Sunday, May 31, 2009

Yeah... he just sort of talks like that.

First, a comment from blog reader Tara: "I live in Canada, where we don't even HAVE Chipotle, so the few times I can get them while in America is bliss. I was in NY recently with some people from my university, and I saw a Chipotle and said we had to eat there no matter what. This guy we were with ordered the bowl because the burrito "looked too big." This of course prompted the rest of my friends to do the same thing. What could I do now? Be the only person who ordered the "HUGE" burrito and look like a fat ass? Dejected, I ordered the bol."

Tara, that is one of the saddest things I've ever read. If I had human emotions, I would be crying right now. All I have to say is that if for some reason we ever run into each other in New York, I will buy you a burrito, and a beam of sunlight will crack through the gray clouds and all will be right in the world.

Also, commentor Eliz pointed out my misuse of the word "effect" in my last entry, in the most adorable way. Hahaha. The whole Grammar Fairy thing has somehow made me look really cocky and insane. I do not think less of specific people for poor grammar! I hate when huge, flashing business signs contain unnecessary apostrophes. I am not a scholar, and I make a ton of typos and brain-os alike every month. In conclusion, Eliz, your comment made me smile, and I'll watch my "effects" next time. :)

Aaaaaanyway. I showed up to church this morning to see my very disconsolate brother holding his arms out in hug formation, frowning and slowly shaking his head. "What?" I said, knowing better than to assume a legitimate problem. "Did the Cavs lose or something?" Tad gave me a look that said how dare you and fell onto my dad in abject despair. I made a point to be as sensitive as possible from thereon out. When he asked for a LeBron James cake for his TWENTY-FOURTH birthday, I asked why he would want a cake that tastes like failure. Sucks to be you, Cleveland basketball. Sucks to be you, people who give a crap about Cleveland basketball.

After the incredibly long sermon, during which my sister and I whispered how much we wanted corn on the cob (me) and how out-of-season corn on the cob is (her), we received our assignments for this year's Royal Family Kids' Camp. My "buddy counselor" is--YAY!-- a friend of mine, Erin, and one of my campers goes to the elementary school in my district. My choir often toured to her school, and I already adore her. I'm all kinds of excited!

In youtubely news, I posted that unseen fiveawesomegirls video from two weeks ago on hayleyghoover today, and you get a chance to see Andrew, the boyfriendthing, in his natural environment: reading Shakespeare. I've received an enormous amount of comments about him, calling him either A) hot, or B) funny, as per his fake accent. I can't really argue against A. He's cute, yeah. B, however. Um.

Guys, that's not a fake funny accent. Guys, he's not foreign. Guys, he just... talks like that. Sometimes it's totally attractive and hilarious. Sometimes I want to smack him across the face with something hard and sandpapery and shout, "Stop being a character and act like a person!" Really, Bella Swan-- the whole "from another time" thing is not fun. It's just annoying.

Sigh. Oh well. My graduation ceremony is tomorrow. I'm not really looking forward to hours upon hours of '09 bonding in the sweltering heat, but I suppose it's just a rite of passage. Or something. If it's too miserable, I'll just tweet the heck out of the whole experience. Wish me luck/@reply any fun ways to pass the time!

Chipotle burritos this year: 21
(^Enjoyed with the lovely TOLauren, after mistakenly inviting 5AG Lauren through a text message typo. The latter Lauren, whose birthday is tomorrow, I will be seeing/hugging/loving on Wednesday at the Moaning Myrtles show in Akron, OH. Come!)
Subscribers: 16,407

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Friday, May 29, 2009

You're tryin' to say, "It's time for business;" it's business time. Ooh!

Before we get started, it should be documented that my life at age eighteen is composed of one long string of bad decisions. I feel like every movie my elementary school guidance counselor showed me is being chucked out the window. I'm sorry, Mrs. Stanley. I'm sorry, DARE officer. I'm sorry, those I effect negatively on a regular basis with little or no consideration.

On an unrelated note, because I am oh-so-skilled when it comes to avoiding uncomfortable topics, except for when I make appositive allusions to them, here's a pretty song to listen to while you read, as per commentor S's suggestion.

Aaaaaanyway. Yesterday I accomplished practically nothing I'd intended, and instead spent several hours building a tower out of dice while my guy friends played Dungeons and Dragons. I'd witnessed their dorkatry before, but have always been too fearful for my femininity and sanity to learn how to play. I therefore watched my friend Sebastian lead Andrew through some kind of complicated mathematical process involving elves or gnomes or something, and announced repeatedly to the distracted boys that I would be roleplaying as a magical pink unicorn named Princess Gallops. This consisted of them ignoring me as much as they could while I occasionally neighed. Goodness, I'm cool.

As for today, I got Jess, TOLauren, and my other friend, Sarah, to come over in the morning for a waffle party. Much syrup, butter and powdered sugar later, we went into a combined glucose coma, where I remained until now. Basically, I did nothing all day but bake cakes and cookies and watch the whole first season of Flight of the Conchords. Don't get too excited from my thrilling stories, guys. Like seriously. Don't pull a muscle or anything from all that excitement.

Okay. I suck. I know. I just didn't want to go two days without blogging at all, and I already let you down by not posting the fiveawesomegirls video I made for yesterday. I got home too late-- it was already Friday. Stupid time. Stupid days of the week. Stupid everything. I'm gonna go to bed now, actually. Night!

Chipotle burritos this year: 20
Subscribers: 16,358

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Je veux seulement l'oublier.

Except I toooootally want to dejeuner. That's never been the problem.

Today, I:
--Turned in my last exam, and am therefore 100% finished with high school.
--Talked to Justin Timberlake way more than you guys would be proud off.
--Ate the cleanest, least falling-apart-all-over-the-place burrito of my life.
--Finished Maureen Johnson's The Bermudez Triangle, which was consistently satisfying, but, like every Maureen Johnson novel, has no ending whatsoever.
--Was informed by Andrew that I earned several school awards that I chose not to receive at the official ceremony, because I hate all those people.
--Developed a crush on the big brother character from Selena Gomez's TV show.
--Wore a cute purple dress.

Tomorrow, I will:
--Bake a cake for my small group leader/godmother-figure.
--Legitimately work on my novel.
--Clean something. Anything. Just move and accomplish for once.
--Spend time with the much-neglected boyfriendthing.
--Go out for chocolate muffins with my friend, Katie.
--Make a decent fiveawesomegirls video.
--Write and make a hayleyghoover video. If this is too much to ask (it probably is)...
--Make an effort to finish a long-festering video idea.

OH, and in youtubely news, Shawna (Nanalew) posted a new GORGEOUS video. If you don't already subscribe to her, you're making a serious mistake. Get on that.

Chipotle burritos this year: 20
Subscribers: 16,313

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Toxic Water, Rundown Concrete, and My Best Friend

An overcast day on the Cuyahoga riverfront
Just toxic water, rundown concrete, and my best friend. 
Her hair is wild and burnt red, like 1970s shag carpet
And her thickly-painted-blue eyelids flicker as she laughs.
My hot pink bangs expose my too-cool-for-school attitude
And my corny club t-shirt betrays that too cool, I'm not.
Leaning back on her forearms, she balls a veggie burger wrapper with one hand.
Absentmindedly, I encase the zit on my chin with the lid of my 32-ounce Coke.
She's blowing white air out her pursed lips.
I'm pulverizing ice cubes between my molars.
"This will be a poem when we're thirty," I say.
"Doing everything unhealthy, just to know that we have.
These are The Good Old Days."
She agrees, though she doesn't need to
Because anything I feel, she feels, rest assured.
Someday we'll be thirty and nostalgic
But somehow even now, every second of hanging out is poetry to us.

Chipotle burritos this year: 19
Subscribers: 16,279

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Sunday, May 24, 2009

ABBA is the only thing scarier than incest and cannibalism.

So I finally did it. I finally watched Little Miss Sunshine, and it was absolutely everything it was made out to be. It's maddeningly sad, hysterically funny, and so, so true. I fell passionately in love with Dwayne, which I think is okay, because he's from a different marriage and therefore doesn't have my last name. If you have never seen LMS, go get it immediately. I put it off for years, after everyone I love and admire in this world persuaded me to watch. Worth. It.

I'm tired. Here are some unrelated lists from the top of my head.

Romantic comedies that don't suck:
--How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days
--10 Things I Hate About You
--Bridget Jones's Diary
--Music and Lyrics
--Can't Buy Me Love

Things I always purely appreciate (that aren't obvious):
--The fact that Kayley (owlssayhooot) uses the British spellings of words.
--Alan (fallofautumndistro), whose birthday is today.
--Rosianna (missxrojas)'s voice.
--Google AdSense paychecks.

Chipotle burritos this year: 19
Subscribers: 16,243

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Saturday, May 23, 2009

Magenta Musings

First, the most recent comment on the video showing off my pink hair: "eww you look like one of thos really depressed chicks that try so hard to get attention. You also look like this one porno chick that I saw on Try Life. Actually I ind of think you do look like a porn star." 
True, true, what?, false. 
Someone also says that I "look like someone who would kill herself because her internet boyfriend broke up with her." 
Again, false! Thanks for playing!

