Home Blog

Self Confidence != Narcissism

0
Narcissism - My Name is April

As the age of Social Media progresses, it would appear Andy Warhol was more than a mere pioneer of Pop Culture…his 1960’s “15 minutes of fame” prediction suggests he also possessed god-like abilities to predict the future. With every man – and his dog (literally) – having upwards of 1000+ followers on one or more social media channels, everyone is having, or has already had, their 15 minutes of fame.

But the rise of social media was not alone. With it, came the rise of the selfie, and with that, came an apparent infestation of narcissists – if you believe the squillions of articles on the internet that suddenly started crying out about it. To cut a long story short…take one too many a selfie and suddenly you are a narcissist.

Narcissism - My Name is April

Narcissism was born from Greek Mythology, based upon Narcissus whom is said to have never loved anything but his own reflection in a pool of water…in which he later drowned after falling in whilst admiring himself a little too closely. As such, the very definition of narcissism is to love oneself to their own detriment. Interesting, right?

Narcissism - My Name is April

Let’s take a step back, and think about our own world for a moment. Ponder this: have we, or have we not, had a mass epidemic on our hands of insecurity, body dysmorphia and confidence issues? Have we not, for decades now, been declaring societally that women are suffering severely from lack of confidence? Wasn’t there even a point there, where women were posting selfies out of pure insecurity, with bait captions simply to gain societal validation? Oh wait, that still happens? My bad.

Isn’t it interesting then, how suddenly, we are surrounded by narcissists…I mean, they’re everywhere! Filling our Instagrams, our Facebooks, god forbid our goddamn LinkedIns! It would appear we have completely missed the step, and the concept, of simply having self confidence, and gone straight to drowning ourselves. It’s truly extraordinary…

Except, maybe instead of suddenly experiencing a plague of narcissism, we have simply experienced, yet again, a media-fuelled mass hysteria. Oh, media, you cheeky thing you, influencing more drama and controversy yet again!

Narcissism - My Name is April

You see, to simply love yourself, or even value yourself, is not narcissism. To think highly of oneself, and publicly voice this, is also not narcissism. Heck, walking around proclaiming your shit doesn’t stink isn’t even narcissism. Narcissism is, in its most basic definition, the act of loving yourself to the point that there couldn’t possibly be anything else in this world better than you. And mate, I’ve seen one too many memes worshipping pizza to know nobody in society believes this.

Narcissism - My Name is April
Why are we so quick to hate upon and judge those that do decide to value themselves, albeit publicly? Why is this the issue, public proclamation of self love? Isn’t this an act to inspire? We roll our eyes at the bait captions posted to gain validation, but why do we also choose to roll our eyes at the blatant posts of self appreciation and confidence? Is it jealousy, or is it simply society’s innate nature to be furious about something, anything?

Narcissism - My Name is April

We don’t have a narcissism problem, we have a melodramatic media problem. To gain clicks, to spark a frenzy, they write inflammatory articles about narcissism which appear in their feed right next to the article they just wrote about teen suicide rates and how society is to blame for unrealistic beauty standards. It’s a toxic vat that we can’t seem to climb out of, swirling around and around in a pool of clickbait, sensationalised headlines and fake news.

I know this little article will be lost amongst it all, but oh how I wish we could stop cutting strong, confident women and men off at the knees. Let them remain tall, and proud, and act as an inspiration to us all.

It would truly be great, also, if we could stop being so flippant with the vocabulary we use. I’m all for expanding it – but don’t disregard the extremity and context of a word. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t heard of anyone in recent times drowning out of pure love for their own reflection.

The 4 Douchenuggets of Eagle St Pier Boardwalk

0

For the non-Brisbane folk that read this ‘ere blog, the Eagle St Pier is a scenic stretch of boardwalk along our beloved brown snake that is used by all manners of persons – tourists, commuters, live stock pedestrians… Restaurants line the boardwalk on one side whilst the Brisbane river laps the other. See above photo for reference.

I, myself, am a daily commuter along this lovely stretch and after years of doing this, I finally feel the need to share with you my anthropologic observations. Behold, the four (4) Douchenuggets you’ll find on Eagle St Pier, illustrated by April Lea.

