"Because I'm freaking hilarious!"

It is ridiculously raining. I just walked ten minutes through the storm, from a meeting to my dorm room, and even my umbrella and rubber boots could not stand up to what felt like gallons of water being thrown directly at my face. Now I know how Shamu feels. Well, like, Shamu after some anger management.

I'm crazy about rain. In the same way that it makes me want to hide inside a sweater with too long of sleeves, rain makes me want to hide inside my brain. I have so many story ideas swirling around in there right now that I can't even see straight. I'm drinking peach tea and typing so loudly and with so much conviction that I look like I belong in a movie montage-- I'm the erratic journalist, racing to the deadline, all while maintaining an atmosphere of chicness and sexitude*. I've also taken to listening to French pop music, breaking character to clap excitedly when I understand it, and nodding noncommittally (moodily!) when I don't. I'm really very artistic and indie, guys. You have no idea.

Okay, enough of that. I can only be a hipster for so long before I want to punch myself in the face. I will now try to counteract the damage: McDonald's! A genuine interest in the wellbeing of Lindsay Lohan! The unironic purchasing of t-shirts with "Hollister" written on them! There we go. Balanced and back to normal.

What's up, guys? Lately, I've been thinking about this internet culture that most of us are deeply invested in, and how it appears to people on the outside. As odd as it sounds, I spend most of my time around people with lifestyles so similar to my own, that I can go weeks without remembering that what I do is really, really strange. Last week, I mentioned twitter in a class, and some guy in the back of the room sighed loudly in response. "I hate twitter," he said, as if he couldn't have been more serious about anything, ever. "How self-involved are you?"

I can never predict ahead of time how I'll react to confrontation, because I either go completely silent, or retort as cockily as possible. It all depends on my mood, the setting, and the person provoking me. And apparently I was in Fight Mode on that particular morning, because I laughed, shook my head, and said, "7,000 followers' worth?" Which was, admittedly, both self-involved and a stupid thing to say in front of people whom I can now never mock online.

The guy then said, "See, I think that's disgusting. Why do that many people need to hear what you're doing today?"

I'd already started blushing, realizing that it was a pointless argument that would only end in me sounding like I was obsessed with myself, but I guess I had an adrenaline rush, because there was suddenly no turning back. I figured I'd better go big or go home. I shrugged and said, "Because I'm freaking hilarious!"

Guy: "Yeah, it's stuff like that. I hate twitter and blogs and all that. Anyone who wants can go online and write whatever they're thinking, and then other idiots read it and convince the writer that they're famous or something."

Me: "Well, mine's kind of different. I don't just write my opinions on Justin Bieber." As these words left my mouth, I became suddenly aware of the fact that I end each post with the nail polish brand I'm wearing, and that sometimes my tweets are somewhat obscure references to the personal lives of Disney Channel actresses... but he didn't need to know that part. What he did need to know was that, "I'm a professional writer," (I technically am!) and that "People read what I have to say because they want to."

I wish I had a better story for you, but our debate pretty much ended there. Class had ended and, as heated as the discussion had been, I was still more interested in the prospect of lunch than I was in defending my own dignity. He said something passively polite, like, "Well, I've never seen what you write, but maybe you're different," and then I ate a sandwich.

I wanted to recount this conversation to you guys, though. Partially to provide a less biased view of what an annoying person I am in the real world, so you don't get your hopes up too high, and partially because I know a lot of you can relate. Maybe our generation has become irrevocably shallow and selfish due to the large-scale outlets for adolescent vanity available through our computer screens, but I like to be a little more optimistic about it. Internet culture allows us to form heroes and quasi-celebrities around those who offer something we desire, instead of always limiting us to what major media corporations deem Fame-worthy. Sure, Kim Kardashian is still a household name in our society, but internet communities allow us to also follow people who make us laugh, or whose self-produced music makes us happy, or who make videos about things we care about. I may be bombarded with Kim Kardashian, but now I have the ability to idolize someone like Natalie Tran, too. Not because she had a nice butt (although she might; I haven't studied it extensively), but because she has creative things to say. Natalie probably wouldn't have peddled her talents through auditions for TV shows, or taken her clothes off in order to be noticed more**, but youtube is the perfect environment to bring people like her to the attention of people like me. Do you get what I mean? Do you agree?