I'm not too concerned, though, because I have never in my life felt so smokin'. I keep forgetting anything's different until I catch a glimpse of myself in my rearview mirror or someone mentions it to me. Or, of course, they glare at me disapprovingly. Suddenly when I hit the pop machine for eating my dollar, I'm no longer a cute little girl acting on impulse out of her character. Now I'm a crazy teenage delinquent who puts down her joint only long enough to litter and swear at children.

But you know what? I'm sort of okay with it. I remember a time a month or two ago, when I was walking out of a store, and a fourteen-year-old girl in the whole gothic getup was standing outside, crying to herself. I tried to give her a meaningful look that said, "I'm sorry you're upset, stranger," because what else can you really do? She looked at me, too... but her look said, "Shut up, preppy rich chick. You don't understand me at all." I know that's a lot to imply, but "if looks could kill" definitely came to mind. And you know what I wanted to say? I wanted to say, "Wait, no no no! We're on the same team! I'm not judging you! I'm damaged, too!" but I couldn't. Because at the end of the day, Abercrombie speaks louder than words.

Maybe I'm a typical product of the white, upper-middle class paradigm. Maybe I'm a good little church girl. But maybe I'm also a rooter for the underdog, a disbeliever in bad people, a little messed up, and a little bit attention-starved. I like looking weird, and I like having pink hair.

I was thinking about all that this afternoon. I was running into a restaurant to pick up dinner for me and my sister, and the girl behind the counter, who went to my high school (hahahaha; sorry), exclaimed, "Oh wow, I like it!" and it took me a second to realize what she meant. My hand absentmindedly went to my hair, and I shrugged and smiled. While I awkwardly muttered my thanks, I noticed something. Her nametag. I've been in school with this girl since I was eight, calling her by her long, unique name, while her nametag in the real world reads a short, one-syllable nickname. I immediately felt like a jerk for having never noticed before. I got all offended when people didn't know me as the school's best video-maker, and I never took the time to learn that someone'd changed their name.

I put in my order and we small-talked a bit. "I feel like a jerk," I finally admitted, indicating the nametag. "I had no idea you went by that now."
"Oh," she said, looking down the same way I'd reacted to my hair. "I just started. School's over."

I like that. The world of idiots messing up your car on purpose and English teachers not appreciating you are over when high school is over. Some burn their uniforms, some move out of state, some change their names, and some change their hair. I'm a fan of symbols, and you know what? I'm more of a fan of me when I look more like this. Huzzah! 

Chipotle burritos this year: 19
Subscribers: 16,216

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Geek in the Pink

A brief synopsis for those who asked why I hate my exboyfriend, Justin Timberlake, so much: Once upon a time, the boy I was in a really intense relationship with told everyone we know everything I'd ever confided in him, sent my diary to my sisters and friends, and started up with another girl before I realized we were broken up. It was really cute how he found ways to torture me, like being insanely jealous of the most platonic of my friendships, telling me my teeth look much more yellow in person than in videos, pointing out that my legs were really prickly an hour after I'd shaved them, and telling me that I looked stupid and gross when I tried to look pretty. He wouldn't let me talk to other boys, but he wouldn't be "in a relationship" with me on facebook for months. So, to those who accused me of overacting for not wanting to talk to him... there ya go.

Chipotle burritos this year: 19
Subscribers: 16,189
Days left of high school: 2ish; mostly just one

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Dag, yo.

Dear high school secretary,
Firstly, I want to commend you for going four years without once cracking a smile. It's very honorable to shoot venom off your tongue and napalm out your eyes whenever someone waves hello. Seriously, ma'am, this world suffers a deficit of truly miserable people. I applaud your momental accomplishments toward combatting this problem.
Remember the time in tenth grade that you screamed at me-- quite literally, at full voice-- for leaving the cafeteria on invitation to have lunch with my English teacher? Remember the time you accused my Yearbook press pass of being counterfeit, and I had to miss class during a deadline to retrieve a note from the advisor, verifying that I was a staff member? Remember all the times you practically bounced with glee (still glaring, of course) when I was called into the principal's office, even though it was never a result of my being in trouble? You always found little ways to brighten my day. If I said, "I need to purchase a parking permit," you never failed to reply, "You mean you'd like to apply for a parking permit, and I'll decide whether you deserve one... or not."
Thank you, Secretary. Without you, I may still be hopeful and happy to this day.
Hayley Hoover xoxo bff 4eva

Hey, guys. I want you to all close your eyes now. Visualize the amount of drama you inferred from my little anecdote about running into Andrew yesterday. Okay, now divide that in half. Then in half again. In fact, take about one sixteenth of the Inferred Drama, and that's how big a deal it was. I didn't elaborate further on the story yesterday because nothing else happened. We all laughed, we all ate, we were all merry. Sorry to cause any heart attacks; the boyfriend is still intact.

Oh, and while we're on the subject, I had my first contact in several weeks today with Justin Timberlake. I was at the middle school/high school band concert to cheer on a friend, and in between countless clarinet squeaks and awkward announcers saying in twenty minutes what could be accomplished in two, I received a text.

JT: Would it be possible to someday break our silence for a short time, to ask some questions about the wedding [of our friends, Graham and Sarah]?
HGH: What would you need to ask me that you couldn't find out from anyone else?
JT: You're both knowledgeable and able to hold a conversation via text, unlike others.
HGH: You should ask Graham or Sarah.
JT: I have. Graham has yet to respond to various inquiries that date weeks, probably months, back. And I don't want to bother Sarah.
HGH: But you'll bother me.
JT: Mhm. Because everyone else either doesn't wish to speak with me, or else they don't know squat. So that leaves you.
HGH: I fit into both of those categories.
JT: Dag, yo. Well at least I tried.

How'd I do? I'll admit, as the conversation ended, I immediately imagined my frequent blog commentors sitting at a long gymnastics judges' table, holding up score cards. Those of you who encourage me to cause him bodily harm are giving me a 7 for snippiness. Those of you who preach "time heals all wounds" are giving me a 5 for giving in and responding. How about everyone else? What's my composite score?

Anyway, tomorrow is my last full day of high school. Friday is the senior picnic, during which I have to pretend the vast majority of my class doesn't infuriate me/make me cry. I have a few insignificant exams, etc., that happen next week, but it's all pretty much done. I know I'm being whiny, but as I was lying in my front yard today with a raspberry popsicle in one hand and Maureen Johnson's The Bermudez Triangle in the other, wincing from the sun but loving how my state in May always smells like mown grass and produce, all I could think about is how long and painful school is in comparison to the rest of my life. These past few months have lasted for what feels like decades. Decades, like, wearing a chastity belt and those tribal rings that make your neck two feet long. Constantly observed, constantly oppressed, constantly in pain.

Sexy: This is really weird to say... and I do NOT mean every aspect of the '70s... but some things from the '70s. We're watching a boring movie in Government, and the only way I can stay awake is by checking out the guys' longish blown-out hair. Plus, I have had this stuck in my head for the past two weeks.
Unsexy: To reinforce that I meant it when I said SOME things from the '70s, the clothes and facial expressions in this = the definition of unsexy. Although they're definitely not unentertaining.

Chipotle burritos this year: 19
Subscribers: 16,170
Days left of high school: 3ish

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Awkwardness and Second-Rate Vandalism

I'm a whole lot less upset about my choir career ending than I'd anticipated. After performing our show over and over and over again today for the other schools in our district, I was so emotionally exhausted from faking a smile that I couldn't bear to talk to anybody. Jess and I worked on the newspaper through lunch, the only time we could sneak away, so we went to Taco Bell--our safe haven-- after school. We were in line, money in my hand, a spastic grin across Jess's face at the realization that the previously extinct (dormant?) Volcano Taco has been resurrected, and lo and behold. In walks Andrew.

Reasons this was funny:
1) We'd spent the entire day together performing, and I was in such a bad mood at the end of it that I hadn't said goodbye to him, knowing he'd forget so in the morning. You don't, however, forget ten minutes later. I was too irritated to even wave to anyone, but I could go out to lunch with Jess.
2) I was wearing the vibrant teal shorts I'd had under my uniform skirt, unbuckled one-inch character shoes, a gigantic white t-shirt, obnoxious hot pink earrings, and a cheetah-print headband. Jess was wearing hose, red shorts, her sparkled black uniform top, and heels.
3) I had curled against my hip enough hot sauce packets to nourish a poor country.
4) But mostly, because he was with two tiny, pretty freshman girls. Seconds before our encounter, they'd been discussing how I would probably be annoyed if I'd seen them. This, ladies and gentlemen, is hilariously awkward.

ANYWAY. After all that, Jess and I laid in the grass at our park for a few hours, went to our own houses for dinner, then got back together until 10:30. We consumed some empty calories, talked, and may or may not have bought a half-gallon jug of milk and two plastic drinking cups from Wal-Mart, which we may or may not have taken back to the park. It was hard to keep from laughing as we sat at a picnic table in the near-dark. "Are you thirsty? I can pour you a glass of milk," Jess said casually, before we both cracked up. (No, there's no joke you're missing out on-- the point is that it was stupid and random, and therefore really funny.)