1. The Paceliners

The 4 Douchenuggets You'll Find on Eagle St Pier - My Name is April

This particular breed of douchenugget is usually identifiable by their matching lycra, utilisation of the lower, curved bit of their handlebars and single-filed, speedy procession along the boardwalk. In their minds they are in the middle of a breezy B-Grade race at Murarrie with 2 laps to go and a headwind on the upcoming back straight. Better get down low, boys, that breeze be blowin’.

 

2. The Commuter

The 4 Douchenuggets You'll Find on Eagle St Pier - My Name is April

You know who I’m talking about – the incessant bell ringing, the attempted squeeze through the imaginary gap between you and the wall (often paired with an unbalanced wobble that sees your life flash before your eyes) and stupendous speeds weaving through livestock pedestrians that leaves you questioning how many points they give themselves for running over small children.

3. The “Doesn’t Stick to Their Side”

The 4 Douchenuggets You'll Find on Eagle St Pier - My Name is April

Now, these obnoxious cunts. Normally riding with another obnoxious cunt and deep in conversation about how awesomely awesome they are, this douchenugget will blatantly be on the wrong side of the path (as clearly outlined above with the detailed illustration of directional arrows) and pretend you, the law-abiding non-douchenugget approaching them, does not exist. They ooze cool, they encompass cool, they are the essence of cool. And you should move the fucking fuck out of the way for them.

4. April

MIPS: Why I Hate Them - My Name is April

Oh, man. This bitch – encompasses all of the above and a bit more. Throw in zig-zagging all over the path, deliberately blocking and pesting the above douchenuggets…she’s a regular tyrant.

I thought I’d better poke fun at myself too before someone thought I was getting on my high horse (I was…still am) and decided to take offence. But you know what they say – defensiveness is the sign of a guilty conscience.

Have I missed any particular heinous breed of douchenugget above?

Adult Acne: It Fucking Sucks

0
Adult Acne: It Fucking Sucks - My Name is April

Adulthood has a bad habit of making shit that is normally so trivial as a kid that much fucking worse when you’ve officially finished growing and have an “O” next to “Type” on your Driver’s Licence.

Chicken pox…fever, bit of an itch and a whole week off school as a kid. As an adult? Sort your affairs and eat that whole tub o’ Ben & Jerrys cos you fucked.

Enter, acne. Society associates it with puberty – that’s when your hormones are most rampant, right? Horny, pimply and awkwardly hairy (I wasn’t the only one that went through that phase of a single, thick, black armpit hair for a whole year am I?). Yet, somehow, for some of us those hormones never sort their shit out and instead of being horny, pimply and awkwardly hairy we just become horny, pimply and the country’s newest State Forest acquisition.

Or, such as in my case, you’re blissfully pimple free throughout puberty and think you’re going to skate through life happy as Larry without so much as a care towards the dastardly blemishes those other people get. Until it happens.

 

Adult Acne: It Fucking Sucks - My Name is April
This is just an entirely unflattering photo but thar she blows.

My acne isn’t as bad as some. But it’s enough to make me incessantly insecure about my skin. I have quite pale skin, so the acne and extreme redness that covers the lower part of my face is incredibly prominent; to my critical eye.

Tinted moisturiser during sport, and make up whilst at work is my attempt to cover the acne. A $500/mth skincare regime is my attempt to cure it (as well as a balanced diet). I get a monthly facial, and use a total of 5 different, stupidly expensive medicated skincare products a day. As soon as I wake up I cleanse, apply salicylic acid cream, moisturise, and apply tinted moisturiser (also medicated). At night, I double cleanse, apply salicylic acid cream, retinol and moisturiser.

Having to cart my 37539673 skin care products between mine and my boyfriend’s house for a sleepover is tiresome. Having to make sure, after a night out, I don’t just wipe my make-up off and call it a night, is tiresome. Having to make sure that I religiously, first thing in the morning, cleanse, apply salicylic acid and then moisturise is tiresome.

I drink the water, I eat the foods, I nourish the skin and my acne has improved, but now hit a plateau and I don’t think it’s going to get any better. Not without some serious chemicals to zap that shit to the ether. Roaccutane is a thing, yes I’m aware. The only reason I haven’t tried it is because I am incredibly certain I will be that unlucky bitch that gets every single listed side effect. Sorry, but I don’t feel like being suicidal today. Or burning myself to a crisp.

