit down in jeans.
Unsexy: Scoop-licking ice cream with your tongue. It is NOT a spoon. Stop using it to jackhammer into the cone and then flicking it back into your throat. Gross.

Weight: 137
Chipotle burritos this year: 12
Subscribers: 15,291
Days left of high school: 26

Bye, guys! See you tomorrow. <3

Friday, April 17, 2009

If you only tried...

I want to thank you, readers, for not commenting on yesterday's blog post. Because if you had, you'd probably tell me it was a good idea for me to go to New York. And it would be harder to tell you that I'm not there. A lot of things went into this decision... some of them were extremely legitimate and unavoidable, others were a little bit stupid. All in all, it was best that I didn't, but I'm still sort of sad.

Some really fun things happened today. For one, my choir director, who adores me, pulled me aside today to yell at me for not showing enough enthusiasm for line-dances. I've got a lot on my plate, mind you, and the second she walked away I had to burrow my palms into my head so I wouldn't tear up or scream or something. It was stupid, I know, but you'd think that someone who's known and observed me for so many years would understand that it's a mood, not an attitude. How do we manage to be cruel to people when our own lives are so hard? All of us? Why does human nature prevent compassion?

My mother made me an appointment to get my hair done today because she thinks I like it. The same girl has been cutting my hair for a few years, and she's gone to my church since we were little. I don't know when she formed this impression, but she seems to think I'm some kind of tomboy, just because I never know what to do with my hair. I should not let it bother me, but she said some things today like, "Wow, your mom should have beat you out and had you come in a month ago," and "If someone could convince you to wear a little makeup, you could be gorgeous," and after she was done, "See, when was the last time you could run your fingers through your hair?" The things is... I was wearing a little bit of makeup. I did my hair today. It's not that I could be pretty if I put effort into it, because this frumpiness was my effort. That was fun.

Uuuuugh. Whatever. I don't want to write any more.

Sexy: Zac Efron. I was indifferent before, but I've recently discovered just how much sex oozes out of his pores. Who invented him?! Why are there not more?!
Unsexy: Girls who tan too much and dye their hair to be the same color as their skin. No, ladies. Never, ever attractive.

Weight: I don't want to talk about it.
Chipotle burritos this year: 12
Subscribers: 15,274
Days left of high school: 26

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Notsome < New York

Before we get to all the suck, here's a quote from Jess today. I'll leave it out of context for shock factor. "Andy, wanna put this temporary tattoo of a dinosaur on my lower back with your saliva?" Also, awesome commenter Linda drew my wedding dress. Isn't that adorable? I don't have any real reason for putting those two items in the same paragraph, but it's a little bit funny.

I'm too exhausted to get into the details of my day. Just know that it was entitled "Success Day," and included many a seminar by many a frumpy old woman, and they all started their stories with "When I was your age...." I was able to tune out the majority of it by finishing Perfect Fifths. Everything I could ever hope (ha!) for and more. I'll squee/give the scoop some other time.

Anyway, I had a really, really bad day. But I am, in fact, going to my friends' engagement party in NYC tomorrow. I decided this at six o'clock tonight and my mother is not enthused. Oh well. In a few hours, I'll be sleeping in Liane (lianeandthemusic)'s bed and passing out/melting all over everyone I love. Sloppy, delicious, tiring, worthwhile.

I'm not going to talk about youtube. I have a lot of feelings when it comes to the new channel designs/other impending changes, but thinking about all of that right now makes me itch. Sorry I didn't make a fiveawesomegirls video again. Hopefully Liane will put one up tomorrow, and you can see me then.

Sexy: I don't know. The old youtube layouts.
Unsexy: Justin Timberlake, and how he tries to turn white-guy-acting-black into a separate genre.

Weight: More than my khaki skirt can take.
Chipotle burritos this year: 12
Subscribers: 15,232
Days left of high school: 27

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

My wedding and a poetic bitchfest

My bad mood runneth over. Luckily, I'm totally distracted from life in its entirety by Perfect Fifths, which is blowing my mind with every page, inducing orgasm after wordplay-filled orgasm. I'm on page 187. About a sixth of it left. I could, very easily, implode.

Anyway, I don't really want to get into anything of depth or substance today, so I shall proceed to describe my fictional wedding to you in great detail.

