Went to the bank this week. I am kind of scared of money, so I don't do things with money often. But, apparently, you need "credit" to do stuff in life, so you can't actually fear credit cards forever. Also, apparently, you should get a savings account sometimes. Whatevs.
I was wearing a key lime green sweatshirt and a braid. I sat down in a little office and squared myself with the dude:
"Look. I don't know much. But, apparently, pack-ratting my checking account with every dollar I've made since 2005 isn't actually the best way to do things." So, he helped me out--very nicely too. I asked a lot of questions.
And then came the part where he asked me how much I make a year. I kind of got noodley. "Buh..." I said.
"You don't know?" He asked. "So, you work hourly--"
"No," I countered.
"And you don't know how much you make?"
"No, it's just...well...it's not really 'how much I make a year' because it's just a temporary one-year only type thing and--"
"Well, if you could just guess."
"No, I KNOW, it's just that it's not really an annual salary if I'm going back to school--"
And then I said it. How much I made this year. And he waited and said, "Right, and for your other job?" And I said, "No. That's it. That's all I made this year."
And he make that OH-MY-GOD-I'M-MAKING-A-FACE-BUT-I'M-TRYING-TO-COVER-IT-WITH-A-SMILE face. I was onto him.
News: I got a Dean's Fellowship for graduate school. This is actually awesome. I told my sister who immediately replied, "Yippee! Your banker will be so thrilled!"
For real--would you give this hobo girl a credit card? Woof. Photo by Dunt--2009.
Oh, why must I feel this way?
Hey. Must be the money.