I suspect if divorce is ever initiated at our house it will happen on an April 16th. Loyal readers might remember the great Taxcapade of 2007. I was naïve enough to think this year was going to be better. I’m not sure why, probably my natural Pollyanna attitude rearing its ditzy ringlets.
I took Monday off from work and devoted half the day to therapeutic futzing around and half to taxes. I wasn’t too concerned because I had Mr. Turbo*tax working for me. I absolutely LOVE this product. Back in the day when our returns were considerably more complicated, it probably saved my soul as well as the lives of several IRS agents. For those of you not familiar with the product, it asks you about 264 questions about your money and offers explanations and clarifications and then it whips your entire pile of fiscal minutia into… A TAX RETURN! You don’t have to read the 88 pages of instructions or download special publications or even enter your information from last year, because it KNOWS you! Really! It knows your employers and charities and dress size. One of these years I expect it will even send us a Christmas card!
So I fed the little number cruncher all that it asked for and printed out the tax return. The news was not good… by about $3000. It was a result of some capital gains and an interest payout didn't have tax withheld. It’s all good because, in theory, we made much more than the chunk that the IRS was asking for. Haha. Listen to me. If you know anything about Homer, you know that he does not roll over and sign his name to anything that will cost him money without a fight.
I am past finding it ironic that he insists I do the taxes but then spends more time going over them, than I spent doing them, sooooo... let the games begin.
8pm last night:
Homer: Why aren’t… ?
Jane: We are..
Homer: Why are we…?
Jane: Umm, we have to.
Homer: Doesn’t…?
Jane: NO.
Homer: Why….?
Jane: Because!
Homer: What is…?.
Jane: Exactly what it says there at the end of your nitpicking little nose!
Score: Jane 5, Homer 0
I won’t subject you to all the taxy-boorish details. I’ll just skip to the end and tell you that Homer Pennypincher was not able to find ONE single problem.
Ahem. *coughItoldyouso!*
By the time I got all the forms signed and checks attached and proper addresses for everything (Alpha had taxes, too), it was after 10 pm, which meant a trip to the postal service's home office once again... for ME, because Homer has disappeared with the dog. I still had only a vague idea where I needed to go, but I bundled up my handiwork that included a balloon-festooned envelope with one Kwanzaa and one Christmas stamp that contained my farewell gift to Dubya, and headed west (young woman!).
A few miles from home I ran into a snowstorm. Yes, on April 15th. One of those crazy snows made up of bb pellet-like pieces so thick and fast that they catch your headlights and make hypnotized mush of your already addled brain. I guess there had to be a new twist because this year I had my purse, my shoes and my cell phone with me. Well, I still took the wrong exit, missed the right one, flipped a couple U-ies and finally found the place with the postal soldiers in their yellow slickers standing out by the street grabbing returns from a steady stream of cars. I cheerfully wished them well and sped off… in the wrong direction… home. It’s people like me who inspired GPS technology. Santa? Please?
So, I was home in bed by 11:15pm. Not bad. No malice, no bitterness, right?
Dear IRS-
When you are putting together next year’s 1040 tax forms and you contemplate once again building in that little check box next to the names of the joint filers… the one that says ‘deceased’? I’m just thinking… maybe you shouldn’t tempt people.
Love,
Jane
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Now arriving...
I heard on the news this morning that Dubya will be meeting Pope Benedict XVI at Andrews Air Force Base for what is believed to be the first time ever that a U.S. president has picked up a guest at the airport.
I wonder if Barbara finally had a word with him about minding his manners OR if this is just something they hope will keep him out of trouble for a few hours OR if he's hoping to get a few moments alone with the big guy for a huge confession session.
I know this is not the case but can you just picture Laura sending him off to the airport in his big ole pick 'em up truck while she is popping a pie in the oven and yelling 'For Pete's sake, Georgie, don't forget to use the navigation system!'?
Almost makes me laugh through my tax pain.
I wonder if Barbara finally had a word with him about minding his manners OR if this is just something they hope will keep him out of trouble for a few hours OR if he's hoping to get a few moments alone with the big guy for a huge confession session.