On our way up the hill to the picnic table, we'd passed a car with a parking pass in the window that identified the driver as a student from my school. We didn't think much of it, because we'd seen a bunch of people from our class at the park earlier that day, and we were far away from whoever was in that car's group. We did start to think, however, when a cacophony of voices started shouting up at us, from the area surrounding my very recognizable truck. My name was called. Some boy started doing an obvious impression of Andrew's voice (very deep, very enthusiastic, very easy to poke fun of), and then the rest of them continued to yell indistinguishable things. "Who are you?" I called through the dark, pleasantly. I assumed they were friends of mine. A girl shrilled something else I couldn't hear, and the lot of them (maybe seven?) piled into two brightly-headlighted cars. I made out the words "your truck!" and then a phrase rhyming with "Duck shoe, litch!" before they peeled out of the parking lot.

That's when Jess and I cocked our heads to the side skeptically. Back at the bottom of the hill, my truck was wearing a giant plastic bag over the radio antenna (huh?), a "FOR SALE" sign on the windshield, and several "KFC Kills" activist fliers. No damage done. So... either someone really hates me and was just too scared to legitimately vandalize my car, or friends of mine were being really bored and stupid.

I don't know. The whole thing was strange.
Luckily, on my way home, I called into our most popular radio station to agree with the DJ about The Fray being annoying. We discussed how the lead singer sounds like his mouth is full of cottage cheese, and how music like that is what makes white people have a bad name. He played our whole conversation on the radio a few minutes later, and while it's only, like, Cleveland, I still felt pretty spiffy.

Chipotle burritos this year: 19
Subscribers: 16, 154
Days left of high school: 4

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Monday, May 18, 2009

Maureen Johnson makes the internet better.

After an annoyingly stressful day (Screw you, school newspaper!), Jess and I drove around a bit as we always do. After properly identifying the dead cat in the middle of the road by her house as a coincidental look-alike to her pet kitten--that was fun-- she suggested that we de-stress with a box of Oreos at the park. Actually, she said something more along the lines of, "Let's eat Oreos at the pa--" closed her mouth, coughed, and restarted, "I would never, ever eat Oreos at the park. That's a terrible idea." Alas, we once ate Oreos at the park. Me, Jess, and Justin Timberlake.

I have a brilliant best friend. Not only did she predict mid-sentence what my exact response would be, she immediately started writing fictional letters to Justin Timberlake, aloud for my listening pleasure. "I'll make him drink poison. Like, Coke E.Coli. Dear Justin Timberlake, if I had fifty boxes of Oreos, I wouldn't eat them. I would send them to you and poison them." This means a lot coming from Jess, as 1) I don't know if she could seriously refrain from eating fifty boxes of Oreos (her tiny waist and long legs are so unfair), and 2) she doesn't usually joke about causing people pain/sickness/near-death.

Aaaanyway. I went on a job hunt afterwards, applying at one bookstore and two food shops, representing both my life's passions. I was waylaid on my way out of Barnes & Noble by the necessary task of checking John Green's books for Nerdfighter notes, and ended by making eye-contact with a paperback of Maureen Johnson's The Bermudez Triangle. I flopped into one of those ridiculously comfortable plush chairs across from a slightly creepy balding man, just for a second, just for a few pages. An immeasurable amount of time and eighty pages later, I consciously willed my fingers away from the covers, sped to the check-out, and raced home. This book is good. 

The incredible thing is that I have a ton of mutual friends with the author. As Holden Caulfield said, "What really knocks me out is a book that, when you're all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it." I don't know Maureen Johnson, no, but for one, she's sort of responsible for my love of blogging, and for two, I could get into contact with her right this second if I wanted to. I have a saved email from Megan McCafferty, I talk to John Green on a regular and friendly basis, and I've had contact with tons of other authors I admire. The internet is awesome.

Speaking of contact with brilliant people, reading my blog comments is my favorite part of the day. Thanks to Shay Bay for cracking me up, and shakethedust for giving some really cute and touching advice. Cynthia, your English is beautiful and impressive. To all those asking, yes, I bought the dress in a coral-salmon-pink shade. A, your N*SYNC jokes made me laugh. And Katy, I look forward to your comments-- you guys have express permission to dump any of your emotional drama on me! It makes me feel like we're all semi-anonymous friends/therapists for each other.

Again. The internet is awesome.

Sexy: Authors with the ability to transport their readers to a whole new world or way of life. I'm laughably straight, and I totally understand the feelings of Avery and Mel (The Bermudez Triangle again). You go, MJ.
Unsexy: Anyone who isn't thewinekone. (Contradictory? Maybe. Somehow true? Mmhmm.)

Chipotle burritos this year: 19
Subscribers: 16,138
Days left of high school: 5

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Hitler's a jackass and Justin Timberlake hates me.

Last night I dreamt that I hung out with Hitler. We were in some sort of large air conditioned cabin, walking around and exchanging jokes. I was really starting to like Hitler, and it wasn't until halfway through laughing at one of his comments that I remembered the whole genocide thing. "So do you like me?" Hitler asked, directly on cue, as dream characters so often do. I smiled awkwardly and shrugged a little bit, building up confidence, and then said, "Actually, I think you're kind of a jackass." Hitler did not take well to being called a jackass. He ran away, crying. What this says about me, I'm too scared to find out.

On the subject of Hitler (Not at all; I just thought that'd be funny), I've received a lot of comments regarding my use of the word "boyfriendthing" in my last blog. To address those concerned, it's not that I'm iffy or unsure about the situation. I've just been friends with this guy for so many years, and it was always him chasing me and me being disinterested. So while I'm happy to finally be a Facebook Official Couple, I simply am not used to it. With that out of the way, I regret to inform you that my boyfriend[thing] is devastated, as his television trivia show career ended yesterday. His team fought valiantly, but they got only third place at the finals. I made him cookies immediately, because that's the only thing I know how to do for sad boys. Booooo.

On the subject of boyfriends (Sort of this time, elohel), I had a nice little heart attack yesterday. I've been doing a pretty good job lately at not letting my feelings/lack thereof for my ex-boyfriend continue to be, as commetor Jordan put it, "a raw, festering wound." I still check up on him in little ways, but I'm no longer saving old texts or frequently trying to smell him on his letters. In fact, a good hour or two had passed without any thought of him whatsoever yesterday afternoon, until I was sneak-attacked. My mother and I were shopping, much to my dismay, for a dress to wear at my graduation and my friends' wedding. I was standing in a dressing room, clad in the spaghetti-strapped coral number, when I received a text message from a mutual friend of ours, whom I hadn't spoken to in weeks. He was eating Chipotle for the first time, he said, and it was "eh." I informed him that the first is never, ever good, and that you have to do it about three times before the addiction starts. Then, because I have the sense of humor of a twelve-year-old, I added, "Just like sex." I returned my focus to the dress, wondering if I'm mature enough to wear pleats if I still think devirginization is hysterical, when our friend responded. "Weirdo. Also I'm with Justin Timberlake. Do you hate him?"

(No, he did not say "Justin Timberlake," but I've just decided that's what we'll be calling The Ex-Boyfriend from now on in this blog. Partly because Justin and The Ex-Boyfriend are similar in that I don't understand their appeal whatsoever, but somehow allow them to convince me that they are, in fact, bringing sexy back. And partly because the idea of my ex-boyfriend dressing like/acting like/singing like Justin Timberlake is positively hilarious. Riddikulus!)

Anyway, it's pretty funny that I was facing a full-body mirror as I read that, because I got to witness my reaction. I stared straight forward, looking sort of like that green-eyed Afghan girl from the cover of National Geographic a couple years back. After a minute, I looked down at my phone, the screen black from being opened and untouched for too long, and typed something along the lines of  "What." A second later, he replied, "I'm with Justin Timberlake. Just wondering how you feel with him at the moment."

This is the part where I say something really intelligent and thought-out, like, "Um I don't know whatever." This is also the part where I glance down at the dress and realize I'll be wearing it at our mutual friends' wedding, and that I will be seeing Justin Timberlake... in this dress. The thought of weddings then took my mind to the scene from The Notebook, when the heroine has just seen a picture of her lost love. She lies in the bathtub, inexplicably wearing her bridal veil, idly turning the faucet on and off with foot. That's kind of exactly how I felt. Suddenly a rush of blood came into my face, and I oh-so-collectively responded, once again, "No, I don't hate him. He hates me." I got an "okay" from our friend, and my own palm to my forehead.

I meditated on this conversation all day yesterday, trying to figure out what I would have said if I'd had any previous notice. Chances are I wouldn't have made a sex joke, for instance. Finally, it hit me this morning. A quote from Stephen Bishop: "I feel so miserable without you, it's almost like having you here." So, Justin Timberlake, to put it in terms you're more likely to understand....