The ceremony will be in late summer/early fall, like September or October. The color scheme will clash terribly with my church's burgundy interior, so I'll count on a) my church being redone before the year 2014, b) my fiance having a pretty church that's equally important to him, or c) my lawyer sister being bitchy enough for us to block off a section of the National Park from dogwalkers and marathoners, so we can get married under the changing leaves. My pastor will marry us, my daddy will walk me down the aisle to either the traditional music or something special between me and my fiance, and my siblings' children (they don't exist yet, mind) will be assorted flower girls and ring bearers. If it's at all possible to convince him, the rings will be thin, white gold, with "I love thee" inscribed on the inside, like Romeo and Juliet, hold the tragedy.

I can probably be talked into making concessions for the man I fall in love with if he doesn't happen to have two brothers and one sister, but, you know, it'd really come in handy if he did. As far as the bridal party goes. The boys, consisting of his two brothers-- let's call them's top boy names for 2001, Jacob and Michael--his best friend, "Matthew" and my brother, Tad, will be dressed in classic black, with ties to match the dresses of their corresponding bridesmaids. The brother closer to his age-- I suppose he can be Michael-- will be the best man. The bridesmaids will be my sisters, Cori and Kelly, his sister, "Emily," and my best friend, Jess. The role of maid of honor will be played by Kelly. The bridesmaid dresses will be short, falling below the knee, with low halter tops, in varrying coralish shades. Kelly's will be darkest, an almost-red, Cori's a lighter version of it, Emily's a pinkish, and Jess's peachy. They'll wear about three-inch thick, small pearl bracelets on their right wrists, and traditional pearl earrings. Bouquets will be beautiful white, tied with simple ribbons in the color of each dress. The two-inch heeled, peep-toed shoes will be, obviously, dyed to match.

My dress is (the future tense was reminding me of French II and was frankly getting exhausting) pure, perfect white. The neckline is the same as the bridesmaids' dresses, but lower and more dramatic. The skirt is long and wide and over the top, caught in sporatic places with single pearls. The train is long. As is the plain white veil. Mounds of huge, costume jewelry pearls fall around my neck. My hair is done and down, curly, like a perfected, professional version of its natural waves. Makeup looks like me.

In attendance are Lauren, Seers and Leah, the college best friends I haven't met yet, various other close childhood/teenage-year friends, the fiveawesomegirls, my close extended family, a few special others, and then, obviously, my husband's loved ones. The reception will be huge, involving everyone who didn't make the close-and-personal cut, and will take place in the most beautiful ballroom I've ever seen, which I haven't yet seen. Twinkle lights everywhere, a string quartet, musical performances by our talented friends, and a band that knows better than to play even a note of "The Chicken Dance," "Who Let the Dogs Out" or anything by Prince. Dinner will be something nice that complements the never-ending, unexplained bowls of chips and guacamole on every table. For desert, the materials required for the assembly of smores. 

When we finally tire of the festivities, my husband and I jet off to Paris. We spend the days skipping around the city, quoting Le Petit Prince and eating baguettes. We sit in Montmartre, the beauty stunning us into silence, listening to starving musicians play and sing. At some point I/we utilize the pretty white clawfooted bathtub next to the balcony with the pretty white curtains swaying in the breeze, and we fall into pretty white sleep together, forever and ever and ever and ever amen.

But, you know... that's just a blueprint. 

Part of the reason sleep seems so romantic to me right now-- besides the idea of lying shamelessly next to one other person your whole life, comforted and trusting that they'll always be there when you wake up-- is because I haven't been, like, sleeping lately. I try to relax, but my heart just beats faster and faster and I feel more and more restless. In my inability to relax last night, I thought about forever-and-ever-amen love, and ended up writing a poem for my never-ever-again love. It's very irresponsible and immature for me to post this in my blog. So... enjoy.

I hope that you fall down a flight of stairs.
Not hard enough to die, but bad enough to tear
Some of the ugly ass clothes that you always wear
Or a muscle or two, though on you, those are rare.

I hope, in your fall, that you kick your own head
With those disgusting ass shoes (Who makes those things, Ked?)
And inside your tumbling mind, you'll hear the things I once said
In the private diary I showed you, that you rarely read.

Here's a recap, in case you've decided to care:
I wasted so much of me on you, it's not even fair.
You know the song "Wash That Man Right Out of My Hair"?
If I scrubbed hard enough, I'd be a spokesgirl for Nair.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned
And you've scorned me enough times, you should be warned.
I'm hitting myself-- I can't believe that I mourned
[Lyric deleted for explicit content, but trust me, it's hardcore]

I bet you didn't catch that Shakespeare allusion
Scratching your ugly ass head in utter confusion
Gasp! Oh em gee, look at the knowledge you're losing
Dropping out of college in the first semester to do nothing but play World of Warcraft all day.

