Not a girl, not yet a non-disaster

Want to hear something completely insane? I'll be twenty-two years old in one month, a college graduate in four, a potential non-Ohioan soon thereafter. Want to hear my worldly, grown up, cosmopolitan response to all of it? Holy shit.

Evidence that I'm a woman:

• I can put on earrings without looking for the holes in a mirror.
• I can give you a to-the-hundred estimate of what's in my checking account at any given time.
• I don't feel any desire to buy vending machine candy bars.
• I keep my keys on a hook and my jewelry in a box.
• I keep track of appointments on a calendar.
• I get really excited by Target's kitchen supply section.
• All my coats have a matching pair of gloves in their front pockets.
• I rarely eat anything containing neon food coloring.

Reasons I'm a kid:

• I think jeans belong on the floor. (Anyone who claims it's convenient to fold them over slippery hangers or stack of them where they'll never be seen is pretentious/lying.)
• I don't keep bank deposit slips in my glove compartment.
• Regarding makeup, I haven't yet found a balance between Completely Bare and Crack Whore.
• Sometimes I let empty toilet paper rolls collect into a cardboard tube graveyard instead of just throwing them away.
• I still buy $4 magazines even though I know they're brainwashing and catalogueish and wasteful and satanic and all that.
• I can't make eye contact with the condom/pregnancy test/any-tube-with-the-word-"vaginal"-on-it aisle.
• I recently made my mother convince me there wasn't a murderer in my house.
• I'm, like, really pumped that they're making new Sailor Moon episodes.

I don't have the slightest idea how one is supposed to handle this transition. Ingest illegal substances? Get a mom haircut? Listen to the second track of every Broadway musical recording, wherein the protagonist invariably sings about how something's coming and they've gotta find their purpose and their corner of the sky and their one song glory? I don't know. I don't know. So I'm taking baby steps. Today, I clean out my childhood bedroom.

It's amazing how this room-- which used to be my only sanctuary of semi-privacy, where I could be my absolute self-- is suddenly a hot pink memorial to some kid who doesn't exist anymore. This polkadot rug that everyone said was ugly but I swore represented my unique style? It's ugly. The books that once changed my life are suddenly "cute." I can't decipher the metaphors in old journaled poems, I can't comprehend why something as hideous as this lamp would dare to exist, I can't remember what led me to attempt a "mural" on my closet wall. This room is a time capsule, a museum exhibit... a complete mess.

First task: eliminate any and all clothing that rings even the tiniest bit pubescent. I keep catching myself mulling over sweaters and being all, "Oh, this is still good! I got it during my freshman year of high school! That was only... seven years ago." Nope. Goodbye, tank tops with broken lace. Ciao, good-intentioned tops that look pretty on hangers but don't cover my boobs. I'm forcing myself to toss anything emblazoned with an embroidered seagull or designed for someone awaiting her first period. Discharging all Abercrombie products, pronto.

Sigh. The thing is, I'm getting pretty good at not being a child, but I'm still awful at being an adult. What are women supposed to wear? Like, khakis? I know the applique sweater vests don't come until later, and I think I'm supposed to own a lot of sparkly things for going to bars, but that's as close as I've come to figuring it out. I'll let you know if I wake up tomorrow with an insatiable desire to purchase control-top pantyhose. Until then, it's back to Britney Spearsing for me. I'm not a girl, not yet a woman, and not anywhere near done de-Hollister-izing my bedroom floor. See you guys soon!

Less Than Three Update & Stuff & Ponies

Your entries to my little makeshift writing contest were an absolute delight, guys. I pulled up your comments and blogs on my phone and rewarded myself for staying awake in class by reading them under the desk. We'll have to do this again sometime, yes? It feels silly to pick a winner, since that wasn't really the point, but I'm gonna have to go with EJ on this one. Just beautiful and affecting and good. Cheers and confetti and pinatas for everybody!

