Three weeks ago, I moved to New York City. I packed two suitcases and a ukulele, a small nest of funds, and flew JetBlue. They fed me potato chips and I watched Friends reruns.
New York is a big deal. I could be cool and brush it off as "just another city, and I've lived in cities" but I've opted to accept myself as its Bitch. As a Midwestern gal, I'm kind of fragile. I cry a lot, I have a little anxiety, I'm a vegetarian, I hit a bird with my car a couple of weeks ago and sobbed as I watched it fluttering on the ground in my rear-view mirror. So, you know. I could use a little toughening up. To give myself some credit, I'm not a total flower: I'm fairly well-traveled, I walk very briskly, and my arms look (and only look) kinda buff. And I drink whisk(e)y.
And so: I chose to live in Brooklyn. Brooklyn fascinates me. It's beautiful and awful, lively and dead. It's where Da Cool Kids At. I think I like it. I think I like it so much that on this rainy/sunny/rainy/sunny afternoon, I've chosen to start a log, a ledger, an album, a blog. An account of my daily discoveries in this dirty little town. A public record of My First Time. Welcome to A Brooklyn Virgin.
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you're a vegetarian?
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