Sexy: Jessica and Marcus. Everything they've ever said and done.
Unsexy: Raggedy beards on nearly everyone but Marcus Flutie. Although I was a really, really big fan of Alex (nerimon)'s scruffy facial hair thing a while back.

Weight: 139
Chipotle burritos this year: 11
Subscribers: 15,165
Days left of high school: 28

Bye, guys! See you tomorrow. <3

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Papers, Perfect Fifths, car crashes and some NSYNC

This blog post is brought to you by the post-holiday phone conversation I had last night with my Jewish friend, Leah (professorspork).
Hayley: So... I see you've been passed over.
Leah: Yeah. I see... you've been... resurrected?
You may now proceed to the regularly-scheduled blog.

Oh, where to start.

I decided not to write that paper last night, since I didn't exactly have the prompt with me and no one in my class wanted to give it to me on facebook. I wasn't alone, though; the majority of us skipped lunch together to type our fingers off and yell things across the room, like, "What does the Cheshire Cat symbolize?!" And, "I don't know, make a biblical allusion and shut up!" I walked calmly into English fifth period with my newly printed and stapled five-page essay, smiling and breathing deeply. "I'd be more impressed," my teacher said sourly, "if I hadn't watched you write the whole thing in Newspaper." She has a point.

I ran at lightning speed to Borders after school (Okay, I ran at lightning speed to get in my truck, which I then pushed to its 70-mph limit.) in pursuit of Perfect Fifths, the last book in Megan McCafferty's Jessica Darling series. I've been waiting for this baby for what feels like years. I dashed at the display and ran to the counter with total disregard for everything else around me. "Wow. That's pure joy," the man at the counter said, as I smelled it. "Elation," I corrected him, which I'm including in this story to demonstrate how the things I say accidentally to strangers are so much cuter than the things I say on purpose. Anyway, right now I'm on page 48, and I'm already dying in a sea of emotion. The woman is a genius. No other way to put it. I'm terrified of this series ending. If you haven't read Sloppy Firsts, (THANKS FOR THE TYPO CORRECTION, TINA.) I'm letting you know right now that you don't even have the option to abstain. Go. Now. Quickly.

While I was reading and getting ready for choir rehearsal, I received a text from Marlena, en route with Leah to the Perfect Fifths release party with Megan McCafferty herself. They, um, hit another car. I'm sort of freaking out, to say the least. Insurance stuff is difficult and confusing and expensive, and nobody needs that stress, and I really can't stand the idea of it happening to Leah right now. Pray for her, if you pray. If you don't pray... meditate on it or something. Or learn to pray.

With this on my mind, I had to endure two hours of my choir, learning and choreographing cheesy dance moves to a boy band medley. Apparently me and my friend Dina are the authority on NSYNCing, so there were a lot of awkward pauses in which we looked at each other and giggled, demonstrating how to throw your arms open and bob your head to the side. I've been working with this choir director since I was twelve, so I sort of feel like she's my aunt or something. I love and respect her. A lot. But she's very difficult to like. For example, she wears this stupid Britney Spears headset microphone during rehearsals that gets a lot of awful feedback and always falls off her face, and when we laugh or she smells happiness or revelry, she glares with her eyes and smiles this terrifying, joyless grin, waiting for us to stop, daring us to push her further. The funny thing is that my musical director/good friend, Maria, works in the same auditorium and has never required a headset microphone. Nor does she strike fear into the hearts of children.


In youtubely news, if all goes well with the clip I sent him, I'm a part of the much-hyped singing collab Alan (fallofautumndistro) is putting together. I also recently received a comment from Luke of the Ministry of Magic, saying he likes the "italktosnakes Throwdown." Feelin' a little special and a little bit tingly. Oh, and whataboutadam just yelled at me. Not really, but his VEDA video for today starts off with him yipping at those who criticized him for having Molly (mememolly) make yesterday's video. And I'm mildly scared of Ferocious Adam.

I feel like I had all kinds of things to talk about today, and now my mind's gone blank. Probably because I'm in an airport with Jessica and Marcus. I'm going to go take another bath, neglect my homework a little more, and go to bed. Bad mood still nowhere near terminated. Ah.