On the subject of boy bands, the show went pretty well last night. The sound guys accidentally played the demo track instead of the instrumental for our big after-intermission strobe light extravaganza, which became apparent when our little baritone soloist started singing along with a scary bass from the CD. Very professionally, our director waved her hands and yelled "take two!" and we started again, laughing all the while. So classy. Other than that, everything was fine. I'm a lot less nostalgic and sad about my last stage production than I imagined. We still have to put on this show about two and half more times next week, but I anticipate no tears on my part. Ah, well.

As for my last small group meeting tonight, I certainly cannot promise dry eyes. Ugh.

Chipotle burritos this year: 18
Subscribers: 16,105
Days left of high school: 6

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Friday, May 15, 2009

Blogging, whether I wanna or not

"I'm not going to blog tonight," said Hayley.
"Really?" Hayley replied. "Are you capable of not blogging?"
"Why do you doubt me? If I don't feel like blogging, I won't blog. Stay out of this," Hayley said.
"Oh, all right. It's just--"
"It's just what?" demanded an exhausted Hayley, still wearing an abundance of eyeliner from her choir show. She rubbed with her palm at said eyeliner, which was already doing much more than lining her eyes, as there was a good centimeter of it.
"It's just that you're a slave to your readers," quoth Hayley, amidst a yawn. "I don't think you can honestly go to bed having given them nothing."
Hayley was defeated. She glanced halfheartedly at her computer's clock, and with exactly thirty minutes left, began to type a blog entry.

Things you need to know about opening night:
--The "Seasons of Love" soloist nailed his part, and although I still felt a pang of jealousy, I was proud of him. I'm so self-centered. He needs recognition way more than I do.
--My boyfriendthing and I are the talk of the town. We got a lot of nudges and giggles tonight. People stared at me expectantly whenever he spoke, and trust me, he speaks more than anyone else I've ever met. Freshman girls sighed with dismay when he leaned on my shoulders to mark his territory. As if people are fighting him for it!
--My parents said my jewelry looked ridiculous. And I wasn't even really trying to be stupid with it. So.

Things you don't need to know about the rest of my day:
--In typing up responses to senior surveys for the newspaper, I remembered once again how little I feel for anyone in my class. I'm amused by my friends' answers, annoyed with my enemies', and bored by everyone else's. I'm perfectly okay with never talking to any of those people again, save four or five.
--I think my ex-boyfriend continues to leave cryptic messages for/about me on the internet. About how much he despises me. I could be flattering myself with this assumption, but I'm fairly amused. I bet he's skimming this right now. Heeeey.
--I'm sad. Without reason; just am.

Sexy: Black ties.
Unsexy: Black bandanas tied around foreheads. You do not look like a gangsta. You look like a skinny suburban white kid who lives on a farm and performs in pops concerts with a high school choir.

Chipotle burritos this year: 18
Subscribers: 16,074
Days left of high school: 6

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Choir drama, drama drama

In reading through yesterday's comments, I remembered a handful of other boys' names I love: Joel (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind), Avery, Jude, James (I prefer Jamie, but I'll let him decide), and Harrison, who can be Harry if he'll let me. Also, Ilse for a girl. Oh, and you guys must read this comment from SnakesAndWorms:
"I am going to have all kinds of fun with names since my last name is Sleezer. If
I ever have a boy, I am seriously considering naming him Julius, so he would be
Julius Sleezer. If not that, then probably Ebeneezer. If I have a daughter I'll
probably give her a hippy name like Moon Child."
I figured you guys neeeded that laugh before I bombarded you with an ice-cold bucket of angst. I have a little over one week left of high school, and it is positively unbearable. The morning started off with me flopping lifelessly out of bed, realizing that my hair was huge to the point of being unstraightenable, and having to force myself into stiff clothing while my head begged to go back to sleep. In first period, my crazy Government teacher ranted breathlessly for forty-five minutes about his "friends on left," which is what he calls the liberal media he despises. That I'm used to. What threw me for a loop, though, is what happened next. The man wears khakis, a patterned short-sleeved dress shirt, and a differently patterned mismatching tie every single day of his life, and upon seeing my old green sneakers, said, "Those shoes are gross. You should dress for success." I'm not sure I have the power to convey just how surreal and out of character that comment was, but I'm still kind of floored by it. 

In second period, my choir director began by telling us how bad our big show is going to be this weekend, due to missing rehearsals (TO TAKE AP EXAMS) and "negative energy." Our class this year is made up of about 90% seniors. Can she honestly expect us to be thrilled to be going through the motions when the end is so near? The real kicker, though, was when we did "Seasons of Love." The soloist was having a really, really hard time today, and for good reason-- it was early in the morning, he was already having a bad day, and the director was telling us how much we suck. It doesn't help that the soloist, a friend of mine, gets made fun of a lot for being gay, and although I'm fairly certain he is, he hasn't even come out yet. (No wonder, huh? Seeing as how accepting and lovely his peers are?) So we're all standing on the edge of the stage, waiting patiently for him to find his footing in the solo, and the director goes off on us. She says that we're all rolling our eyes and quietly making fun of the soloist, creating an atmosphere of negative energy. And you see... even if one or two of the jerk boys did roll their eyes, the soloist didn't know he was being made of at the moment. He was having difficulty hitting the notes because they're hard to sing. The director thought she was helping him by yelling at the other boys, but really she was just exposing to the soloist that he was being made fun of. She therefore humiliated him for, like, ten minutes. And she thinks she's a saint for it. To make matters better, as she screamed at us, she said, "He got the solo because he had the best male audition, and it's a male part. So SORRY, Hayley." First of all, what a kind thing to say to the other girl who auditioned. Second of all, I never said a single thing to absolutely anybody at all but Jess about that solo, and the director made it sound like I was walking around complaining about it. Third of all, it was like she was telling the soloist that he was only the best of the boys for the part, after she'd already embarrassed him practically to the point of tears. It was absolutely terrible.

Later in the day, I nearly blew up. Everyone at my tiny school knows about my internet life, but it's mostly just something the seniors make fun of me for at the parties I'm not invited to. I make an effort to speak of it only cryptically when necessary or when I'm convinced no one but my friends can hear, because people probably expect me to brag about it, and I can't stand to give them what they want. But today, I heard a casual friend telling my Newspaper advisor about these guys at my school who make poorly-lit, loud horror movie vingettes with crappy copyrighted music. "They get paid by YouTube!! Isn't that amazing?!" 

And that's when the color drained out my face. I KNOW this is the world's PETTIEST thing to be upset about, and I know I sound like an ASSHOLE. But it would be literally impossible for those boys to have ever received a single partner check, as they don't make any partner videos and no one outside our school watches their channel. And the friend who was telling this to the super-excited teacher knows full well what YouTube is to me, and yet I'm the closeted internet freak, while these stupid boys are our "resident filmmakers." God. I do not want praise. I do not want to be worshipped. I do not want everyone to fawn over me and talk constantly about how I spend my free time. It's just totally, completely unfair that the teacher who won't even tell me "good job" on something awesome I turn in thinks a group of boys with a digital camera deserve to be celebrated for their amazing accomplishments, when I do the same thing SIGNIFICANTLY BETTER.

I just can't stand it.

This phone conversation I just had with my mom pretty much sums up today.
Mom: Are you still grumpy?
Me: Yes.
Mom: (with some sympathy) Why are you grumpy?
Me: School sucks.
Mom: You have seven days left!
Me: Seven days is a long ass time!
Mom: People are in childbirth for seven days!
Me: People are not in childbirth for seven days.
Mom: For a good week before birth, the woman's cervix starts dilating, and it's really painful and--
Me: Oh my gosh, Mom, can we not talk about dilating cervixes right now?
Mom: Go make a 5AG video.

I think I will. RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Chipotle burritos this year: 18
Subscribers: 16,027
Days left of high school: 7

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

My unborn children already hate me.

I don't feel like blogging about anything that matters. Here is my current list of potential baby names, despite the fact that I'm eighteen, unmarried and unpregnant.

For a boy:
--Seren. I made this up one day after staring at the word "serenity" for too long. says it's a girl name, but I've never heard it before, and Sereno is stupid. Seren is, by far, the most likely out of both of these lists to actually happen.
--Greysen. Obviously I couldn't have a Greysen AND a Seren, but a) I think Grey is really, really cool and I can't name my kid entirely after a dingy color, and b) I love "en" at the end of boys' names.
--Jensen. This one is unlikely, as I prefer the proceeding "en" names, and it's also the name of my directors' daughter, but I like it, too.
--Silver. You've got to admit, Silver would be a hardcore name. Especially if he were some kind of artist. Or... black athlete. You know what I mean? I'm embarrassed to say I got this idea off the female character of the same name on 90210.
--Garrett. My late paternal grandfather had the world's coolest attic filled with books, interesting nicknacks, and toys, which he called his garrett. It's a normal name, and has pleasant emotion attached to it.
--John. Of course I wouldn't name my child after John Green! I'm not THAT predictable! (...)
--Sirius. I'm mostly kidding about this one (Ha! Get it? Serious?), just because of the pronunciation. I think it looks really cool written out, though.
--Puck. As much as I would love to name my son after Puck (A Midsummer Night's Dream), I don't think I could curse his childhood by giving him a guaranteed swear-word nickname. It worked for the guy on The Real World in the '90s, though.
--Jess. It's a sturdy guys' name (Think Gilmore Girls!), and it would be cool to name my kid after my best friend.
--Marcus. Yes, for the Jessica Darling series. Don't judge me.
--Moritz. I love it, but I would never dare.