Adult Acne: It Fucking Sucks - My Name is April

Tim is fantastic. My friends are fantastic. Society, generally, is fantastic. It isn’t even that noticeable / love the skin you’re in! / Acne is natural – it’s beautiful! Look, guys, thanks for the pep talk but I know you’re lying – and who in their right mind can possibly think swollen pores with trapped oil within are beautiful? Not to mention the redness that radiates with the force of a thousand suns from our homegrown face volcanoes?

This is not a liberating post, in case you hadn’t already figured it out. This is a shout out to every single poor son-of-a-bitch out there that has adult acne. And to the ladies and gents out there who have it a whole lot worse than me – I’m incredibly sorry you have to deal with it. It fucking sucks.

The Nudgee Ride: Nature’s Wind Trainer

0
Brisbane Nudgee Ride - My Name is April

No cycling community is complete without a medley of coffee rolls, made to service the weary cyclist after a long, hard week of riding. For a ride to make the coffee roll cut, a route must be approximately an hour and a little bit (just enough to justify the proceeding coffee and cake), and ultimately end with a piccolo and slice of buttered banana bread – preferably toasted.

Brisbane has not one, but two, such rides that fit the bill. The fabled River Loop – a steadfast favourite far and wide, and second being the scenic, car-free Nudgee. Yes, it can be easy to see why some may believe Nudgee to be a coffee roll – utilising the family-fun Kedron Brook Bikeway, plenty of long stretches for the perfect photo op and the finish leading you straight back to an assortment of cyclist-friendly coffee shops at your disposal.

Brisbane Nudgee Ride - My Name is April

But this isn’t a blog entry about the cheerful coffee rolls of Brisbane. This is a story of deceit, betrayal and unexpectedly cooked legs.

Because here’s the deal. Nudgee is life’s sneaky little answer to every cyclist’s complaints of the trusty, but boring as f*ck, indoor wind trainer. A virtually flat out-and-back route, this ride guarantees that you need to keep those legs spinning. The only chance you get for the possibility of a coast is when you’re trying to angle the camera for that perfect ‘gram shot. And even then, that split second pause in pedalling will derail your speed and cadence averages faster than a Rapha sale obliterates your life savings.

The indoor wind trainer is, for some, a worst nightmare. Sitting for ~60minutes on a stationary bicycle sweating it out with no hills to coast down or pretty scenery to look at, there is no escaping the effort you need to put in to get to the finish of your workout. It’s also an incredibly effective way of getting fit (or so I’m told, I’m no expert so don’t hold me to it).

I’ve gotta admit…sweating it out on a bicycle growing excessive amounts of candida is not my idea of a good time.

Cue Nudgee. I can hear you scoff from here, but let me tell you – actually do this ride properly and you’ll be surprised at just how cooked your legs will be. I’m not even joking you – I dare you to challenge me on this. Nudgee has all the tricks in the book, even complete with an ever-enduring headwind on your way back to coffee, courtesy of the open plains by the Brisbane Airport.

You head out thinking it’s going to be a lovely, scenic jaunt along the Kedron Brook Bikeway, maybe sprint the final distance along that glorious, flat stretch of Nudgee Road, only to awake the next morning with leg DOMS painful enough to warrant the double wall hold as you gingerly lower yourself down for your morning dump.

Brisbane Nudgee Ride - My Name is April

I’m probably going to be assassinated now for blowing Nudgee’s secret but, after suffering above aforementioned DOMs one too many a time, I felt it my duty to warn others of Nudgee and it’s inflictions upon unsuspecting prey.

Am I wrong?

Cycling: Life’s Second Puberty

0
My Name is April - female cyclist

If there’s one thing I am 100% sure of in my life, it’s that I’ve experienced 2 puberties in my modest existence. Learning to ride the crimson wave (moment of silence, please, for my fallen underwear, bedsheets and numerous other surfaces I’ve potentially assaulted), and becoming a cyclist.

There is no escaping those awkward stages of ill-fitting kit, scraped knees from failing to unclip in time, and let’s not forget our final inaugurations…our first flat tyre. Oh yes, I remember my days like it was yesterday, because for the sake of this article, I’m going to pretend like I have finally emerged from my cycling pubescence and can 4 times out of 10, manage to clip back in when pushing off on a hill.

I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours…

Cycling Puberty - My Name is April

Let’s just take a moment to actually absorb the above, and also take a moment to let the fact sink in that I actually stopped at the coffee (ahem, sorry, BREW) shop like this. 