Sexy: Small, considerate, unrehearsed gestures, like helping you put on your coat or cupping his hands over your ears when you're trying to hear a phone call in a loud environment.
Unsexy: Our new cable box. I was unaware that there was anything wrong with the old one, but I just came home to see an alien cable box in its place under the TV. The worst part is that it looks exactly like the old one, but it's black instead of gray. Like it's evil or something. My familiar cable box gone rogue. I don't know if I'm going to like it staring at me, malicious and dark, in my living room every day. This is something I will probably get over.

Weight: 138
Chipotle burritos this year: 11
Subscribers: 15,137
Days left of high school: 29

Bye, guys! See you tomorrow. <3

Monday, April 13, 2009

I don't wanna.

I've come to the conclusion that I can only write for fun when I have something expressly more important to be doing. This afternoon, I've pumped out ten single-spaced pages of detailed outlining for my second novel. (If you'd like to keep them straight, my "first" novel is a middle school romantic comedy, and my "second" novel is a trippy psychological/drug story.) The work was all refresher and probably unnecessary, but it felt good. I immersed myself in the project for a whole day, minus the half hour I stopped to continue planning world domination with Kristina (italktosnakes). In case you were wondering, that paper I mentioned yesterday? I still don't know what the prompt is, and I still have made little effort to find out. I have a 30-minute free period, a 45-minute class that doesn't matter, and a lunch period. If all else fails, I'll just write it during school. That's the honor student way.

My bad mood carries on from yesterday. Somehow I always manage to convince myself that this time it'll be a good idea to talk to my exboyfriend. This time it's acceptable to blow off my friends for a jerk. This time it'll be worth it. This time I'll end the conversation not wanting to jump off a cliff. Ah, but fear not. I went to bed late with a pounding headache and got in about nine seconds of unadulterated crying. See, I've never been a crier. I have to be pretty damn tired or broken to produce tears. Last night I decided they were overdue, so I gasped deeply and willed my eyes to water. Like I said, about nine seconds. About nine seconds too many, all dignifying the actions of an idiot who's never deserved me.

The best part of this story is that my dog rolled her eyes at me for crying and walked out of my room.

In youtubely news, Buck (WHATTHEBUCKSHOW)'s video today about the Hannah Montana movie was the funniest thing I've seen in so long. "All the kids are crying-- some of them because of the movie, some of them for personal reasons." If you've already seen the movie or will never see the movie, go watch. Be careful, though... it's somehow got me trying to learn the "Hoedown Throwdown." Besides that, I'm also helping Alan (fallofautumndistro) and Hank (vlogbrothers) with a video today. With this honor came a video of Alex (nerimon) and Charlie (charlieissocoollike) singing. I love those kids.

Sexy: Natural chemistry that you can't fight, even if you get mad at each other a lot.
Unsexy: Thinking you have natural chemistry that you can't fight, even if you get mad at each other a lot, when really you just get mad at each other a lot.

Weight: 137
Chipotle burritos this year: 11
Subscribers: 15,095
Days left of high school: 30

Bye, guys! See you tomorrow. <3

Sunday, April 12, 2009

A Festering Easter

I had a bad day. 

For starters, I hate seeing my church go through the charade of Christmas and Easter services. They don't mean to put on a show for the huge crowd that only shows up when they feel the obligation, but everyone is so totally on edge, nevertheless. The music was nervous and off, trying not to frighten the old ladies with our usual volume and power, trying not to bore the young overdressed crowd, trying not to intimidate the forced-into-it people with complicated lyrics they're expected to know. My family had to sit a few rows farther back than we usually do, which, you know, is fine, except that my godmother-figure and friends are supposed to be within arms-length, and I couldn't even see them. My family travels at all times in groups no smaller than seven, so I normally get to avoid weird contact with overly friendly strangers, but alas, I sat next to a woman I barely know, who promptly whored out her tuxedo-clad toddler grandson for attention. And there was no acolyte. My absolute favorite part of church are the acolytes.

Every service, a different third-grader walks down the aisle during the first song, carrying one of those long poles with the candle at the end of it (Do those have names?), taking slow, careful steps, like they're in a wedding procession. The kid always watches the tiny flame intently, as if one false move could bring the whole church down in a firey peril. They light the two candles on the altar (although in my church, it's more like an open stage), extinguish the Stick, and return back the way they came, looking around for recognition. Their own little curtain call. I love acolytes. I was one, and I remember how it felt. You were special, and you had a part in something special. God was real and magic and you were the personification of blind, cheerful faith needed in the sick world of adults who, for some unknown reason, didn't have light in their eyes anymore. I don't know. I guess I feel like one of the lifeless adults now, and I need the Little Haylies to keep me going.