For a girl:
--Charlotte. I've been saying this since I was little. It's the only name I've fallen in love with and managed not to use for a main character in a novel, so it's still fair game.
--Viola, but we would have to fight to enforce that the emphasis is on the first syllable. Viola, not Viola. One is a beautiful nod to Shakespeare, and the other is a string instrument.
--Margo. Partly because of Paper Towns, sure, but mostly because I always wanted a Marlo, until Heart of Darkness ruined it for me.
--Olivia, although Jess says I'm not allowed to have it, because she likes it better than I do.
--Emelia and Morgan and Roxanne, but they're already in my novels-in-progress. Same goes for Cole and Bryce and Jack on the boys' side. (I like Morgan for a boy, too, but how much would my son hate me if I named him after my own female character?)

I know I'm weird. What are some of yours?

Chipotle burritos this year: 18
Subscribers: 16,016
Days left of high school: 8

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

I have a boyfriend.

My dad just spotted my sister and brother-in-law on TV at the Cleveland Indians' game. He made me show him how to work the remote so he could rewind it (How are they going to survive next year when I'm not around to play DVDs?), yelled at me a lot for things I couldn't control, and we finally got it paused. Not exactly worth the excitement, but still kind of cool!

Speaking of local television, my crazy government teacher showed our first period class an episode of Andrew's trivia show today, and geez. I don't know why I'm still surprised, but every time I see him do that, I lean really far forward in my chair and am totally entranced. The other teams are made up of these dorky losers who say things like "I greatly enjoy the lady-folk" when you know they've never kissed a girl. Andrew, however, pounds out answer after answer, startling the proctor, and manages to look... well... hot. I explained this to him today at choir rehearsal, since he was taking the AP Chem test and playing in a tennis match during school, when he wasn't walking on water. He came up behind me while I was watching another choir perform, snaked his arms around my waist, and said into me ear, "Hayley Hoover, I need to know. Are you my girlfriend?"

You know how when you're about to trip and fall on your face, everything moves in slow-mo, and you're very aware of the falling but don't have a chance to catch yourself? Well, that kind of happened in that moment. I had enough time in the spilt second to think, Okay, let's weigh the options. On one hand, he's my close friend, I love talking to him, he's cute, I like when he touches me, and I get jealous when he flirts with other girls. On the other hand, I'm in love with my ex-boyfriend, he made that comment about Chipotle, he dances like an idiot, and he doesn't know my psycho depressive side. Well, honestly, The Ex-boyfriend didn't know my crazy depressive side when we first met, and he handled it pretty well most of the time. Other girls seem to think his idiotic dancing is attractive, and I'm never going to go to another school dance with him. There's no real harm in spending a summer with a friend you sometimes kiss. And so I turned around, faced him, and said loudly and obnoxiously (for his benefit):

"Yes. I'm your girlfriend."
So there you have it.

In regards to some of yesterday's comments: Yes, Kallie, that was me on MuggleCast a couple years ago. It was the highlight of my young life. Becka, you deserve a shout-out; I'm sorry you've been left out before! A, thank you so much for everything you said. It made me smile. Leah, I love you, and I hope everything worked out okay this evening.

Chipotle burritos this year: 18
Subscribers: 15,990
Days left of high school: 9

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

P.S. I didn't get that solo. I'm a little bummed, because a) my director adores me and made a big deal about my not auditioning for an entire song, so I really thought she'd be happy I auditioned, b) there would be less risk giving it to a girl, as it's easier for female voices, c) she usually gives solos to seniors over underclassmen, and the soloist is a junior, and d) the soloist auditioned on a whim, which she hates, when the rest of the choir requested that I sing it in all our rehearsals. But I'm okay. The guy who got it is a friend of mine, and I'm genuinely happy for him. Just a little disappointed.

Monday, May 11, 2009

All the Ladies Checkin' Out My Sugar Lumps

Five things that always make me feel better:
1. Spending any amount of time with Jess. We went to our park after school to eat, be delinquents, and play The Lion King on the slide. Yeah... the US government recognizes us as adults. Yikes.
2. Junk food, though I wish it didn't.
3. Sitting in the library's magazine room and reading through Cosmopolitan. It's one of the few things that can totally, completely relax me.
4. "Shut up, you're awesome, go to bed"-style texts from Sam Friedman (isnoggedharry).
5. The sheer creativity and ability of the fiveawesomegirls. We're pretty talented. I don't care how conceited that sounds, because it's incontestable. Go wish Liane (lianeandthemusic) happy birthday (twenty-one tomorrow) on her channel!

I feel guilty for painting Andrew (the prom date) in such a bad light last week. He's a great guy, and I sort of took out my hatred for school functions on him. While dissing Chipotle docked some serious Cool Points from the kid, I still might, like... get on that. If you saw him on our local television Jeopardy-type show, you'd understand. Trivia is hot.

Something else that's hot? Once again, yesterday's blog comments touched me in a way only blog comments can. I don't know where you guys got the twisted idea that I'm some kind of good person, but your encouragement, however undeserved, gets me through. Love goes out to Samantha, Leah, Indigo (is that your real name? Tell me it is. That'd be so cool), Leesa, Nokorola, Pippa, Allison, Melissa Kendra, Hayley_leesha666, Vuraaa, SnakesAndWorms, Dan, Krazy_4_Kelly, BriannaBean, Joy Isobel, an anonymous reader, Britty, A.J. James, Nicholas, Hema, lanna-lovely, another anonymous commenter, Louise, VicMorrowsGhost, The Blazing Snow, partyweetow, Treasonably Reasonable, hfm, Kate, Amber, intothesunshine, Mina, Graham, and Larangutang. Those in bold get extra shots of love, as their comments made me want to punch through my screen with outstretched, flailing arms, and hug them.

Sexy: The confidence and ability to win a TV quiz show so fast-paced that it leaves my simple-minded mouth agape.
Unsexy: Men who wave the tortilla and order a burrito bol at Chipotle. Don't get me wrong-- I'm a fan of the bol. But come on, men. Eat more than I do. For God's sake.

Chipotle burritos this year: 18
Subscribers: 15,970
Days left of high school: 10

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Mother's Day. Oh, geez.

Today was tough, and I started off irritated with the world. A teenage couple had their baby baptized at church this morning, and while nobody openly said anything, I could tell a lot of people were being judgmental about it. I just wanna be like, "Seriously? You're chastising a girl who had a baby when she could have gotten rid of it and has spent the last year being looked down upon for giving her life up to someone else? You're shaking your head at an awkward young boy who's staying with the mother and helping raise a kid? You're annoyed that this couple is involved in a church and trying to save their child from making similar mistakes?" How hypocritical, too. I bet a large portion of the people staring at the ground and whispering had premarital sex, or at least made stupid mistakes when they were young. I don't know... I hope I'm just inventing all this drama in my head. I don't think I can bear to see the world in this kind of light for much longer.

We went to my grandparents' house after church, where in the grand tradition of family holidays, I inadvertently started a loud, unnecessary political argument. The conversation started off about gay marriage. I think it's the new civil rights movement, and the government should stay out of the business of deciding which adults can and can't be in love/sign contracts of partnership. That's really all that needed to be said, but somehow I ended up yelling at my aunt about my dissatisfaction with organized religion, upsetting and confusing my impressionable eleven-year-old cousin. The words "Whatever; I hate all of you," may or may not have been spoken. Obviously, I didn't mean it one bit-- and no one believed I meant it for even a second-- so everyone was relatively unfazed. That doesn't change the fact, though, that I sort of told my grandmother I hate her on Mother's Day. I am an ardently wretched person sometimes.

On top of that, I was really nervous and unsure about how to approach my friends whose mothers have died. I knew I had to bring up the subject with one of them, so I called to tell him his mom was a lovely person and that I hope his day was okay. For the other friend, I figured it was probably best not to start the conversation... so I sent my love and have spent the rest of the day stewing. How heartbreaking, you know? It's not like I can relate, as hard as I try. It's not like any amount of kindness will fill that void. It's not like the whole world isn't shoving Mother's Day down their throats at every turn. 

So I spent the morning hating the human race for hating the human race, and the afternoon trying to be considerate when all I know how to do is be abrasive. Thank God (as ALWAYS) for Jess. We went over to our park at dusk to swing and talk about a combination of doughnuts, nail polish, and her friend's memorial service. I've been inseparable from this girl since I was five years old, and she still amazes me on a daily basis. What a wonderful, purely good person. If I have one goal in life, it is to be more like Jess. I hope everyone in the world has someone like that.