Anyway, that's just what's running through my spastic mind tonight. I hope you're all having a good week, and that you're not letting the news about Hiccup Girl upset you too much. I'd apologize for the gap between posts, but you know how that goes. You've heard it all before. You guys stick by me even when I suck, and for that, I will leave you with this.

Chipotle burritos this year: 29
Subscribers: 36,148
Nail color: Just clear Sally Hansen Hard As Nails.

*Don't say anything; let me have my dreams.
**Not that any of us would object! I mean. Not that... OTHER people... would... object.

A Note on Body Image

My name is Hayley Hoover, and my body is freaking awesome.

I've been doing this for almost five years. By now, my skin is thick enough that rude, ignorant youtube comments pretty much explode on impact when they hit my rock-hard self-esteem of steel. It doesn't even begin to sting anymore when I read something like "ur fat," because I know for a fact that I am not. And even if I were, I've reached a level of confidence at this point in my life that I no longer feel the desire to match anyone else's standards. My clothes fit comfortably, I can hike up a hill without losing my breath, my skin sits taut and smooth over my muscles, and I feel good. Sure, there are days when I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror and cringe a little bit, but that's because I'm a girl and we have self-doubt wired into our brains at birth already, without any contributions from stupid boys who have probably never been within a foot of a boob. What I mean to say is, if you want to hurt my feelings, tell me I'm a bad writer, or an incurably mean person, or say something cruel to somebody I love. But if your goal is to bring me down, don't even bother with "Failed boob to body ratio." My body is hot, my brain is hotter, and my shape has zero effect on who I am as a person.

I had a friend in middle school who wore nothing but big sweatshirts every single day, because she was built like a Playboy bunny and had a movie star face, and boys would tease her by assuming she was promiscuous. She was beautiful, but if she wore anything remotely form-fitting, she was tortured as much as the girls with acne or extra pounds. If even the girls our society deems perfect can't escape ridicule from idiots, why should you allow rude remarks to get in your way?

My mother always tells me that some boy on the schoolbus once called her hairy, and somehow that one little comment stuck with her for years... so long that, in high school, when that same guy asked her out, she took heaps of pleasure in declining his offer. You don't know her, but my mom is smokin'. And part of what makes her so gorgeous is the fact that she understands how little it matters to be perfect-looking, and the fact that, while she's out being this stunning role-model, that kid from the schoolbus is probably raising more little jerk boys who will never be as awesome as she is.

Girls, I know you've heard it said before, but listen. I'm not a model. I'm not old and wise. I'm just a healthy, happy twenty-year-old girl who spends too much time on the internet, and I have no reason to lie to you. You kick ass. You're awesome. You don't have a perfect body, but thank God, because life sucks just as much for people who do. There are parts of you that are majorly pretty, and it's up to you to decide who deserves to comment on them. If someone makes you feel ugly, forget them. Criticism like "ugly" happens even to the people you think are beautiful, so it can't be all that valid. If someone makes you feel uncomfortable, deal with it or ignore them. You are hot, but you are also a hell of a lot more than that.

I'm not writing this blog post just to brag about my level of comfort with my self-image, because I was thirteen once, and there are few things less inspiring than hearing how happy everyone else is when you despise the way you look. I also don't want to be Tyra Banks and scream and cry and preach all day, because it's not exactly reassuring to watch a millionaire model talk about how hard it is to be a size six. What I do hope I can accomplish, though, is to tell each and every girl out there who reads this that guys who make comments on your appearance are complete and utter morons. You are not worthless for having cellulite; the comments of those who mention it are what's worthless.



Chipotle burritos this year: 29
Subscribers: 35,857
Nail color: Plain, for once. Riding this whole "I'm natural and beautiful" wave as long as possible. Also lazy.

Since August

"I'd never given much thought to how I would die, but dying in the place of someone I love seems like a good way to go."

I'd never given much thought to how I would address my blog readers, had I taken an unannounced month-and-a-half hiatus and made many of them growl at me, but catching them off guard with an inane and irrelevant quote from Twilight seems like a good way to start.