I've been in Crazy Work Mode for the last few days. It's all video filming and Less Than Three editing and homework and throwing things in fits of frustration. Still, I can't help but feel lucky or blessed or what-have-you that I get the opportunity to do what I love, and that I have the health and financial situation and support that I need in order for these kinds of projects be possible. I'm stressed, but it's the kind of stress I'm really grateful to have, you know? I'm trying to make more of an effort to spread my work out evenly and spend time enjoying it. As we speak, I'm writing this on my sunshiney balcony with a bottle of sun tea slowly changing color beside me, listening to the new Jason Mraz album, stretching my neck. Right on cue, Jason just sang the perfect summary of what I'm going for: "I'm letting go of the thoughts that do not make me strong." Me too, bud.

Oh hey, while we're (sort of) on the topic of The Book-- I've had a few people ask for an update about the project, probably because we've had a hard time coming up with some sort of central place for news about it, between mine and Kristina's million youtube channels and blogs and twitters and et cetera. At this point, we've been in contact with-- and received confirmation from-- all of the finalists. If you submitted a story and haven't heard from us personally about it, your story hasn't made it on to the next round to be considered for the official book. It is 100% yours again, so feel free to put it on your own blog or submit it to another publication, or even save it for if Kristina and I ever host a similar contest. Narrowing down the near thousand submissions was one of the most challenging hunks of work I've ever finished. Frankly, I was amazed by the talent and heart in each and every entry. If you participated, thank you so much for putting yourself out there, taking risks, and allowing us to read your work. This community is pretty much a constant ass-kicking awesome-fest. Thank you, guys.

On that note, my video files just finished rendering, so I'm about to jump into ferocious editing mode. If you missed it, I posted a new HGH video on Thursday (in which I wear a bikini and obscene amounts of eyeliner) and a new Answerly video yesterday, complete with tips for surviving final exams! I hope you all have a lovely morning/afternoon/evening/middle-of-the-night-when-you-should-be-sleeping-but-let's-face-it-you-probably-won't-because-tumblr-and-youtube-exist. I'll see you soon!


P.S. THERE WERE NO PONIES. FALSE ADVERTISEMENT. I AM A SNEAKY BASTARD.

Uh... poetry?

I hope you guys are in the mood for a little dash of ridiculousness, because man, do I have a treat for you tonight!

I do not write poetry. I just don't. I appreciate poetry-- I've had to remind myself not to lick the pages of my John Donne anthology in public-- but my thoughts and feelings and emotions (even the best ones) simply do not translate into a world without punctuation rules. I've worked on it, I've taken classes, I've stared frustratedly at botched pieces of notebook paper and willed them to become art, but it has yet to work. Sadly, I've somehow found myself enrolled in a workshop intended for people who, like, know what they're doing. My strategy so far has been to write prose and then go back and add haphazard line breaks and delete all the periods. My professor has actually liked them, by some crazy, demented twist of fate... but I still cringe every time I glance at my class folder. But what better way to overcome anxiety than to dip your whole head into a freezing cold bucket of it?

I'm sharing this one with you because the prompt is awesome, and I want to invite you to write your own original poems under the same guidelines. So I can selfishly read them and feel like some kind of proud aunt. You can leave your poem as a comment, or just comment with a link to your own blog. I'll pick a favorite and then praise the hell out of its author in a future post. Are you down? Will you do this with me? Cool.

In your poem, include at least fourteen of the following items: a statistic, a dish eaten cold, three forms of heat, a smell you can't forget, a line from a movie, something out of a textbook, two things you wish you had said, a reference to an aunt or uncle, some kind of moving vehicle, two words beginning with R and ending with "-ion", a stage direction, two distinct hours of the day, an historical figure, an adhesive, an animal only seen up close in the zoo, a slang expression ("call it quits," for example), something really bad that you did, something that undermines or negates everything else you've said.

Here's mine!

Is this punishment for when I was ten
and I scratched my brother’s arm so hard
that it left permanent half-moon scars?
Is that why I saw my eleventh birthday come
and go without receiving a single piece of parchment
stamped with the imprint of an owl’s beak?

They say revenge is a dish served cold,
and goddamn it, I am freezing.
I belong in a toasty wand-knit sweater
with my blocky first initial on its front!
I belong with my legs tucked under me
on a red couch next to a furnacey fireplace!
I belong gulping steamy potato leak soup
that I charmed out of the kitchen after hours!