I didn't even listen to the sermon today, which is really weird for me. Instead, I sat and thought about my friends' engagement party that I may or may not attend next weekend in New York, and how, despite how much I want to go... I don't want to go at all. I can't even begin to explain why. I have the money. The friends I rarely get to see will be there, loving me, missing me. But at the same time, it just makes me want to go to sleep.

After church, I went to my grandparents' house, like most Sundays. My mom comes from a family of four very dramatic women and one exhausted alcoholic father. At the current time, my two aunts aren't speaking to each other. For no known reason. It made seating arrangements at brunch unnecessarily awkward. I sat next to my mother, so she could place her hand on my knee and shake her head every time she knew I'd be tempted to swear loudly or make a sassy comment about the conversation. One of my aunts made sure to say, "Hayley, you're almost becoming like a girl!" when my sister showed off the pictures of my prom dress. The other aunt made sure not to say anything to anybody. My grandfather slurred, "Ya sure you need all that pie?" while nudging me in the stomach. I therefore ate about five pieces of pie. My mother spoke a lot about my senior pictures and graduation party, my oldest sister pulling out her planner and yapping about all her planned appearances at all my planned appearances. To be difficult, I made sure everyone knew my intentions to run away and not walk my graduation ceremony. Grandma told me I have to go through all the crap to appease her, and then gave me some shoes.

When I got home, I talked to a friend, Sebastian, on the phone for a few minutes and fell asleep mid-conversation. I slept for two hours. My mom told me that he came by to see me and that she couldn't wake me as hard as she tried. I missed my sister leaving to go back to school. She was wearing my only pair of stud earrings. I got in the bathtub with the intention of quickly shaving my nasty legs for the first time in forever (Sure you wanted to hear that, right?), but somehow ended up reading the entirety of Let It Snow, cover to cover.

I have to write a paper tomorrow for AP English. I don't have a clue what the prompt is. I haven't made much of an effort to do any of my schoolwork this grading period. It's the last one. They can't honestly expect anything of us, and I have a 3.8. I'm safe.

Sexy: Asian men. Maybe it's the inherent nerdiness that America associates with them. I realize this is much like saying "all American girls are rude and slutty" or "all American boys wear letterman jackets," but I'm going to pretend this one stereotype is accurate, just to feed my fantasies.
Unsexy: Wearing a high-hoisted backpack that makes you lean forward and creates a turtle-like shadow.

Weight: 10,304
Chipotle burritos this year: 11
Subscribers: 15,051
Days left of high school: 30

Saturday, April 11, 2009


I went with my mom and one of my sisters today to buy a prom dress. We drove something like two hours away into the middle of small-town-nowhere, to this elaborate, exclusive dress shop that offers you drinks, and where people who know something about fashion tell you what you do and do not like. My mom is usually very against buying happiness, but I'm so not the oh-em-gee-let's-go-spend-a-zillion-dollars-on-a-hott-dress type, so she treated me to this one hurrah. I tried on about six dresses, and three of them were the most gorgeous things I've ever seen. The runner-up was coral-- my favorite color, as you'll notice if you ever watch a 5AG video shot in my room--and in the style of the wedding dress in my head. (I have my whole wedding absolutely ready. Just waiting to be cast. Ask me about it sometime when I have nothing else to blog about.) It was so, so pretty. But the guy who was helping me asked, "If the girl you hate most at your high school showed up in one of these dresses, which would make you more mad?" and the answer was the other dress, which won.

My prom dress is floor-length, poofy and lilac. The top half is tight and strapless with corset laces up the back, and it's covered with flashy, light-catching sequins. An obnoxious bow falls down the left side with the same sequins all over it. I didn't even want to try it on originally because it looked so stupid on the hanger, but it's just overstated and eye-catching enough to suit (get it?) my personality. I've never been excited for a dance like this. In fact, they usually lead to me closing my eyes and praying to go sleep on Seers's couch. But you know, I've never gone to a dance before looking like a cupcake covered in broken glass. Maybe I've discovered the key to Prom Success.

On an unrelated note, I really like blogging. I feel the very most like myself when I'm writing these posts. I don't have any obligation to entertain or appease anybody, because if they don't want to read it, no one's making them. I don't feel like I'm bragging or attention whoring, because everyone taking the time to read this has some sort of particular interest in seeing what I have to say. Like video blogging, but with fewer edits and without the importance put on appearance. It's cool.