I know this is not the case but can you just picture Laura sending him off to the airport in his big ole pick 'em up truck while she is popping a pie in the oven and yelling 'For Pete's sake, Georgie, don't forget to use the navigation system!'?
Almost makes me laugh through my tax pain.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Rhymes with Nifty
One day very soon I will have a birthday. Like it or not, I will turn thirty-nine eleven. Please do the math quietly in your head... and don't even bother using your fingers and toes because you will run out... unless you are some kind of freak.
I wonder why the years ending in zero seem so traumatic. I suppose it’s the same concept that makes you think $20 is so much more than $19.95. I mean if someone asked you how much you paid, you would say twenty dollars… so you do KNOW it’s really twenty dollars… but there is something less traumatic about $19.95, isn’t there? If this wasn’t some sort of brain glitch that affects us all, there wouldn’t be so many 9’s in car prices.
Do NOT, however, expect me to say that I am 50 when I am only 49.99.
I'm having much inner conflict over this birthday. It feels like I'm being offered a (big) piece of cheesecake. Do I accept it and love every bite despite the 499 calories and the full square inch of fat that will go straight to my left buttock? OR do I politely refuse and wallow in that warm self-righteous feeling that comes with just saying NO!? At least I imagine it would feel good to say no... okay, cheesecake isn't a good example.
Even though I can’t technically refuse to turn 50, I can choose to ignore the whole thing and move to the state of denial. Since my shrink assures me there is only swampland available there, I am going to examine this from a semi-neutral perspective and tally up the pros and cons. Feel free to join in.
The good:
It’ll be behind me. No more traumatic zero birthdays for 10 more years.
It’s still a birthday so there should be cake. And presents!
I think policemen are less likely to search you for drugs if they pull you over, which could be a downside if the officer is all young and buff and… have you ever wondered why their pants are so tight?
The bad:
It bumps me up to the ‘mature skin’ category of facial products. Doesn’t that just smack of crowsfeet and jowls??
I’m destined for glasses soon… probably the bifocal variety since my arms are getting too short.
OMG - the colonoscopy! Not that the IRS doesn’t do this every year…
The ambiguous:
AARP membership… There ARE the hotel discounts but on the flipside, it pretty much says that shopping for elastic-waist pants and gray shoes is right around the corner.
That all sounds kind of shallow, huh? Yeah, well, it’s the kind of thing that swoops through my head when the brain door gets left open.
Y'know I really don’t worry about getting old because I fear dying as much as I worry about getting too old to be bothered with. Oh, wow, I think what I fear most is being boring. To others as much as to myself. Huh, wow, that explains so much! I think I just saved myself a bunch of money on therapy.
You know what I am going to do to celebrate? I am going to try and torch that 'dormant' tree. Assuming it burns and all, I think it might make kind of a fun little personal epiphany fire. If you like I can videotape it and share it right here! Assuming the camera doesn't 'malfunction' again... and assuming I am not too nertarded to put a video on my B-Spot. Well, that's enough assumptions for one day.
Hope you all have an X-cellant weeeeeeeeeeekendddddddd!
I wonder why the years ending in zero seem so traumatic. I suppose it’s the same concept that makes you think $20 is so much more than $19.95. I mean if someone asked you how much you paid, you would say twenty dollars… so you do KNOW it’s really twenty dollars… but there is something less traumatic about $19.95, isn’t there? If this wasn’t some sort of brain glitch that affects us all, there wouldn’t be so many 9’s in car prices.
Do NOT, however, expect me to say that I am 50 when I am only 49.99.
I'm having much inner conflict over this birthday. It feels like I'm being offered a (big) piece of cheesecake. Do I accept it and love every bite despite the 499 calories and the full square inch of fat that will go straight to my left buttock? OR do I politely refuse and wallow in that warm self-righteous feeling that comes with just saying NO!? At least I imagine it would feel good to say no... okay, cheesecake isn't a good example.
Even though I can’t technically refuse to turn 50, I can choose to ignore the whole thing and move to the state of denial. Since my shrink assures me there is only swampland available there, I am going to examine this from a semi-neutral perspective and tally up the pros and cons. Feel free to join in.
The good:
It’ll be behind me. No more traumatic zero birthdays for 10 more years.
It’s still a birthday so there should be cake. And presents!
