Kate, you'll have to tell me how to post pictures, that way I can tell all of you the story about how when I was in high school, I made out with a guy who grew up exactly like my brother, the best part of the story is my mother's reaction. But unfortunately, it means nothing without pictures of the both of them (eerily, both named Chris) If I had a shrink, we'd probably have to spend a month of the emotional implications of this discovery.

I am posting from my new job, as a bank teller. Unlike Kate, I have no stories. I am a terrible bank teller. The girl who I was assigned to shadow is so sick of my lame tolerance that she's starting to sound hostile. Whatever happened to grinning and shrugging at the New Teller Hijinks. She didn't laugh when I got my tie caught in the check recording machine almost strangling myself, when I approved a wire transfer for sixty ba-zillion infinity dollars to the "I.M.A Crook State Bank of Bangkok" or when I replaced the bosses coffee with instant gravy, or left all my member information in my drawer for cleaning staff to steal account information from.

I'm sorry, financial world, I am simply not cut out to be good at handling money and clicking buttons. Which is surprising given my love of high stakes poker and hours spent sophomore year reading blogs and chatting on the internet with washed out rock stars from Long Island.