In youtubely news, I've made more money this month from my blog than from my videos. I realize I haven't made any videos, but it's still pretty amusing. Walllofweird mocked my piano music outro in her VEDA video yesterday, filling my fluttering heart with cuteness. I think I'm participating in part in a video involving Hank (vlogbrothers) and Alan (fallofautumndistro). Other than that, I've got some plans, but no interest in making them reality.

Sexy: Gray hair. On adult men, on Holden Caulfield, on Richard Gere.
Unsexy: Telling someone you love them when you don't.

Weight: 139
Chipotle burritos this year: 11
Subscribers: 15,023
Days left of high school: 30

Bye, guys! See you tomorrow. <3

Friday, April 10, 2009

Hannah Mon'haters

My first order of business is to say that I like Jesus. He's pretty cool. Also, this is hysterical and, surprisingly, not sacrilegious if you think about it!

Tonight in John (vlogbrothers)'s blogtv room, when Rosianna (missxrojas) and I were not busy fighting over which of us would be a better Lacey in the movie adaptation of John's book, Paper Towns*, I was egged on to start writing fallofautumndistro/nerimon slash fanfiction. For the following paragraph, I apologize.

It was a dark and stormy night. Alan and Alex were cuddling on a bed, holding each other tight. "You're such a hunksicle, babe," Alex murmured into Alan's ear, which was inexplicably black-and-white, in the style of his videos. Alan sighed in reply, and breathily hummed something that sounded much like the bridge to "Mrs. Nerimon." A thunderclap shook the atmosphere, and the storm raged outside with the same fervor of their love. A light, incessant vibration beat on Alex's thigh. "Bedoodoodoo," he said sarcastically. "The wench is calling again." Alan rolled his droopy eyes. "Just don't answer, hon!" he pleaded, fluffing Alex's hair. "Just don't answer." Alex stared down at his phone. It flashed a photograph of Kristina. Alan groaned as Alex sat up, contemplating, his thumb hovering over the button to accept the call. "Wonday. One day, we'll be together," said Alan, defeated. And with a beautiful feeling of release, spontaneity took over Alex. He hit "Reject Incoming Call," and he let his head fall lightly back on the pillow, next to his one and only love.

So last night I went with my best friend, Jess, to see the Hannah Montana movie at midnight. We went to a theater thirty minutes away just to make it an event, and we also sort of dressed like hookers. At one point we walked around a Wal-Mart to kill time because everything else closes on Thursday nights. A group of annoying people (I almost said "kids," but they're my peers), probably about sixteen years old, followed us around and giggled. One of them very clearly tried to surreptitiously take a picture of us with his phone. "Are you trying to surreptitiously take a picture of us with your phone?" I asked him. He laughed that doofy boy laugh out of the front of his throat and said something brilliant like, "Uhhh, no, no one takes pictures hehhehhehhh."  One of the girls said "I like your hair!" to Jess, who was half-wearing my disgusting blonde wig,  then ran away laughing into her friend's shoulder. Jess said, "Thanks, I like yours, too!" We then proceeded to loudly talk about how boring and predictable teenagers are. Congratulations, you discovered that we're dressed weird. You're really very clever for making fun of people who are making fun of things. The boy with the camera shouted, "Are you transvestites?" on our way out, to which I replied, "It would make this infinitely more entertaining, but alas, we are not."

In youtubely news, I know I lied about making a 5AG video yesterday. I had plans to sing my love song for fallofautumndistro, dye Easter eggs and get dressed for Miley Night. A whole extravaganza. But honestly, for the first time in a while I felt like spending some time in my real life instead. :) I don't know for sure when my next video will come out, but I think you can expect one this week.

Sexy: Doing your own thing. If you're the quirky-saying-on-a-baggy-old-shirt type, do it with confidence. If you want a blue mohawk, do it. Just don't ask permission for things, don't make excuses, and don't change depending on the company.
Unsexy: This picture of Kelly Clarkson. I like her and she's lovely, but the person who thought this photo was a good idea should be fired.

Weight: 138
Chipotle burritos this year: 10
Subscribers: 14,982
Days left of high school: 30

Bye, guys! See you tomorrow. <3

*If you would like to help the Haylacey campaign, comment on John's most recent video, telling him why I'm great, why Rosi's too British, or why I'm great.