Where are all my adventures?
Where is my 8AM air tingling my cheekbones
as my thighs hold tightly to a wooden handle?
Where is my midnight foray into the forest
under my friend’s dad’s uncle’s old cloak?
Where is the unforgettable smell of butterbeer,
all caramel-colored and homey and in my throat?

For Merlin’s sake, just let me in!
Let me in or I’ll use the Expoximise charm
and glue my ass to the front gate!
Let all the “deserving” eleven-year-olds watch
as I lean, center stage, gate-to-ass like a zoo elephant
and yell all the things I should have said!
I should have sent them my own letter
and been like, “Dear Hogwarts School.
I am pleased to inform you that you have been
invited to accept me into your establishment!”
I should’ve found Dumbledore’s email address
and said, “Hey, buddy. I’ll set you up on Grindr
if you let me be a Gryffindor!”

Whatever. Out of everyone in the world,
.0355% of us are special enough for your castle,
and I was supposed to grow old and jaded
without you. Was that the plan?
Well, I found a loophole!
You didn’t admit me, but I snuck in!
And every time I open those heavy,
beautiful books, I will have the adventure
and the food and the burgundy sweater!
And even longer than my brother
will have half-moon scars,
I will have my own personal magic.

I can't wait to see what you guys come up with. I may never even reach angry-eighth-grade-diary-scribbler levels of poet talent, but at least I just posted the phrase "gate-to-ass" on my blog. I hope you all have a lovely day. I'll see you guys soon!

I need an oil change.

You know that ridiculous staple of horrible pop songs, when it digresses into a boys vs. girls chant-off? Like this and this. Lately, I... sort of feel like there's one of those happening in my head. On the one side, I'm working hard in school, taking on a huge project with the book, making videos, running, feeling good about myself. It's like a really enthusiastic Zac Efron wearing pastels and nailing his choreography. But all the while, on the other side, there's this catatonic depressive waste of space who eats a lot of cookies and doesn't get out of bed until noon and finds it physically strenuous to put on pants. The anti-Efron. I've tried to force the latter side out of my brain. I've tried to make the two opposing mindsets converge or battle to the death or something... but as with everything in my personality, this situation is sort of all or nothing. I'm either ON or I'm OFF.

I pretty much took the month of March off from working-- a mental health sabbatical, or something-- but now I'm having a hard time getting my footing again. For instance, this is like my seventh try at writing a blog post. That's nuts. That's just utterly nuts. I've never in my life had a problem vomiting my thoughts here, but tonight? It sort of feels like I'm on an exercise machine and somebody turned up the resistance level to 70,000,000. I keep typing halves of sentences just to erase them, stretching my neck agitatedly, punching my left hand with my right. I don't know how to turn it off. My eye keeps going down to a minimized Word document that contains the blueprints for a video I'd really like to have done, but even with all the free time in the world, I haven't been able to make it. Do I need an oil change?

This year has brought me quite a heaping plate full of personal challenges-- some of them definitely big enough to warrant the occasional breakdown/cookie massacre-- but something really huge occurred to me today. It's April. As in the fifth month.* As in 2012 is nearly half over. It's one thing to let yourself feel necessary emotions when they're necessary for the necessary healing process, but it's another thing to let an entire year slip by while you're hiding your head under your food-stained comforter. Starting today, I'm renewing my commitment to work through the pain. I'm going to structure my life so tightly that there's no room for wallowing. I'm going to be bigger than the forces trying to bring me down. I'm going to stop playing this High School Musical song oh dear god why.

Do you guys know of any secret tricks that... kill depression? Is there some kind of aerosol spray I can buy? Is there an app for that? I'm really open to any and all suggestions.

Thanks for putting up with my moody evil twin tonight. Here, have a pretty picture of my college campus, for your trouble. I hope you all have a lovely evening! Sincerely. I'll see you soon.

*Mmkay, so yes, let's take a moment and discuss the fact that I-- for a few minutes--thought April was the 5th month of the year. Go on. Laugh. Get it out of your systems. I'm tired. Screw you.