What? I don't know. That made even less sense in print than it did in my head. I think what I'm trying to say is HELLO, GUYS. I AM SORRY. I AM VERY, VERY SORRY. School has been giving me a constant and painful noogie since the beginning of the quarter, and on most weekdays, I've found myself weighing the pros and cons of showering, breathing, sleeping and eating, because my massive stack of homework has allowed for me to choose only two of the above. Still, I feel guilty. I should have blogged smellily, breathlessly, on narcotics, and whilst wearing a feedbag*. I am a blogging failure, and I deserve whatever the modern middle-class American equivalent to being stoned in the streets.** But can we just put that all in the past for now? So much has happened since August and I sort of want to bounce up and down and tell you things without feeling like you're glaring at me. Okay? Okay.

Since August, I:

--Moved back into college, where I now live with one of my best friends, Heather, in a little white room with sloping ceilings and a colorful world map above my bed, so I can lean back and fantasize about moving to a magical land without homework.

--Skirted any existential crisis I'd anticipated would accompany my turning twenty. It turns out that twenty feels a lot like nineteen, except slamming doors becomes less acceptable and people expect you to phase out of wearing tight t-shirts with words written across the boobs. Luckily, these two particular traits of teenagedom were never my favorites to begin with, so I haven't missed them yet. What I will miss, though, is this. Entering a new decade of life means starring as Liesl von Trapp is but a distant dream.***

--Had a birthday party that ended in DESTRUCTION. We went to Chipotle, had a cake with contraband candles (they're not allowed in the dorms, because a tiny wax stick can wreak havoc on cinderblock and brick) and the whole shebang, before we were ordered to file into the first floor hallway because of a tornado warning. It was surprisingly fun, though. Just like John Green's character in Let It Snow, I've always loved the inconvenience of bad weather.

--Started taking some new classes that, for the most part, anger me SO MUCH THAT I'M SLIPPING INTO CAPS LOCK. I don't feel like getting into it tonight, since my hatred for my current course load makes my blood course loads of jagged spikes throughout my body and OH MY GOODNESS IT IS HORRIBLE. But that is a story for another day.

--Have picked up running even more seriously, and am now putting in about five miles a day. I like to think that stress is converting itself into energy and giving me superhuman strength.

--Got my first speeding ticket! I was on my way back to school tonight, not exhibiting any unusually erratic behind-the-wheel behavior as far as I know, but I was admittedly going faster than the speed limit. The whole event was pretty anticlimactic. The police officer was friendly to me, I didn't cry, I didn't slam into the highway shoulder rail when I got back on the road, and he didn't search the car or find any of the illegal drugs I didn't have. It still doesn't make for a very exciting story, but I did find out that every other member of my family has been pulled over in the exact same town. I've never really considered us to be a wild gang of daredevils, but hey, each day brings new discoveries.

--Have been to an eye doctor (they're fine), a dentist (them too), and a regular doctor (ten fingers, ten toes), all of whom ruled out several common causes for headaches, but could offer no explanation for the ones that have been attacking me daily. I went home this weekend to fill out a giant stack of paperwork, and have to drive back this coming Friday to see a migraine specialist. At this point, I'm pretty much used to walking around with what feels like a stack of bricks on my neck, but would really like to eliminate the charming side-effect that is my need for extra sleep. Because, as I previously mentioned, I don't have time for extra sleep, and I reckon it's probably dangerous to try eating at the same time.

--Made a particularly whiny list of white girl problems in my first post-hiatus blog entry. Sorry. WHY DO YOU GUYS LIKE ME?! Wait. Counterproductive. Double sorry.

And that's the basic outline, I think. If I happen to awaken suddenly, realizing that I forgot to tell you about something majorly fascinating and pertinent to your wellbeing as a person I probably have never met... I'll be sure to tell you in the next year or two, whenever I remember I have a blog. Haha. You guys are one amazingly loyal group of people, and I can't express how grateful I am that you continue to forgive me for getting too caught up in my own personal drama to, um, record my own personal drama for the internet. I hope you all have a lovely day, and remember how much I appreciate you, even when I blatantly ignore you for months at a time. :-p

Chipotle burritos this year: 28
Subscribers: 35,635
Nail color: Finger Paints, "Art You Kidding Me?"

*Actually...
**Being denied access to cable television? Only being allowed to purchase tall Starbucks beverages? Having to wear previously-owned clothing?!
***That Rolf totally botched some of the lyrics. Put a hat on me and I'd out-prance him. Nazi. (Not the actor. I mean. Sorry, dude.)

Headache.