I'm not really up to typing anything else. Bye, guys. Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Saturday, May 9, 2009

Life is so funny.

Life is so funny. Sometimes you accidentally make out with your friends. Sometimes Will Ferrell movies are inspiring. And sometimes the only person who can make you feel better after you find an old love letter from your ex-boyfriend is the girl he replaced you with. Things can really throw you for a loop every now and then.

I didn't do anything today but clean my room, listen to Flight of the Conchords, and watch the new Taylor Swift video on repeat. (At 0:45 she displays some oddly Kristina-esque mannerisms. Weird.) I'm still wearing the ugly sweatpants that I may or may not have worn half of yesterday and all of last night. Pretty soon I'm going to go over to my sister and brother-in-law's new house to watch TV, eat Chipotle (surprise!) and be otherwise productive. I think my brother moved out today. I realize that's a strange thing to speculate about-- whether or not your brother still lives with you-- but it's been the world's slowest moving process. If he did, baaaah, I now have to drive fifteen minutes away when we want to watch Scrubs together, and if he didn't, baaah, it's inevitable anyway.

A friend of Jess's died this week. I never met him, but it's a pretty terrible thing to imagine. He was our age, had a serious girlfriend, and Jess says he was a really great person. She's so sweet... she makes it her duty in life to revive everyone around her, so she never allows herself to be sad. Pray for her, okay? And obviously the family/friends/girlfriend of the boy.

I'm just the personification of fascinating today. I can't think of anything else at all to say. Stranger Than Fiction is beautiful and jaw-droppingly perfect. I'm vastly more obsessed with Rohan (RoboFillet) than he is with me. Misty (my little white dog) smells like burnt hair and vomit.

Chipotle burritos this year: soon to be 17
Subscribers: 15,916
Days left of high school: 12

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Friday, May 8, 2009

A Sex-Charged Library Adventure

I'm not going to talk about the Scrubs finale, because, while my eyes became wet, I did not SHED any tears. And if I talk about it right now, my lack of crying will go from technical to nonexistent.

Hey, robros. I just came home from the library, because that's what I do in my spare time to keep myself from doing things like this. It was an eventful visit, to say the least. My brother's moving into my sister's old house sometime soon, so he borrowed my truck for hauling bookcases, leaving me with his nice car. The thing about driving a pickup truck older than you are, is that sometimes you forget that other people's brakes work and gas meters don't lie. Anyway, Jacob Black (my car) usually disarms people enough that they don't bother harass me. But without him? On my way into the library, I had to pass a large group of stoned teenage boys. They smiled, whistled, laughed, etc., and threw out comments like, "Hey, sexy thing. Oh, she's a good one. I like her walk!" As soon as I passed, the voice of a girl (What kind of girl hangs out with people like that?!) squeals, "Nick, stop looking at her ass!" Nick's a defensive guy. "I wasn't looking at her ass!" he retorted. "You are now," said one of his cohorts. "Yeeeaaah," said Nick. "Never mind."

Thanks, Nick! Luckily for me, I was hit on by the man behind the counter as I checked out. He looked through my stack of movies/CD and said, and I quote, "Oh my God, I think I'm in love with you. Good choices." This would have been a little bit more intriguing if he had been taller than 5'2" and younger than thirty-five, but it was a step up from Nick & co. Counter Guy's fortunate that they still haven't gotten in my copy of Miley Cyrus: Miles to Go. To stand in Miley's place (temporarily), I picked up:

--Amelie. It's my number-one favorite movie of all time, but I don't own it because that would take away all the excitement. This way it's always a treat.
--The Science of Sleep. Another favorite that I've been meaning to re-watch, as I've been having a strange recurring dream the past week. I'm in some kind of thrift or costume shop that's a combination of a vintage store in a nearby town and the layout of a bakery I've been to. My dreamland boyfriend works there, and while I can't remember his name when I wake up, he definitely has one in the dream. He sort of resembles this creepy guy who sits in the back of mine and Jess's Taco Bell, but he has his own distinct face. While I wait for him, a silent woman with dyed blue hair smiles widely and stands too close to me, but I'm not uncomfortable with it. She's like a normal size eight or ten woman, but she's a little bit bigger than real people, like she's been blown up on photoshop. Her face is really big and round. ...And that's the dream. I know that sounds boring and pointless, but I can see both of them perfectly in my head right now, and that's freaky. ANYWAY.
--Stranger than Fiction. I saw it once about two years ago, but I didn't appreciate it because I was sick. We'll give it another chance.
--The Squid and the Whale. I know absolutely nothing about this movie, other than that Laura Linney is in it and the cover looks trippy.
--Flight of the Conchords's The Distant Future. How can these songs still make me laugh when I've memorized them and anticipate all the jokes? I can't hear "I've been making a lasagna. For one," without cracking up. There's another recommendation for you guys! Flight of the Conchords. They're the most beautiful band in the whole wide room.

On an unrelated note, my audition went well today. It wasn't the most beautiful thing to ever come out of my mouth, but the three boys who auditioned had trouble hitting the final note, and the other girl is almost as bad a singer as she is a person. We'll see!

Sexy: New Zealand accents! Especially coming from dark, saucy, and hilarious men. Speaking like robots.
Unsexy: Loitering with your fellow pubescents in front of public buildings for no purpose other than to annoy/intimidate/objectify women.

Chipotle burritos this year: 16
Subscribers: 15,892
Days left of high school: 12

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Thursday, May 7, 2009

AP and Talent(lessness)

Every Thursday night at promptly ten o'clock, my friend, Adam (acheronwalthers), texts me the best quote from that week's episode of 30 Rock. In case you were wondering, "When's your cult committing suicide?" Hahahahaha. Tina Fey is a goddess.

Today I took the AP English Literature & Composition exam. The proctor lied to us and said they give different tests on the east and west coasts, but through some stealthy methods-- which do not include talking about the test, since that's against the rules-- I'm able to assume that we all took the same one. [Note: In case you matter in the AP world and are reading this, no, we did not steal anything or commit any crimes. The suspicion was verified through a single word.] I think I did well. I'd rate my first two essays at about sevens, probably (they're on a scale from 0-9), and if it were up to me, I'd give my free response a nine. I wrote about The Catcher in the Rye, and all kinds of hidden brilliance poured out of my brain from places I didn't even know I had. It's a shame that I'll never see that composition again, because I honestly think it's one of the best AP-style literature analyses I've ever written. Scoooore.

I forfeited the opportunity to make a 5AG video (I am a bad, bad, bad youtuber!) to attend my school's talent show tonight with my friend, Lauren. Nothing particularly spectacular or noteworthy. A baton twirler, an Irish dancer, a couple acoustic guitars, and the ever-so-predictable high school bands with more volume than talent. I felt like I was doing someone a favor for sitting through the whole thing, as the house lights were left on haphazardly for half the show, and there were countless bursts of white people attempting to clap in time. It did serve, however, to remind me just how little I will miss the American public school system. Two. Weeks. Two weeks.

Today is awesome because I ate raw cookie dough in the back of the auditorium while a group of white boys rapped into faulty microphones. Today is also awesome because of this quote from TOLauren: "Can I write your blog for you? I'll do the 'today I went to school and ate food' part, and you can add metaphors and shit." But all in all, today is awesome because I'm DONE with standardized tests, and I'm going to go take a shower now.

Chipotle burritos this year: 16
Subscribers: 15,881
Days left of high school: 13

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. Wish me luck; I'm auditioning for Collins's solo in my choir's rendition of "Season of Love" at about 10am. Goodnight! <3

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Mudbloods and Childhood Relics

You know what's truly hilarious? When people write out the lyrics to their favorite songs and expect other people, reading them, out of context, to be moved. First of all, it's rare that anyone else in the world is going to give a crap about the emo poetry in your facebook status. Second of all, sometimes perfectly awesome songs make for perfectly awful poems. (Not hating on Marie'; that video's really funny/pretty.) Where was I going with this? Oh, yeah-- I'm deeply, passionately in love with The Mudbloods, and I was thinking today, as I listened to them on repeat with my sad face, how beautiful their lyrics are. One example of very readable songs. While they make the experience even more incredible, you don't need Adam Dubberly's dreamy voice or the haunting melody for "Since March, Since September, and Still" to make you heartsick.

Since March of last year, every time I go to sleep
You're always right here, next to me
Whether I stay up late, or I go to bed early
You're in my life until I wake up in the morning
And I don't know if I love it or I hate it
But it's more painful than I'd ever like to admit
It's masochistic, but it's almost really worth it
To be able to be with you for even one more moment
And every time I have to wake
I come to terms with my actual fate
That the only thing lying next to me
Is a couple books and a pile of CDs
I open my eyes and begin to return 
From either the past, or a future that might have been
Even though it's been almost a year now
It's like you've left me all over again

Isn't that pretty?! I really can't get over it. These are the same guys who wrote and performed the song to which my video "Early Fall" is set. I seriously, seriously suggest that you buy some of their music. (And really, when have I ever led you wrong with a recommendation?)

