Nothing pisses me off more than a sequence of events that cost me hundreds of dollars.
So, if you don't want to read a rant, then just click your goddamn previous page button or something, because my mind is on fire and I just squeezed a tennis ball so hard I was all like, "fuck you, tennis ball" and jammed my thumb through the damn thing, and I didn't even know that was possible.
As someone who is (1) in debt (2) lives paycheck to paycheck and (3) has the opportunity to save nothing, this is a Big Fucking Deal.
Yesterday I received notice that I overdrew my bank account like two weeks ago. Three times. This means I had less cash than I expected. This means that I must have done it again since the first incidents. About six times. This means that I'm getting charged with every overdraft, and this means that the bank won't feel obligated to tell me for another week and a half, and that means that fucking banks can go assfuck themselves.
And then I got a parking ticket.
So financially, I've just set myself back by about four months.
This was supposed to be my catch-up pay check, the time after Christmas when bills are paid and I have a normal income to save until wedding and bullshit baby shower season (I fucking hate babies, I really, really do, because all they do is whine and eat my dollars, and I don't even have any of my own. Dollars, that is. Or babies. Fuck you, babies) hits this summer, when I spend hundreds of dollars on friends who make double my salary and will never, ever, ever get the chance to spend a return amount on me.
I have anger, obviously, because I'm a fucking idiot.
I just threw my dilapidated tennis ball. It hit the wall, and then improperly bounced back in my direction, and now it's just all crushed and spiritless in the middle of the carpet. Fuck you, carpet. I want my ball back.
Speaking of balls: fuck you, thumb, for ruining my life.
And you, you friends that tell me just to "come out for one beer"? You know very well it doesn't work like that, so stop making me feel guilty for not drinking at the bars or going out to dinner when I'm broken in funds and in pride, and stop wondering why I have no money.
I tried to keep up with your pace for two years, and your weddings and your fucking bachelorette and bachelor parties and your birthdays and your weekends and your Tuesdays and your fucking babies, and I just don't have the funds, and I can't do it anymore because I fucking drank myself into debt.
And now this. If I'd known about it when it happened I wouldn't have gone out to dinner, I wouldn't have agreed to supply the groceries for Fondue Night, I wouldn't have gone out to Second City and I sure as busted tennis balls wouldn't have gotten drunk afterward.
So shut the fuck up and stop yelling inside my head.
I think I can't go to New Orleans anymore. Shit.