Hey guys. I really, really hate being whiny like this. I didn't choose to participate in BEDA just so I could beg other people to share the burden, or so I'd have a platform from which to waaah every evening.

I've been getting headaches all year, but they became spectacularly worse this week. I contemplated not posting anything tonight, because since about 8:30 (it's 11:30 now), I've felt like there's a tight, heavy band around my skull. I've had pills, two cups of caffeinated tea, and one hopeless little aroma therapy candle burning from my desk, just to ease my mother's conscience, since we have no idea how to make the aching stop. I still feel tired, despite the energy-boosting drugs and pint of liquid in my stomach, but every time I close my eyes, I just lose my ability to distract myself from the pain. It doesn't make any sense. I eat so well. I exercise a lot, but not to the point of exhaustion or anything. I drink more water than anyone I know, and I get eight hours of sleep every night, and the headaches occur whether or not I've looked at a computer all day. My experience at the eye doctor's, while slightly traumatic (I reluctantly allowed her to give me eye drops, which I'd never had before, but couldn't turn off my spastic flinching long enough for them to complete all the tests... they probably went back in their break room and told everybody they had a psychopath patient), was altogether pointless. As I suspected, my vision is darn near perfect. Too bad I'd rather wear a monocle than feel like my head is being perpetually squeezed between Hagrid's hands.

I'm going to the regular doctor on Thursday. I don't care if he prescribes for me to daily inject my own brain with nuclear waste-- that'd be a cake walk compared to enduring head pressure like this back at school, without even my mom's adorable-but-worthless "Autumn Wreath" candle to provide comic relief.

Sorry to be a Debby Downer. It's been a fun month, and the readers and commenters of this blog have been like a cheerful song-and-dance number at the end of a crappy TV show. Thanks for sticking with me, even when all I do is complain.

And on that note, I have to go place a pillow over my head and let out a string of excruciated whimpers until sunrise. See you soon. <3

Mamaghoover Takes a Turn

I can’t believe I’m doing this. She asked; I declined. She asked again and I said “your readers don’t want to hear what your mother has to say.” “But," she said, "I’ve had a headache all weekend, I’m exhausted and The Situation is on skype and. . . ." So here I am.

I want to apologize in advance for what is sure to be a very mundane, uneventful post. Hayley has been writing circles around me since she was seven. In fact, Hayley began her writing career at age 4 when she was jealous because Jess could write the word “stop." She’s been at it ever since.

When she was five, after she had written every member of the family a book as a Christmas gift, she asked my mother “Grandma, how many books have YOU published?” I think we knew then that she was serious about this writing biz.

What else can I tell you about Hayles? She has been a complete and utter joy from the moment she was born. Her nickname when she was little was “the angel child’ because she always had that little spark in her that filled the room with light. The hayleyghoover you see on youtube and vlogs and blogs is pretty much the real deal. She doesn’t hide much, she never pretends to be someone she’s not. She has always known exactly who she is and what she wants out of life.

Hayley makes her father and I proud all the time. We are her biggest fans and I’ve been accused on more than one occasion of “stalking” her on the Internet. The truth is I love watching whatever she comes up with. (But, I didn’t really like the ‘wine cone’ video.)

What makes us most proud is the heart she has developed for others, especially the girls she works with each year at Royal Family Kids’ Camp. This camp for children who have suffered from neglect and abuse, is an extremely rewarding experience for all those involved. It is also physically and emotionally exhausting. One of my greatest joys as a parent is watching Hayley (and my other children) pour themselves out for these sweet campers who have suffered in ways no one deserves.

If you were hoping I would tell you what the “g” stands for in hayleyghoover, sorry to disappoint. As Hayley has said many times before—it’s gansta!

Hayles will be back tomorrow night, I promise!

Sensing:

Today I saw: a sweet middle school boy sing an awesome “Amazing Grace” at church. The poise and maturity of this young man (not to mention his voice) gave me chills.

Heard: The raucous laughter and banter of my extended family around the dinner table.

Smelled: fresh basil from the herb garden. Is there anything better than fresh basil?

Tasted: An entire buffet of wonderful food prepared by my mom. I am so fortunate to still have my mom with me.

Touched: a soft, fuzzy peach picked off a tree in my yard.

Aim or A-I-M?