Public

Working a practically full-time job based out of my laptop has quickly taught me that I’m much less of an introvert than I’d originally thought. While I’d still choose a bag of popcorn and old episodes of The Office over a college lawn party nine times out of ten, there’s something oddly draining about spending the vast majority of your day secluded in the same room. It feels almost pointless to wear makeup or attractive clothes when you’re only in class for four hours, and it becomes less and less comforting to lie in your bed at the end of the day when you’ve been there since two. Emily Dickinson-ing can take its toll on a person. So, because I’ve dedicated 2012 to mimicking adulthood and trying to get a sense of how I plan to live once I’m done with school next winter, I’m pushing myself to move out of my comfort zone, and tonight I’m coming to you live from a corner table at a coffee shop.

It’s a little bit distracting—one of my teachers is across the room, two nearby girls are noisily playing Scrabble, and the soundtrack keeps fading from The Rolling Stones to Teagan and Sara to something drum-based and vaguely African—but this tea is comforting and it feels nice to bring you, Blog, out on a field trip. There’s something charming about typing away in my little world, knowing that twenty other Little Worlds are happening around me. That bearded guy in the armchair is probably writing a screenplay. Those two blondes are maybe on a second date. The laptoppy blue haze on one girl’s face just screams Tumblr. These people all value being alone just as much as I do, but they’re choosing to be alone together. I could get used to this.

So what is there to say tonight? I had a really pleasant weekend. One of my best friends, Heather (she was my roommate last year, but transferred to a school near my parents’ house, for those playing along at home) came and stayed over for Friday and Saturday. With some other friends, we spent the former night ingesting things and watching movies and being ridiculous (my memories are admittedly scattered—at one point, I debated with a friend why he should let me draw on his face with marker), and the latter night at an annual dance held by our school’s LGBT group, the theme for which was “Super Queeros.” My Sailor Venus costume was unparalleled. Sunday was lazy and included a few hours of walking aimlessly uptown with Heather, talking about every stupid thing that wandered into our minds. It upsets me on a weekly basis that we no longer live within an arm’s-length of each other, but distance does, at least, make the heart grow fonder of walking together in the cold.

In other news, I continue to make progress with The Book project, and I’ve also returned to an old, previously abandoned novel. Before starting this post, I reread what I’d worked on this time last year, and those fifty stupid pages that I’d wanted to vomit all over at one time? They were surprisingly… not horrible. I’ll probably change my mind about it ten thousand more times before I ever finish the story, but for tonight, I’m going to allow myself to feel good. I can write sometimes! Who knew?

On that note, I’ve gotta get out of here to free up room for other Poets and Bards who actually plan on buying more than one cup of tea. But hey, maybe I’ll be back tomorrow! My goal for this week is to get out of my apartment more often and to judge myself less harshly when it comes to first drafts and valiant efforts. What’s yours?

P.S. New Answerly video today! This one is about not being a drunkard. Features photos of me being a drunkard.

Angry Girl Music! (And the letter H)

Tonight's post is brought to you by the letter H. H begins all kinds of important words! Like
"Hayley!" And "horticulture!" And "hemorrhage!" And "holy shit I need to take a break from working right now or I'm going to pass out with my face down on the keyboard and the landlord won't find my maggot-gnawed body until July." I'm chin-deep into the work that remains in this phase of production on the book, which means I'm forgetting meals, I'm making nasty crackling joint noises whenever I move my wrists, and I'm seeing black Times New Roman inside my eyelids when I try to sleep. But I'm not complaining! God, not in the slightest. This stress and frustration is exactly what I need in my life right now. I feel like I'm doing what I was meant to do. Harmony. Happiness. Other H-words. Hurrah!

I was really pleased by the response to my last post. It looks most of us are on the same page regarding my goal to find more balance in my everyday life-- a lot of you were already working towards that, and some of you renewed your vows, which rocks. In the immortal words of Troy Bolton and the East High Wildcats, we're all in this together. That's inspirational. It's high-fivable. It's choreographed-dance-able.

