Double up on misery, it saves time!

Due to the fact that I am not gainfully employed AND have yet to sell a novel, much less write one, I am broke. Effective tomorrow, the bank I've had an account with since before leaving Florida will no longer offer free checking. This is problematic because a $12 monthly fee is a fortune to me given my current circumstances. At some point I intend to be able to afford such a luxury quite easily, but right now I just can't do it. I've been left with no choice but to close my account.

My stomach churning with self-loathing and a headache spawned by the horrors of failing at life in general, I made sure my makeup and hair looked extra nice today. Just because a lady is slipping into a black hole of nothingness does not mean she can't do it looking fabulous! It's a double negative, I know, gimme a break. When I was finally all shiny and pretty I dragged myself to the car and made the short drive over to the nearest branch. There wasn't anything good on the radio, which should've been a sign of things to come. This was going to suck, I just wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. :(

The bank was slightly busy. Usually when I've gone before there were mostly women working, whereas today men were dominating the landscape. This made things even worse. Somehow I felt that a woman would be a little more understanding and sympathetic, which doesn't matter because it's not like they care either way, I'm just being silly. The nice lady teller asked me to wait a moment, and then a man called me over to his desk so he could help me. This is when things really started to get critical.

Mr. Bank Man was easily one of the handsomest guys I've ever conversed with. I am not exaggerating. He was really tall, had dark hair and dark eyes, a gorgeous face, nice hands, really sexy voice, he was wearing a vest over his shirt and tie (I like that), and he had a very friendly demeanor. He was slick with the open-ended questions as he worked and talking to him felt absurdly natural. Keep in mind that I don't often talk to people, as I don't often even like people, so this guy was that good. As he gave me what was left in my account and my receipt, he closed with, "If you need anything else, you know where to find me." I need something from you, Mr. Hottie Bank Dude, but it has nothing to do with banking. It's a transaction of a very different (intimate!) variety. Ba-dum-zing!

I walked in a cloud of lustful confusion back to the car. What had just happened? Why did I tell that guy so much about myself?? Now not only have I lost my checking account, I've also succeeded in letting another human being know just how horrible I am at being an adult! The wheels in my head continued to turn as I drove, and by the time I came home I hated Bank Man for tricking me into sharing. The bastard.

I feel like I'm suffocating under a double dose of shame, hence my doubled misery. I'm tempted to do a parody of a Doublemint gum jingle, but that doesn't seem like a wise use of my time. *sigh*

As a side note, I acted impulsively when I said I wanted to move to Kansas City. Clearly St. Louis is a much much much better idea. Duh!


:D

I know, who the hell thinks about moving when they don't have a dime to their name? Actually, I do have a dime, but that's about it. At some point, though, I will find a way to support myself. I have to! If I can stretch a dollar further there than here, well, it's just good business.

The Super Bowl made me very happy.

Now that the bank business is done, I can happily hide in the apartment for the rest of the week, with no danger of looking foolish in front of dreamy guys. Score! Time to drown my sorrows in some hummus.