The guy at the bike store tried desperately to get me to buy some kit for myself. But all I walked out with was some shoes, entry level pedals (that I literally only just replaced on Lulu for my birthday this year) and a Giro Raze children’s helmet (apparently you can put a $40 price tag on safety).

What did I need kit for, I scoffed to myself, the old boyfriend has plenty I can use! And that, my ladies and gentleman, brings me to Exhbit A in the above photo. Stupid grin? Check. Thumbs up? check. Oversized, baggy, tucked in jersey? Check, check and check. Finally, my favourite, men’s knicks? Check.

My face as I relive these moments…

Cycling Puberty - My Name is AprilGoing through cycling puberty is a rite of passage…it’s not something that should be skipped, whether by accident or pure luck. Those first fabled river loops have served me up more humble pie than the Samford Bakery has handed out cream finger buns. Everybody starts somewhere, and don’t you let any cycling snob tell you different. They might swan about in their jawbreakers, POC helmets, the wank factor announcing their presence as they casually, haughtily freewheel past you; but don’t be fooled – they too have a closet full of skinned knees, replica team kits and hairy legs.

I’d put up a THEN vs NOW comparison photo, but somehow, I just don’t think you’d see much of a difference. I still regularly forget to shave my legs (blonde hair, can’t see it) and my helmet is just as determined to be crooked on my head as my co-ordination is to push off and unsuccessfully clip in first go every time. But hey, at least now I can change a flat tyre in less than 30 minutes.

Please tell me I’m not alone in my late blooming cycling puberty?

MIPS, A Tale of Pain and Suffering

0
MIPS: Why I Hate Them - My Name is April

Helmets are serious business. They can make or break your kit…as well as your head. Since their mandatory entry into the cyclist’s repertoire of accoutrements in the early ’90s, manufacturers have been trying to find that perfect balance of style and safety. I didn’t know any of this when I bought my first bike, and fitted myself with a white, decidedly Doris kid’s helmet – the Giro Raze.

MIPS: Why I Hate Them - My Name is April

It took 2 long years for me to repent for my sins…walking into a bike shop in 2016 post purchase of a new bicycle, to enquire about some fancy new headwear. Perhaps this time sans visor.

Well didn’t I walk out so proudly with my new purchase. Doris be gone, I thought to myself smugly as I cut the excess off my chin strap and burnt the cut end like a true pro.

MIPS: Why I Hate Them - My Name is April

The Giro Savant. Lean, mean and complete with MIPS for extra protection of my brain! (Just between you and I, I don’t think it’s protected anything).

MIPS: Why I Hate Them - My Name is April

I was eating ice cream at the time of taking the photos for this blog entry, so I figured it deserved to be included. Murray River Salted Caramel with Hazelnut…in and around my mouth. So good.

The same day I bought my new helmet, I was too excited to wait to take it for a spin, so as soon as I got home, I kitted up and rolled out. It was perfect – a gorgeous day for a Nudgee ride and boy, oh boy, I felt slick in my new helmet with taut chin strap and no visor in sight.

MIPS: Why I Hate Them - My Name is April

You might be wondering where the pain and suffering promised in the title of this entry comes into play. It was not until the end of my bicycle ride that a dark cloud began forming, and prompted this post a year later. Let me paint the picture for you, green text style.

>be me
>finished ride
>unclip helmet
>try to take off
>helmet doesn’t move
>pull harder
>feel burn of a thousand suns
>helmet has acquired hair
>my hair
>fucking MIPS

The motherfucking be-all-end-all of helmet safety technology fucking MIPS had ripped out a good chunk of my beloved hair. Apparently, in order to give my mediocre-as-it-is brain maximum protection, I must sacrifice an approximate 3443357853 strands of my hair per ride. A year later of this near-daily sacrificial ritual and I swear my hair is thinner.

There are constant remnants and reminders of this suffering nestled and wrapped so tightly, almost smugly, around those bastard yellow clips.

MIPS: Why I Hate Them - My Name is April

MIPS: Why I Hate Them - My Name is April

I curse, on the daily, the sales guy that enthusiastically pitched this fucking “sophisticated and optimised safety technology” feature to the young, naive (fucking stupid) April that stood before him that day.

After some careful and extensive research:

MIPS: Why I Hate Them - My Name is April

I’m ditching the fucking MIPS as soon as I can justify the stupendous price I paid for the privilege of ripping out my own fucking hair. The careful and extensive research legitimate researchers have done on MIPS has proven that they actually aren’t that effective. Slip panes in general serve almost no purpose considering helmets are not permanently glued to one’s head, and tend to roll around incessantly anyway (crooked helmet syndrome anyone?).

