Let's get one thing straight, straightaway: the title of this blog is arguably incorrect. We are not “poor”, we just don't have the cash flow to treat ourselves to a latte everyday (they add up, and it's not like they are steaming milk and cocaine, why $5.94? What gives?).
We are hardly fabulous. Sometimes we speak in faux French/British accents, which is only faux fabulous. Or sometimes we treat our roommates to a round of overpriced Pisco Sours, which is fabulous, and also risky because we are drinking raw eggs. Sometimes we order in and this nice gentleman who should, and probably does, hate us brings steaming piles of Pad Thai to our door, which is, trust us, fabulous. So some aspects of our lives are fabulous, but only the type of fabulousness one can afford with sub-$1000 paychecks, and after New York City rent.
By dirt we mean dirty, because so many dirty things/people/places/hair/martinis are involved in our lives. Our personal favorite is a Craigslist ad that read "FREE: dirty white microwave". This dirty white microwave is behind an extraordinary amount of laughter and personal inspiration. Who knew?
The living part of the blog's title obviously doesn't apply on Fridays and Saturdays between the hours of 11:30 p.m.- about 3 p.m. the next day. This is because the state of inebriation/comatose we can usually be found in does not necessarily qualify as living. It is dirty and fabulous and so very age-appropriate, but it ain't "living". You know? You know.
So you may sweetly ask, "Why then, why? Why do you think can write a guide to...well...living fabulously dirt poor?"
The answer is that we do not have all the answers, just simply a good amount of genuine insight that you may or may not find useful. Also we have been told that we are funny. Or, wait, maybe that was us telling each other that the other one is funny, while we are alone, drunk, sharing Paige's bed together at night, and re-hashing the days events. We will let you decide if we are funny then.
So this is blogging about post-college, pre-living-with-a-man-for-the-rest-of-your-life-until-he's-dead weekly bit of tidbits. That's it.
This is for you who just wrote your last graduation "Thank You" that was for a Precious Moment wearing a cap and gown (they now make brunette Precious Moment's, in case you were curious). This is for those of you living in your high school bedroom eating your mother's goulash for dinner every night but wishing you weren't, or would rather be drinking alone, but alone in your own place. This is for you who can't figure out why it never seems to work with Affliction shirt-wearing men. This is for you who would give up your first and second born children to have James Franco wink at you.
We can't promise the advice we give to lead to any sort of great success, or a six pack, or a rich and interesting bedtime buddy, or even a living room furniture arrangement that ensures Feng-Shui. This is just how we choose to spend our time and money, treat our boyfriends and more importantly girlfriends, respect our elders, NOT eat our feelings, and cherish the joy's of life before you get fat (pregnant) and end up cherishing your babies (stretch mark-givers).
While in the process of writing this little beauty, we, despite watching Millionaire Matchmaker instead of CNN, couldn't help but to influenced by what was happening around us. Although we probably aren't able to but the word DOW into a sentence without fumbling a little, we saw that even Botox couldn't keep the anchorwomen from looking concerned, and thus we knew we were in trouble.
All of our family members, coworkers, and ex-lovers were talking about the economy, and how they are personally affected by it. Holly’s mom didn't get a new car last year, Paige’s family vacations turned stay-cations and apparently P. Diddy sold his jet plane. As for us, business was slow, and we got sick of reading blogs about fashion shows being cancelled, and looking at the Barney's sale online that we still couldn't afford. So we decided to do what we actually got college diplomas for: write about it.
The female-post grad, pre-preggers American: With now-fat Mischa Barton aside, we have generally firm asses, we have wrinkle-free foreheads, we don't have post-babe stretch marks, mortgages, or husbands. Not to mention we are living at a time when our first-lady wears J.Crew sweaters (and yes, sometimes Lanvin sneakers) and has killer biceps.
Anyways please take everything we say with a grain of salt from our (unlimited) Margarita glasses and understand that we are writing this for YOU, our fab, broke-ass, hilarious, Forever 21-clad, Vogue-reading and cheap-vodka swilling comrades. We hope you find some humor here, maybe some good ideas, and solace in knowing you aren’t alone.
Yours in Dirtiness,
Hollyn and Paige
Fabu-fabulous!
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