Thanks for all your well wishes on yesterday's post, guys. It's a little bit comforting to know that my phobia isn't uncommon, and your comments made me less nervous for my appointment tomorrow. I'm just going to go in there, bite my lip, and hope it goes by quickly. I hope. Hopefully.

In other news, my headache persisted all night, and even after several Tylenol, I barely slept. I was exhausted this morning when I forced myself into the shower, and I skipped church to take a nap. I pretty much slept all day, and yet I still feel tired now. Maybe I'm getting sick? I don't know. That would be better than allowing these pains to continue, unexplained.

To lighten the mood a bit, I've decided to take an easy way out of tonight's blog and answer one of those ridiculous myspace surveys from my childhood-- seriously, this time. That's what people did in their xanga blogs, right? Hold on, I'll find one that looks particularly stupid. "75 Questions I Bet You've Never Been Asked Before." This sounds promising!

1. First thing you wash in the shower?: I shave my legs first.

2. What color is your favorite hoodie?: Gray.

3.Would you kiss the last person you kissed again?: MAYBE IF HE DIDN'T LIVE SO FRIGGIN FAR AWAY. Yes.

4. Do you plan outfits?: No.

5. How are you feeling right now?: Mentally tired, physically restless.

6. What's the closest thing to you that's red?: Assuming coral counts as red, practically everything in my room.

7. Do you say aim or A-I-M?: I say it's 2010.

8. Last dream you remember having?: My teeth falling out. I have that a lot.

9. Did you meet anybody new today?: No.

10. What are you craving right now?: Liposuction. I ate something like three cupcakes today.

11. Do you floss?: Not as often as I should. Maybe the guilt that stems from my lack of flossing routine is responsible for those dreams.

12. What comes to mind when I say "cabbage?": Hmm. "Why in the world am I filling out a myspace survey?"

13. When was the last time you talked on AIM?: Probably when I got my braces on and I really wanted Jon S. to hold my hand during couples' skate.

14. Are you emotional?: Well. Yes, I am, but I don't tend to express those emotions typically in my everyday life.

15. Would you dance to the taco song?: This was obviously not intended for people my age.

16. Have you ever counted to 1000?: No.

17. Do you bite into your ice cream or just lick it?: Okay, no, I can't do this anymore.

Today, I saw: the inside of my head, as I slept.
Today, I heard: the voices in my head, as I slept.
Today, I smelled: the made-up aromas of my dreams, as I slept.
Today, I touched: my bed, as I slept.
Today, I tasted: a ton of food at my grandma's house. Some desires are stronger than headaches.

Chipotle burritos this year: 24
Subscribers: 34,054
Nail color: "Parisian Plum," Cover Girl

My Secret

Hey, guys. Not really feeling up to the task of blogging tonight. I have a nasty headache. For the past several months, I've been having them nearly every day, like clockwork, at both three and nine pm. They don't change or go away-- no matter what or when I eat, when or how much I exercise, whether or not I take any medicine. A while ago, I started suspecting that it might have something to do with my vision (what else could it be?), despite the fact that I've never had problems seeing, and the headaches don't seem to increase when I read a lot or spend a lot of time on the computer. Either way, I'm going to the doctor to get my eyes checked this week, just in case. I've never had a vision exam before, because I have this sort of... phobia. Of eyes. I don't usually talk about it, and I don't think I've ever told the internet before, mostly out of fear that people will think I'm exaggerating and touch their eyes around me or something, to be funny. But it's true. The thought of anything being too close to someone's eyes... particularly mine (I can put my own hands around mine, but no one else can)... it makes me shiver. Not in an "Oh, Hayley's so eccentric and weird, lalala!" way. It's honestly one of the things that disturbs me most, totally devoid of humor. You should feel honored that I trust you guys enough to tell you about that.

So yeah. Headache. Ow. I'll leave you with my daily senses, and I hope you all have lovely Sundays. I'll see you tomorrow night.

Today, I saw: this amazing blog. I just looked at nearly the entire thing.
Today, I touched: the perfect little black answer to my skirt prayers. I've been searching for one like that for years, and the dream became a reality today. It even has pockets.
Today, I smelled: brownies baking downstairs.
Today, I heard: my dad, who just screamed. I think he's watching a sporting event.
Today, I tasted: Chipotleeeeeeee.

Chipotle burritos this year: 24
Subscribers: 33,961
Nail color: "Parisian Plum," Cover Girl