So do yourself a favour, and if you are as stupid as me and considering getting sucked into this “sophisticated safety technology” then tell the sales guy, kindly of course, that you would sooner get fucked up the ass with Pickle Rick than subject your head to that kind of abuse.

MIPS: Why I Hate Them - My Name is April

 

 

 

Perseid Meteor Shower 2017

0
Perseid Meteor Shower 2017 - My Name is April

Every year Earth passes by a comet called Comet Swift-Tuttle, and every year, as we pass close to the dustiest part of this comet, we experience a pretty spectacular light show – the Perseid Meteor Shower. This year, we began our rendezvous with Comet Swift-Tuttle on July 17th, with the meteor shower peaking on August 12th, and finally bidding adieu August 24.

This year, unfortunately due to a 3/4 moon, the meteors were not going to be as visible to Planet Earth. That didn’t stop me from driving up the Sunny Coast hinterland range to Maleny, to check out some planets through the Sunshine Coast Astronomy Club’s telescopes and also try my hand at photographing the stars.

The best wide angle lens I own (don’t forget that debt I have) is a 24-105mm f3.5 zoom. After some consultation with a few photography buddies, they talked me off the ledge of burrowing myself into more debt and buying another lens and told me that this old guy should be able to handle a few starry photos.

Well…they weren’t wrong. See the results for yourself. It took a few trial and error shots to finally get some decent focus, with mid-level noise (who am I kidding those photos are noisy as) and a decent exposure.

Perseid Meteor Shower 2017 - My Name is April
ISO 10,000 – 24mm – f3.5 – 30/sec

It was pretty fantastic, seeing the stars so exposed. And the Milky Way! Ohmigosh!

Perseid Meteor Shower 2017 - My Name is April
ISO 10,000 – 24mm – f3.5 – 30/sec

The best part of the evening though? Capturing a meteor, by pure chance!

Perseid Meteor Shower 2017 - My Name is April
ISO 10,000 – 24mm – f3.5 – 30/sec

It was pretty spectacular and I can’t believe I was actually able to capture one – and so clearly too!

We then proceeded to lay under the stars for the rest of the night scrolling through our respective Instagrams and coincidentally being hermits in companionable silence. Bliss.

Cycling the Border Ranges

0
Cycling Border Ranges - My Name is April

You know what they say about romantic weekends away…they just aren’t complete without wine, a bottle of lube and a permanently positioned Do Not Disturb sign. Actually, I don’t know if anyone has ever said that, but my pathetic attempt at trying to find a witty, well known quote on the Google came up with nothing better than Mark Twain’s “There is no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them than to travel with them.” and to be frank, I’m pretty sure there are much surer ways, Mark, to figure out if you hate people; like, say, viewing the comment threads of viral videos on Facebook. And that doesn’t even require you to leave the comfort of your toilet let alone physically engaging in travel with other humankind.

Cycling Border Ranges - My Name is April

Regardless of this, and now that I have digressed sufficiently far enough that you’re wondering to yourself why you’re still reading, I had best tell you that no, that isn’t my idea of completing a romantic weekend away – it might be the start, or perhaps even the middle, but the true cherry on top of any trip anywhere is a two-wheeled adventure through some unfamiliar territory.

With more than $50 to our name this time around, Tim and I ditched the car as our chosen choice of accommodation and splashed out with a booking for an ocean view suite on the Gold Coast. I must say, however, old habits die hard and I did awake at one point on the first night thinking we needed to wind the windows up against a midnight rainstorm.

Miraculously squeezing two bicycles into Colin the Corolla, we went through Saturday and also Sunday without their components having so much as a hint of a chance at rusting. But when Monday morning broke, we were already 20ks deep (the equivalent of 1 knuckle) at the foot of Mt Tomewin.

The Gold Coast Hinterland and Border Ranges are home to some of the best cycling in Australia; I know, hard to believe there is anything better out there than a river loop, right? I, too, was sceptical of these claims and demanded proof, evidence, another describing word of these wild allegations.

Cycling Border Ranges - My Name is April

Well, evidence was well and truly delivered. The route my personal tour guide took me along started us off at Currumbin Beach, out through to Mt Tomewin and back in via Tweed Heads. Roughly 66kms with a peachy 1,060m in elevation gain made up of a 10km gentle mountain climb (Tomewin) and then some happy little ramps to make sure I was well and truly fucked.