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Unloving the Unsexy

In response to yesterday's post, blogger A.J. commented with a link to-- oh my gosh-- an article he wrote for me, entitled "How to Stop Being in Love with an Asshole." It's really funny and well-put; I advise that you all go check it out. Meanwhile, I've put some effort into solving my own problems, and have compiled another list.

Ten tips for getting over an asshole:

1. Stop listening to songs in which the angry girl protagonist reconsiders and decides she still really loves the guy who broke her heart, like this one and this one.
2. Listen only to songs about dying of AIDS and the sexual repression of German schoolboys.
3. Put an end to cheesy romantic internal monologues. Yes, you are looking at the same moon as him. But you're also looking at the same moon as Mikhail Gorbachev and Carrot Top, and how in love are you with them?
4. Curb all self-destructive tendencies!
5. Do not call him just to say goodnight. Ever. Put the phone down. PUT IT DOWN.
6. End all emotional attachments to inanimate objects and food products that are in some way associated with him. Eating a box of oreos will not make you feel better. Quite the opposite, in fact.
7. Start saying yes when other boys ask you out. Follow through.
9. Never read John Donne's "A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning" ever, ever again.
10. Stop writing incriminating blog entries about him in hopes that he'll read it and give you attention.

Along with A.J.'s blog, I received this amusing comment from reader Eddy:
"Two boys come up to you at the same time and one has a cake and one has a
Chipotle burrito. Written on each item is 'Will you go to the prom with me,
Hayley?' Who would you choose?"

Well, let me put it this way: the second boy could ask, "Will you invade Russia in the winter with me, Hayley?" and if it were written on a burrito, I would say yes.

In youtubely news, yesterday I appeared in Kristina (italktosnakes)'s birthday video for Alex (nerimon), was mentioned in a text message by Kayley (owlssayhooot) in her fiveawesomegirls video, and filled in for a very busy Leah (professorspork) on her collab channel, wizrockateers. I'm planning on making a 5AG video tonight. I won't disclose any of the topics I'll discuss, because I don't want my videos to turn into me reiterating old blog material. But it should be fun.

Sexy: The dark, brooding guy in the corner reading a book instead of participating in social activities/smiling/being polite in any way.
Unsexy: Baggy acid-wash jeans. Or, you know... tight ones.

Weight: 140
Chipotle burritos this year: 10
Subscribers: 14,940
Days left of high school: 30

Bye, guys! See you later tonight. <3

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Don't drink and tweet.

On this date, many moons ago, two vaginas pushed out two of this world's finest specimens. Alex (nerimon) and Sam (isnoggedharry) are up there on my list of favorite people, and I'm sort of on an inexplicable high today, just because they're alive. Go wish them happy birthday on their channels!

On an unrelated note, bleeehhhhh. I just googled "how to stop being in love with an asshole" to no avail. You'd think there'd be SOME decent article by that title SOMEWHERE on the internet. Readers, do me a favor and write it. I'll give you a present if you do. Also, John (vlogbrothers) tweeted something this morning along the lines of, "People I follow who are underaged, stop tweeting about drinking!" I felt a little weird upon reading this, but I didn't really know why. It wasn't until just now that I remembered. About two weeks ago, I sent him a direct message (WHY, BRAIN!? WHY?!) that said something like, "I'm drunk and you're my hero!" I was pretty out of it at the time, but I was aware enough to be thoroughly humiliated when I received his reply, which was "I hope you mean, like, drunk on joy."

And THAT, kids, is why alcohol is bad.

In youtubely news, I'm pretty sure Kayley (owlssayhooot) is posting a fiveawesomegirls video tonight. I'm pumped. I feel so off when Kayley doesn't post for a long period of time. I'm planning to post a video tomorrow, too. Whataboutadam looks cute in dark lighting.

Sexy: Masculine handwriting, lacking any unnecessary loops or twirls, sometimes slanting a little bit.
Unsexy: Never writing anything out. The internet is awesome, but it can't replace pens.

Weight: 139
Chipotle burritos this year: 10
Subscribers: 14,893
Days left of high school: 30

Bye, guys! See you tomorrow. <3

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

The proof is in the icing.

I received this cake today from my good friend, Andrew, who's asked me to all but one high school dance (surprisingly, the one I'd really wanted to go to) and with whom I've had sort of a will-they-won't-they thing since we were thirteen. He only asked in front of me and my best friend, Jess, so it was an Event, but not an obnoxious public affair. It was pretty adorable, and I obviously said yes. 