Speaking of dancing and dorkiness, I'm at that point in my college career where I've given up hope on ever looking like a normal human being, and I've embraced the power in my eccentricity and taken it one step further. My workout schedule was getting kind of stale since the weather's forcing me to kick it treadmill style, so I've created a playlist of ANGRY EMPOWERING BREAKUP SONGS that I unabashedly lipsync to while running and/or ponytail-bouncing. And who would I be to deny you the same fun? If you're a runner or a walker or a rower or a what-have-you, I highly recommend downloading these puppies and giving mental hell to whatever douchebag last did you wrong. 68% satisfaction guaranteed (that nearly doubles if sing along; screw the people next to you).

1. "You Oughta Know" - Alanis Morissette
2. "Survivor" - Destiny's Child
3. "Fighter" - Christina Aguilera
4. "Piece of My Heart" - Janis Joplin
5. "So What" - Pink
6. "I Will Survive" - Gloria Gaynor
7. "Stronger" - Britney Spears
8. "Since U Been Gone" - Kelly Clarkson
9. "What Doesn't Kill You" - Kelly Clarkson
10. "Walk Away" - Kelly Clarkson
11. "Picture to Burn" - Taylor Swift
12. "Before He Cheats" - Carrie Underwood

When combined with rage and determination, this collection of blonde lady pop songs (and a few angry brunettes) is part of a healthy weight loss plan!*

On that high-pitched note, I'm gonna go practice what I preach and get in a quick run before I have to dive back into accomplishing shit. I'm continuing to work on my goal of better balance, and I hope you guys all find yourselves healthy and happy enough to do the same. Have a lovely evening! <3

P.S. I have a cheesy-yet-sincere new video from Thursday, as well as today's new Answerly video featuring brief partial nudity. Enjoy!

*And it's not just for straight girls! Change the pronouns and/or add in some NSYNC and you're good to go, dudes and et cetera-s.

Balance

I'm very much supposed to be writing a paper right now about Ernest Hemingway and our culture's obsession with an imagined sexual orientation binary, but just typing this sentence is pretentious and exhausting enough for me to put the project off for another hour. Instead, I'm squeezing every last bit of value out of my time by lying here, open-mouthed, increasing the chances of my already likely carpal tunnel by scrolling endlessly through Tumblr. So speaking of extremely addictive/pointless activities and the way my posture is giving me several excess chins, today I want to talk about self-improvement.

My best friend gets mad at me when I pile pressure on her by describing her as purely good, but that doesn't change the fact that she is. Even from far away, she makes a point to spread little wisdoms to me over the phone, and I have to share one with you. Both of us have a certain propensity for depression and a much stronger and unnecessary sense of guilt for being sad, and to combat these, she's recently tried to show me the value of balance. The idea, basically, is that moderation is the cure for everything. You can't expect your body and mind and soul to all work properly if you're only feeding one of them. Everyone has certain unique needs, and denying yourself any of them can lead to feeling off-kilter. I know for a fact that, every day, I require:

• at least twenty minutes of exercise
• a good dose of sunshine and fresh air
• to write something for myself
• to write something for an audience
• a solid conversation with someone I love
• fresh vegetables
• eight glasses of water
• to make something with my hands
• and to have some physical contact with another person.

Still, I'm constantly sacrificing one or several of these because it's convenient or because I'd rather sit around and feel bad for myself. Inevitably, that feeling-bad-for-myself will soon turn to feeling-bad-about-myself and then to being-a-drain-on-other-people, eventually resulting in all-around Shit. And the thing is... I really don't like Shit. Depression breeds on itself, and if your natural defense system against it is already weak or holed, you need to make conscious, everyday efforts if you're going to combat the bastard. So balance. I'm working on balance.

Here's something I made with my hands to illustrate my determination to follow through with this don't-give-into-stupid-instinct-when-you-could-be-kicking-ass plan:


And to help me keep up the positive attitude, I'm going to end all my posts for a while with a new personal goal. This week: Balance. Making time to treat myself the way I need to be treated. What's yours? <3

P.S. Since we last spoke, I've posted a new video on my main channel, a companion video on my second channel, and a new (totally eccentric) Answerly video!