pop tarts are delicious

HOWDY PARTNERS! Ahem. Howdy? Partners? Seriously, Lexy? SERIOUSLY? Whatever, western is very 'in' and things and I JUST WANT TO BE A COW BOY GOSH DARNIT.

Ahem. Again. Well, this is sufficiently awkward as you now question whether my disappearance was due to being a bad blogger or, seemingly more likely, being placed in a scientific experiment that makes human beings stare at microwaves too long and, consequently, become insane (according to my mom. she's anal like that). Or something. Ahem. Again, again. Can we just *smooth transition* it over to the pictures? You all cheer an hallelujah and a hip hip hooray and we transition and SUCH A BEAUTIFUL MOMENT! We all share a collective sigh of relief, kind of like that moment when you're squatting over the toilet after copious amounts of pee-dancing and uncomfortable wiggling and seriously WHY AM I STILL TALKING?!

My family is a giant dork. I don't know if that sentence makes grammatical sense, but that is the best word to describe us: dorks. A euphemism might be "cute," but that's in the "aw, you guys are so dorky, but I want to be a kind soul, so I'll just say cute" sense. This theory could be proven with various events, such as family game nights and Thanksgiving hikes. I wouldn't have it any other way! DORKZ 4 LYF, BRAH.




Here is the sibling and I. The sibling looks like Where is Waldo. HAH! She always comes up with strange analogies for my outfits (namely, just raised eyebrows that say OH SO MUCH), so now I'm being the witty one here. Please laugh. Or nod. Or something.



And I know it's tradition to start off a post with apologies and excuses but HEY NOW! I'm a non-conformist! I go against the grain! Therefore, I will end my post with apologies and excuses and stuff because I turn things on their head LIKE THAT. HEAR ME ROARRRR. Bitchez.

Ahem. Yeah, so, I've been non-existent due to things such as 1) laziness and 2) being artsy and going to poetry slams. THAT'S RIGHT. This week is kind of a big deal over here so I've been committed to the ART. Aka I'm the biggest stalker/ groupie zomg it's scary. You know how there were always the cool kids in school and you wanted to be friends with them, but the closest you could ever get was being graced in their presence? (Hypothetically, of course. Because we're hipsters and non-conformists and things and this never occurred.) This is totally like that. You know what they say: If you can't join 'em... follow 'em (?). Sure.

I think the greatest things about poetry slams is the vibe. Everyone there is so freaking passionate and genuine and someone described the experience as "like watching a sportsgame" and it really is like that and zomg it's amazing. And the poetry is amazing, too, of course, because it's all "DANG, that's so what I was thinking, but wtf you say it so beautifully"-ish. I have this irrational fear of going up to poets and complimenting them due to the collision of contradictions being 1) my awkwardness and 2) the fact that they are extremely, extremely eloquent. So I will just watch from afar and hope one of them comes up to me in a "nice skirt/ thanks, it was my mom's in the 80s/ vintage, cute!" way. (Mean Girls reference, ANYONE?) It feels like all the poets there have found their niche and I'm all like THAT'S SO BEAUTIFUL AND WHERE IS MINE.


What is your "niche"? Super duper curious - DO LET ME IN ON IT! (lexy's definition of "niche": place/ time/ scenario where you feel most happy/ most like yourself/ most alive)

Have a splendid day!