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In less than 3 hours, I will be in some conference room taking a class learning how to ballance a checkbook. I'm 23 years old, and have had multiple checking accounts. I know how to ballance a fucking checkbook. I can do math, and goddamnit, I'm an educated, beautiful black woman. But I'll be damned if I don't feel like a fucking retard for having to take this class. I debated about writing about this class, but then I realized, "I write about my goddamn period, and bleeding through maxi pads, I can write about taking a class I'm too smart for." Long story short, I was really broke in the late 90's. You might think you know broke, but I bet you $1 that you don't know broke like I knew broke when I didn't really have anywhere I called home, and was willngly homeless for a while. I spit in the face of life, because I've lived plenty. Anyway, during that time I had just come off of a contract as a computer installation specialist (yeah, because the IT industry and homlesness go hand in hand) work was scarce, and my boyfriend was a lacksidasial jerk, who refused to get work for a long time. So I supported us until I didn't have any more money. At that point, I was waitressing for the three dollars an hour plus tips that a waitress gets (which equated to like, 10 bucks an hour for me, most nights) and Broke. Food was scarse, and being hungry just doesn't fly in my book, so I purposely bounced checks for food. Now that was a bad idea, but it kept me and then boyfriend guy fed. So to pay for my youthful stupidity, I have to go to a class where they'll show me how to ballance a checkbook in exchange for the ability to open a new checking account. God, why are you so cruel? Supprisingly, Frank has been really, really nice about the whole thing. He hasn't poked fun at me over how I have to do this stupid class, or even that I can't open a new checking account. He's been very supportive. That means so much to me, because I feel lower than a grasshopper's knees. He's so sweet. More later, the loveable and awesome Pam
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