Hey there. This is me:
and this, Trybecca, is my blog. Trybecca isn’t my first attempt at blogging. You might remember the short-lived yet unsuccessful “Cork!” which came about the day I found a packaged corkboard in Central Park. Finding a corkboard in Central Park was remarkable only in that I had planned to purchase one THAT VERY SAME AFTERNOON. Fate’s Intercession seemed worthy of a blog in a way that other, smaller things in my life hadn’t before, like: Is it possible I got felt-up during my first full body massage? or: How come I sometimes swipe my metrocard at the exit turnstyle?
Now I care less about Fate and more about rent, anti-wrinkle cream, and that disturbing gas smell that occasionally permeates lower Manhattan.
Since my friends will be reading this, I’d like to begin with an announcement, an announcement I can not make by calling each of you individually. It’s rather a chicken/egg situation. I have decided not to reactivate my phone. This is because Becca is poor. I am poor despite having two jobs. Day Becca convinces parents to send their kids to summer camp for forensic science and trust falls. Night Becca sells candy at a musical about the inventor of the printing press (“I Can’t Read Him”) and is getting fat from intermission Snickers.
I have $50,000 debt and a degree in poetry. I keep my thesis in the bathroom underneath a Pottery Barn candle. I have a change jar with no more change in it. I know this Asian place on West 3rd that puts out Ziplock baggies of pork dumplings to entice drunken college students to enter and the baggies sweat and smell like wet fart and I swore I would NEVER EVER eat one again, but I have. Recently.
Just how poor am I? Free-pork-dumpling poor.