On a completely unrelated note, after school my second grade class got together to open a "time capsule" we put together ten years ago. TOLauren and I met in that class when we were assigned to share a yellow floppy disk for our computer projects, and we'd sit in tiny chairs for hours on end, writing and illustrating stories together. How cool is it that we've been best friends since we were seven? (Jess and I have been best friends since we were five, too, and Lauren, Sarah and I have been a trio-in-crime since we were ten.) While our most famous and discussed stories, "Stop, Junior!" and "The Small Apple" unfortunately did not make it into the box, I uncovered a handful of gems. A six-page typed story called "Mirisa's Book Challenge," for example, from the era before MS Word provided automatic spell-check. "She ran downstairs and had a boll of live ceryel" (page 3, line 5). I'm amused to find, as well, that my affinity for making up last names is no new habit, as seen in "Mrs. Randar" and "Mr. Ettle." Despite my faulty eight-year-old spelling, I cracked up upon reading this poem I created:

"A friend is someone that is caring.
One whom you can trust.
A person you are nice to
And do not throw in the dust.
If you want a friend you should be caring too.
Then a kid just might say
"I like you"!"

Well, sweetie, the exclamation point really should be inside the quotations, and there are some aspects of syntax I would change, as well as a few missing commas... HAHA. I USED THE WORD "WHOM" IN SECOND GRADE. HAHAHA. Oh, here's another goodie:

"On Sunday morn when
You get home from
The chapel sit down
And unwind and eat
This apple."

"My name is Hayley G. Hoover. I am 8 years old. My favorite food is spigetie. I like to read and write. My favorite colors are violet and lime green. I love Annie, Ramona [Quimby, of the book series by Beverly Cleary] and pecacho (which I'm going to assume is Pikachu). My teacher has a beard."

The now beardless teacher attends my church and works at Royal Family Kids' Camp with me, so I was trusted to borrow the much-coveted video yearbook on VHS. After a few minutes of random action shots, in which I'm seen loudly attempting to direct a play in the corner of the room to a most unenthusiastic cast, I highjack the camera and conduct obnoxious interviews with my classmates for a good half hour. "How do you feel about our class pet giving birth?" I ask a tiny, pudgy version of one of my current choir friends. "Okay," he answers, blushing. Little Hayley exhales furiously and continues digging for dirt. "What if it had been Godzilla? What would you do if it was Godzilla?" Ben giggles and replies that he doesn't know. Little Hayley, tired and bored, spends the rest of the interviews playing with the zoom button and talking in a slow-mo voice. I'm not sure how to import VHS tapes to my computer--Do I need some kind of device?--but if I ever figure it out, I'll surely post it all on the tubes.

Dear Hayley,
I'm all right; how're you? HELL. NO. Sorry to let you down. No, I'm about as coordinated as a wounded duck. You'll realize that pretty soon. Um, yeah, you could say I've "been in a show." About a million, give or take. Yes, I more than "like" to write. I feel the same way about it now that you did then, except now I can spell "really." I guess I can draw enough to get by. Yes, you are eighteen. Good math. You should probably have put a comma before "me" to make sense of that sentence, but I get what you're saying. Thanks!
Love, Hayley

Chipotle burritos this year: 15
Subscribers: 15,853
Days left of high school: 14

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. Wish me luck for the AP Lit exam tomorrow, and thank you soooooooooo much for your continuing abundance of comments. <3

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

Prom pictures and Bloody Red Heart

With my real date, Lex.

Andrew and I. Don't ask why he's wearing those sunglasses. I couldn't tell ya.

We were getting really sick of taking pictures.

Andrew, me, my friend, Seers (I guess you know her as Sarah), and her boyfriend, Max.

Yaaaay. And, while we're on the topic of pictures.... My editor, Amy Goldwasser, sent some photos of the cast of Bloody Red Heart (the stage play version of the essay anthology I contributed to). I didn't get to go see it, but it's surreal enough just to read about. My fourteen-year-old diary came to life!

The girl with the reddish-blondish hair, leaning on the girl with the hat, played me. The black girl on the left played the boy in my story.

Here's a close-up of Chiara Russi, credited with the leading role of Hayley Hoover, age 16.

I want to take another opportunity to thank those of you who read and comment on this blog for greatly increasing my quality of living. It took me over half an hour to read all your prom stories this morning (some were hilarious, some were heartbreaking, most were a combination of both) and I was positively thrilled. Thank you, guys. It genuinely means a lot.

Chipotle burritos this year: 15
Subscribers: 15,823
Days left of high school: 14

Bye, guys! See you, hopefully, tomorrow. <3

Monday, May 4, 2009

A Night to Remember

You guys, do you want me to look like an idiot? I'm sitting in my free period, moaning and holding my hand to my heart. All from reading the beautiful comments you left on last night's blog. I didn't expect anyone to say anything because it was so depressing-- I didn't really expect anyone to read it, even, because it was so long. But you all prove, once again, to be far better than I will ever be. I can't even convey how much your responses meant to me. A big hug to Tessa, Jordiekins (who's a boy?! His username is so normal for a girl, so I didn't think anything of it, but it's CUTE for a boy!), megkatjo, Phyllis, Cynthia, Faith, Katie, Bigred719, Daniel, Allyson, SnakesAndWorms, valerie2776, Leah (lessthanthree), Jordan, Tom, Nicholas, Karissa (who saw Bloody Red Heart!) Randi, Ginger, Hayley, sparkletasia, Rosianna (my soulsister), Callie, Rebecca, Leesa, VicMorrowsGhost, Brad, Kim, A.J. James, Catherine, Katy J, intothesunshine, Joanne, Adrienne, Joy Isobel, Lori, Elrich89, Kaitlin, Margo (Is that your real name? If it is, YOU'RE SO LUCKY. If it's just a nod to John Green, you're still awesome), Rachel, Gavin, an anonymous reader, and Gabby, who's incredible, considering our relationship's roots. I'll end the sappy shout-outs with an enormous, all-consuming, everlasting hug for Becky, who left the most heartwrenching comment I've ever received. I love you guys.

I don't really want to write about my prom, but I figure it's a record worth having, so I'll try to get it out. Okay, so the day started with getting my hair and makeup done. I wasn't crazy about the final product of my hair, but I had no issues with it. I hated wearing that makeup, though. I didn't look anything like myself, and it was both freaky and weirdly upsetting. I tried to avoid eye contact with myself and got pumped to later step into my craaazy dress that I positively adore. Some people (mostly those who are interested in fashion or like standing out) were big fans, but most reviews were openly confused, if not negative. One of my friends' boyfriends-- a guy I'm friends with, and admire for being typically kind-- said, and I quote, "Hey, Hayley. You look... interesting." My friend, Sarah, laughed out loud when she saw it and mockingly asked if she could borrow it. Another good friend told me, flat out, that she didn't like it, but liked me anyway. Despite how I'm making it sound, my feelings were in no way hurt over all that. I think it's kind of funny.

In line for Promenade, I told my date all the things I said yesterday about our English. He told me I was making a big deal over nothing. Then, like a sitcom, on cue walks in our English teacher from last year, who promptly takes to hugging me passionately and saying how much she loves and misses me. Talk about contrast!

Dinner was okay. I was mostly left to chaperone the boys at my table to make sure they didn't make fun of my flamboyant (yes, obnoxious to the extreme, but in my eyes, lovable) friend, at one point throwing a roll at one of their heads. They both lost serious respect points with me for that. Adding to his tally of lost respect, one of them (the boy who earlier said I looked interesting) and his girlfriend proceeded to moodily grope and eye-roll in each other's laps all night. Give me a break! I can't believe I was grateful that the music started playing and dinner was over.

I spent the majority of the dance portion positioned awkwardly in front of my date, cringing and swaying slightly to the beat of frightening rap music, while my peers literally held a lapdance competition on my right. I swear, the human race is devolving. They're so animalistic and overtly sexual, even in front of our assistant principal! The goal of a dress is to cover those body parts! The goal of music is to be heard, not thudded violently through the body at an incomprehensible volume! I danced in arm's length of my date just long enough for him to kiss me excitedly and terribly, taking care to do so when as many people as possible were watching. Let me tell you-- nothing is less sexy than wearing a princess gown in the middle of a student body orgy, and no first kiss is less innocent and sweet than one given by attack to the 8 Mile soundtrack.

The last nail was pounded forcefully into the coffin, by way of strappy silver high heel, at After Prom. First, I had to sit outside in a tube top, visibly shivering, while my date looked like an idiot and smoked a cheap cigar with ultimate pride, like, Look how manly I am! I smell like Old Spice, geriatrics and cancer! When we finally went inside, a group of tired chaperones gave us the fish eye, sizing us up and down to silently determine whether we were boozing, hitting up, or sexing. For me, it was none of the above, but their glares somehow made me feel dirty regardless. For the rest of the night, until three or so when I begged my date to take me home, I listened to some sophomore boys' band sing off-key versions of whiny white boy soft rock, watched my classmates prance their cellulite around in swimsuits, and thoroughly lost a game of "I've never." On the bright side, there was a TON of food, and-- I'm NOT making this up-- there were chips and salsa catered by Chipotle. I  jauntily consumed a teeny, tiny amount whilst listening to my date tell me how "People should only eat Chipotle about twice a year, because it loses its appeal." Yikes, kid. Not your best move. To punctuate that statement, he took my plate from me mid-bite, bored, and insisted that we relocate. OUCH! Anyone wanna desert Team Andrew? See what I mean now?