Sadly, later today I was asked by two of my other good friends, and it was really depressing to say no. They're all so fun and sweet and entertaining. WOW. When did my biggest problem become turning down dates?! I'll have to bookmark this blog post to reread when I'm feeling like nobody likes me. I have PROOF! In ICING!
Hahaha. It's sad, Rohan, but just so true.

Sexy: Being able to talk to children without looking awkward or being condescending.
Unsexy: Being able to talk to children without looking awkward or being condescending in order to solicit them for sex.

Weight: 138
Chipotle burritos this year: 10
Subscribers: 14,849
Days left of high school: 31

Bye, guys! See you tomorrow. <3

Monday, April 6, 2009

Senior Superlatives

Today, everyone in my class was handed the yearbook's survey to nominate for Senior Superlatives, which I realize does not need to be capitalized for English's sake, but the way these kids talk about them, you'd think they were the biggest thing in the world. (They're not, obviously. That would be my thighs.) I make fun, but I too spent nearly the whole day mulling over which of my peers has the Nicest Smile or Best Car. While attempting to complete the sheet, I was not filled with thousands of pleasant montagey moments of growing up with these people, but was more... overwhelmed... when I realized just how few of them I even know nowadays. I know the other honor students, the other drama kids, the other choir members, the other church-goers, the rest of the newspaper staff. But the wrestlers? The dance team? The people with real lives outside our high school? All of them are either faceless names or nameless faces, or frozen time capsules from middle school when we were all on equal playing ground, and you could lock braces with any zitty boy you wanted. I've found that in my class of a hundred people, I only really give a damn about thirty of them.

First, we're divided in half by black kids and white kids. This isn't a race thing-- or even really a class thing-- so much as a neighborhood thing. About 80% of the black kids live in the city and about 80% of the white kids live in the suburb or, like me, the small town. The division isn't a conscious thing, but the fact of it is, there's a good fifty or so people (give or take) that I don't have any real connection to.

Then there are the Honors kids and the Regular kids. My class has a freakish number of "gifted" students, and we've all been pretty tight-knit and full of ourselves since we were eight and standardized tests told us we were smart enough to never have to try. Because of the large number of us-- about twenty-- and maybe because there was something special in the water in the early nineties?, most of the Honors kids double as the Athletes and the Activity Participants. Therefore, we already have cliques built into our cliques. For example, I have a 3.8 GPA, but I'm nowhere near the top ten in my class. I've been leads in three of the musicals, but other Honors kids have competed in cross-country nationals. So basically we're all, like, doomed to hate each other.

Regardless, in the end I was nominated for Best Writer, Most into English, Most Technological and Most Likely to be Famous. The last one is a longshot, since we have a cute little singer/songwriter and a world-class gymnast. I'm definitely not that technological, but compared to the rest of them, I guess you could call me that. As for the first two, I'm going to be a jerk and... agree... but you're only allowed to win one. So we'll see.

It's just really weird, being a senior. All of a sudden I'm tempted to reflect on all the things I stopped caring about three years ago. I'm never going to be the type to moon over my yearbook, crying tears of nostalgia all over the pictures of the friends I once had. But it's something about knowing that in a month, everything that matters to everyone around me will end. It's just really weird.

Anyway, in youtubely news, today I went to Alan (fallofautumndistro)'s blogtv show, and he told me that if I blogged about him being hott and sexii he would put "SUBSCRIBE TO HAYLEYGHOOVER" in his email signature for 48 hours. I dunno, though. I asked him to sing me some Britney Spears and I was shot down. AND I now have to write him a song, thanks to some threatening and challenging from Alan and the peanut gallery. I guess it's not that big of an event for me to fangirl Alan, though. Hott and sexii he indeed is.

I also came across this a second ago and thought you might want to see it, as it's the most hilarious thing ever made.

Tonight I ran for the first time in a while. I put my iPod on shuffle and received, no joke, "Mrs. Nerimon," "Toy Food," "Maybe I Will" and "Nerdfighterlike," all one right after the other. You know you're addicted to youtube when.

Sexy: Overflowing with confidence, approaching arrogance but not quite crossing the line.
Unsexy: Being a toolbag and thinking you're just really hot and awesome when you're just really not.

Weight: 140
Chipotle burritos this year: 10
Subscribers: 14,838
Days left of high school: 32

Bye, guys! See you tomorrow. <3