Cycling Border Ranges, Australia - My Name is April

We set off in the dark, and proceeded to stay in the dark right up until the sun started peeking over the range. Note to self, the first thing on the packing list should be light chargers. Not 5 minutes into our ride the telltale fatal flashing began, and another 200m down the road they were well and truly dead. True Fred and Doris style. Fellow cyclists on the road were none too slow to point this out, in no uncertain terms. Nothing quite like hearing slurs hurled at you only for them to sound like “bzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZZZzzzz, DICKHEAD” as they zoomed past.

The sun now up, and our imminent deaths delayed to another day, we were now free to enjoy the ride. Read: Tim enjoying a spritely jaunt up some hills with April heaving and maintaining a lamentable 60RPM 763m behind him. What, were you expecting watts? Move right along, bike snob, no room for splashing that sort of cash around here.

Cycling Border Ranges - My Name is April

Cycling Border Ranges - My Name is April

I was left for dead on the first uphill, forced to fend off bush turkeys on my own. Mt Tomewin and the surrounds are made up of gentle gradients ranging between 5% – 15%. I say gentle like they are a breeze to get up, but my Strava tells a completely different story. Damn I know how to spin some bullshit.

Cycling Border Ranges - My Name is April

If the Tomewin ascent was contemptible, then the descent was glorious…enough to make any self-respecting cyclist throw their inhibitions to the wind and partake in Chris Froome’s nut-crunching aerodynamic tactics through sweeping bends and down long, straight ramps. Just mind the bush turkeys.

At the bottom winding, flat stretches of cane fields start snaking you back toward the coastline. The very bottom of the descent saw cane fields shrouded in mist and the roadside grass wet with dew but the closer back to the coast we got, the clearer the skies and drier the fields.

Cycling Border Ranges - My Name is April

The ride took me approximately 1 banana, 2 muesli bars and 2 hours, 48 minutes. Don’t laugh, I was taking it easy, it was a recovery ride (I swear).

You can download the .GPX to this route here if you so fancy.

 

Back on the Bandwagon

0
My Name is April - Lifestyle blogger

It took me precisely 60 seconds after the expiry of My Name is April’s web hosting to realise that I had made a terrible mistake. But it wasn’t the mad scramble to renew and salvage what was still left of the sad, sorry shell of a website that had been here that you might imagine. Stubbornness, and a decidedly empty bank account, took me through another 2 weeks of regret before I finally couldn’t take it anymore.

The rest, you could say, is history. For now, here you are, reading this very first and very awkward attempt at a come-back post.

Brisbane’s biggest and best lifestyle blogger (lol jks) is back. Except this time she has purpose and determination…punctuated with regular masturbation and funny cat videos; exclusively, of course.

My Name is April - Lifestyle blogger

Blogging has been a part of me longer than I’ve had my period. I’ve experienced a bigger and longer identity crisis in the blogosphere than I have in the real world, trying to figure out what I wanted my persistent, very loud and opinionated voice to focus on. I’ve done it all over the years – angsty teenage dribble, completely clueless political ramblings, beauty blogging and let’s not forget the latest – completely selling my soul to marketing bloodhounds pouncing on my SEO faster than the completely outdated depiction of a fat kid on cake.

The very same societal stigmas around social media and blogging that stopped me blogging in the first place, are the reason I am back. I want My Name is April to be the dose of reality amongst all the bullshit we see, and to portray and depict the legit life of a young Gen Y’er – complete with my credit card debt and all. There’s a lot of issues out there that get glossed over by influencers and other content-creators in their endeavour to depict perfect, and I’m here to drive a nail through that depiction and show what’s on the other side of the lens.

My Name is April - Lifestyle blogger

My Name is April, I’m a mid-20’s (I’ve been saying that for years but now holy fuck it is actually so relevant and legit what even is life) socially awkward weirdo and I’m here to rant about my debt, whine about the odd fallacy or two, and advocate women’s cycling. Because so far, the rest of this damn blog entry hasn’t made a single mention of a two-wheeled object let alone the vagina riding it but hey there’s a heading in my menu for it so better throw it into my first introduction post somewhere.

My Name is April - Lifestyle blogger

It’s good to be back.

721FollowersFollow

Highlight Reel