I walked inside as quickly as possible so I wouldn't have to experience the wrath of his mouth again, and just stood in my hallway for a minute in the pitch black, letting it soak in. On the bright side, I will never, ever, ever, ever have to do that again. On the smudgy side, I had eyeliner ingrained in my skin and was practically too exhausted to make it upstairs. I did, and fell asleep without so much as washing my face besides a few quick swipes of a washcloth. I awoke the next day at noon. My sister made me waffles.

And that, kids, was the so-advertised "night of my dreams" that High School Musical 3 and Seventeen Magazine love to talk about.

Chipotle burritos this year: 15
Subscribers: 15,807
Days left of high school: 15

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Sunday, May 3, 2009

Emotional backpack

"A good name is more valuable than precious perfume, in the same way the day of death is better than the day you were born." -Ecclesiastes 7:1

I'm writing this with the sour, raw feeling in my head reminiscent of when I'm trying not to cry. A million little things seem to be dumping themselves one by one into the metaphorical backpack of emotions that I have to haul uphill in high humidity for an unspecified amount of time. What did I call this before? Oh yeah, notsome.

Items in my backpack at the present time:
1) My score on the English test I wrote about two days ago is detrimental to my grade in the class, and as the AP exam is next week, our assignments for the course are pretty much done, and there isn't much more chance to improve. I don't want to turn this into a petty teenaged issue and place all the blame for my inferior work on the teacher, but I've been thinking about my relationship with her lately, and I've had some personal insights. She has me for both AP English, in which we write long, complex essays on a daily basis, and for Newspaper, in which I turn in articles every single Friday, and I have never-- not even once-- received a positive comment on a writing assignment. I've gotten perfect scores on papers, and I've received accolades throughout the school for editorials, and I've led class literature discussions, but I have never-- not even one-- gotten so much as a "nice job" or a "well-written." I understand that if she perceives a cocky attitude in me, she doesn't want to encourage it. But I don't think I come off that way at all! I've never mentioned to her that I'm in a book, or spoke to her about my internet life, or bragged to her about my relationships with authors I admire, or brought up NaNoWriMo. I've made effort not to act bigheaded about my love for writing, because if a teacher thinks I'm talented, I want her to come to that conclusion on her own. But honestly? I've written some brilliant pieces for those classes. It's my passion and reason for living, and this woman, whose passion is to encourage young people to pursue their gifts, has never found a single chance in a whole year to let me know she laughed at a line or liked a point made in an essay. I know that my performance on a test has nothing to do with my personal relationship with the grader, but I think I have reason to be upset about the classes as a whole. This teacher also, for example, thinks I'm an ecstatically happy person, when I did poorly in Newspaper last grading period because I was too miserably depressed to lift my head. She also thinks Jess (who she's had three years) goes by Jessica. So.

2) I started attending my church before I could talk. I've been in the same company, in the same building, twice a week for the past eighteen years. Our pastor is like an uncle to me: he convinced me to go on a bike-riding retreat when I was little and (if you can even grasp this concept) less athletic than I am now. He was present for every single family crisis. He officiated my sister's marriage, and will mine. The man is a wonderful, brilliant, real, flawed person, and I love him dearly. Unfortunately, the United Methodist Church as a whole attempts to work in the best interest of all its members, so when a minister has done great things for an individual church but is, after many years, appearing to flatline, they will sometimes require that the minister go somewhere new where they can be of more assistance. Basically, the higher powers that be are, in a way, asking a sort of retirement of my pastor. This summer, he'll be moving a few hours away to indefinitely work a different kind of job, and it's suggested that his current church family keep contact with him to a minimum for a while, so as not to show an unfair bias against the new pastor, and to not be selfish. The system isn't evil or anything; they're looking out for the greater good, trying to breathe life in new places and not let things get stale. This means, however, some pretty awful stuff for my family. My mother and the pastor's wife have been working together at the church for twelve years, and are best friends with the intensity of me and Jess. And for the "greater good of the United Methodist system in our area," my mom will be separated from her best friend in the world at the same time her last of four children will move out. My mom loves what she does, but she's been working for a long time, and she's exhausted. So now, at the time she needs her best friend most, and she needs her coworker to keep her afloat, everything is going to change against her will and power. It's heartbreaking to think about. On top of that, when I come home from college, my church will not be the same one I left. We'll have a new, young, very different pastor who, if he ever even has the time to learn my name, will have not taught me to ride a bike with handlebar brakes. He won't have seen me lose my baby teeth, or baptized me, or hugged me when my grandpa died. I just feel like... like the government is burning down my house and leaving an IOU.

3) Again, every Sunday night since I was about twelve, I've met at the church for what we call small groups. I've been getting together with my friends (and not just Church Friends-- these are Jess and Lauren and Sarah, among about six others) and my godmother-figure to talk about life, study a Bible verse, and hang out every single week. It's our only absolutely unchanging, stable social date to guarantee each other uninterrupted time, and it's been happening since we all had braces on our teeth. I can't even picture a world without small group. The impact these people have had on my life is positively immeasurable. But alas. We have one college freshman, one high school sophomore, and the rest are high school seniors. Our leader has been far too close with us to take on another group, so Elise, the sophomore, will be groupless next year. Oh, yeah-- and I WILL NO LONGER HAVE MY SMALL GROUP. The most reliable positive influence of my life is coming to an end. Our leader brought this up tonight, and as I walked into my house, I nearly fainted. There are few, few, few things more important to me than my small group. It's ending.

4) Oops, I did it again. I've nearly made myself a Girlfriend, and it's taken me until the last possible second to realize how desperately I do not want to be one. The main contributer to this (well, the one I feel comfortable enough to disclose to my blog readers) is the fact that he doesn't know the deep, intangible me. He knows the concept of Hayley Hoover from School: the girl he's flirted with intently since middle school, his costar in four musicals and six years of choir, the one who bounces up and down over Emily Dickinson in English and ignores everyone else for her tiny circle of friends. But in all actuality? Well, my small group was talking tonight about the different names we all hold. Like, I'm Hayley Hoover at school, and Hayley to my friends, Hayles and Haylsie to my family, Fuzzball to my brother, Miss Hayley at Royal Family Kids' Camp, and hayleyghoover to the internet. This boy knows Hayley Hoover, has a grasp on Hayles, and has a very vauge idea of hayleyghoover. And maybe that's the starting off point when you meet a new boy you're interested in, but that's not a relationship you jump into, thinking all the prerequisites were taken care of in the six years' preparation. If we were going to click on the sublime level of tight, functional love, it would have already happened. It hasn't, and it won't. I've been in love, and this situation has no potential for love. I can't stomach going through the motions of dating right now unless there's a needed give-and-take between us and kissing is intimate. Unfortunately, I don't really know how to break this news to him, having set the stage for boyfriend/girlfriending it. That'll be awkward.

5) I've been accidentally upsetting or abusing a lot of my friends lately. My friend, Sarah, is in a very serious relationship with our mutual friend (He's also our small group leader's son), and I've seen her so scarcely this school year that it's almost unbearable. Trying to make amends, she planned for my date and I to go with her and her boyfriend to prom. Well, the group soon filled up when another couple of our friends joined in, and then a few more, and then a few more... anyway, it turned into a huge event, made up mostly of people I don't know. At the same time, two friends of mine, neither of whom drive, needed another couple to go with, and as my date knew them better and would be more comfortable, we blew off Sarah. I saw her for a total of ten minutes last night. At the same time, I kept putting off recording some stuff for the new Parselmouths album, mostly because I still have difficulty combining Friend Kristina and Kristina Parselmouth in my head, and I was terrified. I'm totally comfortable with Friend Kristina in every possible way, but Kristina Parselmouth is a figure I've been anonymously admiring for years. I forgot about it after a while, even though she made many polite urging attempts to remind me, and it finally got the point that it was too late. I should have decided to tell her I couldn't help a long time ago, and now I've put her in a tight, nervous situation. Graham (my old close choir/musical friend/sort of neighbor) and Sarah Keeler (my old close internet friend/his fiance) came home for the weekend to work on things for their wedding, too, and I've let my prom stress and other problems get in the way of spending time with them. Other things are going on, too, and just... all in all, I'm sort of a sucky ass person right now.

Anyway, there are probably other backpack items I need to bring up, but it's late, and I need to go to bed. I've decided that un/sexy is optional from here on out, because a) it's hard to come up with them sometimes, and b) I'm tired. I'm going to stop tracking my weight because there's very little change in it from day to day, and I don't exactly want to think about that when it's avoidable. Therefore:

Chipotle burritos this year: 15
Subscribers: 15,781
Days left of high school: 16

Bye, guys. Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3