We’ll Always Have the Rancho: Broke-Ass Says So-Long to New York

Babydolls, Broke-Ass is so damned tired she feels as if she might puke at any moment. But that circumstance, as we know, is nothing new. Why, Broke-Ass has vomited three times alone in the past week. Why? Who knows. Why is the past never really dead, but not even past? Twenty-three thousand dollars worth of gastrointestinal medical bills, and the madness of art, and here we all are. 

And here she, particularly, is: on the eve of her last night as a resident of New York City, where she has resided since 1989–in Brooklyn, in particular, since 1993. The Rancho is, essentially, vacant, but for a few last boxes, dust bunnies, and the 10 odd chickens in the back coop that the lovely, soon-to-be owners have requested be left. The keyboard tapping echoes.

Broke-Ass: first visited New York, in August, as an eight-year-old Berkeley kid in her flip-flops home-made tie-dye and without irony declared outside Maxwell’s Plum to her mother that “This is where I’m living when I grow up”; fought her late Darth Vader-like father in court to attend Columbia (and won :); worked like fucking hell; started her career at the late PC Magazine, continued at Time, US News & World Report; continued to work like fucking hell, fondly observing the fruits of her infernal labor flourish via the net take at various and sundry sample sales; drank; quit drinking; got married to her dearest friend of eight years; smoked; quit smoking; worked like hell; worked like hell; gave birth to two sparkly-minded daughters, Baby Poodle and Little Mousie, and experienced her heart gloriously parting for the first time; worked; bought a little gem of an apartment in Park Slope; wrote a book; held her head to the chest of her dying father; sold the apartment and bought a brownstone; found herself in the middle of a bone-crushing, heart-seizing divorce; moved to the Rancho; lay on the floor, amid the wreckage; got up, took care of adorable schmushkies; worked like fucking hell, observing the fruits of her infernal labor come to nothing; got hitched to Big Daddy; gave birth to Two Lumps of Sugar; worked like fucking hell, still nothing; resumed smoking; raised her own produce and hens; dealt with a whole lot of serious bullshit and poverty; and then remembered Philadelphia.

Broke-Ass and New York: A Life. Pretty much inseparable.

But, as mentioned, Broke-Ass is tired.

So, Philadelphia.

What the fuck is going to happen, babydolls? The past isn’t dead. It’s not even past.

 

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About brokeassgrouch

I'm goddamned broke and grouchy. I live in the middle of the damned ghetto and raise chickens for eggs; grow all my own vegetables and fruit; bake the bread and make the cleaning products. Why? Because I fucking have to, that's why! That's what you do when you're fucking poor! You have to make the shit yourself, dumb-ass! Broke-Ass Grouch is sick of all you Bennington and RISD trustafarians yapping about your "urban farming co-ops" and your "carbon conscious lifestyle" and your "green choices" in the Times Styles section and every alternapress periodical that you can pick up for free in every eye-wateringly expensive, edgy bakery or green-market. Maybe when you have a trust fund, you can make "choices" or have a "lifestyle" or "decide" how to "spend" your "money." Excuse me, but Mama is just trying to feed her kids over here, you little shits. And stop spraying your art-school graffiti on the fence of the vacant lot across the street from my house. I know who you are, and I'm telling my friend Keith (who lives in the projects) that it was you who painted that cartoon of the African mask. So what can I tell you? I don't fucking know. I know a lot about being broke, sure as Bob's your fucking uncle. I know about how useless an Ivy League degree is when you're flat-ass broke. I know how to unclog a drain with baking soda and vinegar, and I know how to make my own CHEESE, for fuck's sake. You tell me.
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6 Responses to We’ll Always Have the Rancho: Broke-Ass Says So-Long to New York

  1. Linette says:

    wow. interesting to have met you shortly after you moved here! You’re blog is hysterical, honest my husband and I love it! Welcome to Philly!!

  2. joe says:

    welcome back to philly, yo.

  3. Dawn says:

    I have an aunt who last year was finally diagnosed with Cyclical Vomiting Syndrome. It took years to get a diagnosis. She is on disability because it is so severe. In my aunts case stress and anxiety are the main triggers. Maybe this is something your doctor(s) could look into as a source of your problem.

  4. Susu says:

    Dear BAG — Thought of you during this sleepless night and checked your blog – sad to learn that you are no longer in the BK but hope that you and the family are doing well in Philly. Would love an update. Love your writing. Buying your book. Be well, Susu (we met at playground about a year ago)

  5. GiRRL_Earth says:

    BAG, I miss you. What had been going on?…

  6. GiRRL_Earth says:

    *has* been going on.

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