I think policemen are less likely to search you for drugs if they pull you over, which could be a downside if the officer is all young and buff and… have you ever wondered why their pants are so tight?
The bad:
It bumps me up to the ‘mature skin’ category of facial products. Doesn’t that just smack of crowsfeet and jowls??
I’m destined for glasses soon… probably the bifocal variety since my arms are getting too short.
OMG - the colonoscopy! Not that the IRS doesn’t do this every year…
The ambiguous:
AARP membership… There ARE the hotel discounts but on the flipside, it pretty much says that shopping for elastic-waist pants and gray shoes is right around the corner.
That all sounds kind of shallow, huh? Yeah, well, it’s the kind of thing that swoops through my head when the brain door gets left open.
Y'know I really don’t worry about getting old because I fear dying as much as I worry about getting too old to be bothered with. Oh, wow, I think what I fear most is being boring. To others as much as to myself. Huh, wow, that explains so much! I think I just saved myself a bunch of money on therapy.
You know what I am going to do to celebrate? I am going to try and torch that 'dormant' tree. Assuming it burns and all, I think it might make kind of a fun little personal epiphany fire. If you like I can videotape it and share it right here! Assuming the camera doesn't 'malfunction' again... and assuming I am not too nertarded to put a video on my B-Spot. Well, that's enough assumptions for one day.
Hope you all have an X-cellant weeeeeeeeeeekendddddddd!
Thursday, April 10, 2008
My Style: Horticulture
I love reading about how you lucky people in warmer climates are out working in your gardens already in just in the kind of way I enjoy watching someone else eat chocolate cheesecake... without sharing.
Meg and Frana have all these things blooming and I can't get over how they know the real names for plants and Frana talks about the need to transplant like there's a purpose to it. Meg goes out and BUYS things to bring home and plant.
Yeah, at our house it goes something like this...
"Hey Homer, I think that brown thingamajiggy over by the wall is dead, so how about next time we plant some bark there."
"It is not dead. I think it is just dormant."
"Dude, it's an evergreen! Dormant is not an option."
So whadda you all think?
Meg and Frana have all these things blooming and I can't get over how they know the real names for plants and Frana talks about the need to transplant like there's a purpose to it. Meg goes out and BUYS things to bring home and plant.
Yeah, at our house it goes something like this...
"Hey Homer, I think that brown thingamajiggy over by the wall is dead, so how about next time we plant some bark there."
"It is not dead. I think it is just dormant."
"Dude, it's an evergreen! Dormant is not an option."
So whadda you all think?
snow...snow...did I say snow?
I’m starting to sound like a broken record, aren’t I?
Does anyone out there under the age of 25 even know what that means… a broken record? No, it’s not like Barry Bonds’ homeruns or the 59-1/2 hotdogs that a guy named Joey Chestnut ate in 12 minutes. Seriously! Fifty-nine and a half!! Picture your shopping cart with 6 packs of hotdogs and 7 -1/2 bags of buns. Now picture eating it ALL. I think you better put a couple bottles of Tum*s in that cart, too.
I just can’t imagine how or why anyone would do that. I mean you would probably have no room left for cheesecake!
Okay, I wandered off the sidewalk again. I was talking about (and like) a broken record. Young ‘uns, you are just going to have to go Google*it!
As I drove to work this morning, I listened to the hopeless weather forecast on the radio… highs in the double sweaters with slight chance of isolated fun. For a moment I thought I was back in the ‘Otas where spring is aptly named because you can bounce between shorts and your winter woolies all the way into June. Summer does usually arrive but it never stayed long enough for me, so I moved to a friendlier climate… except I’m not feeling the love this year. And I’m thinking, I did not suffer through umptwenty snow storms for this! This winterish spring we are having. And to top it off, last night I dreamed that Alpha got a giganticus, ultra-befroggily tattoo on her back because she said she had nothing better to do. And she told me not to worry about it because she had it on good authority that swimsuit weather would NEVER COME AGAIN!
I think it’s time to move my cold a$$ south again... south like Costa*Rica, I'm thinking.
Does anyone out there under the age of 25 even know what that means… a broken record? No, it’s not like Barry Bonds’ homeruns or the 59-1/2 hotdogs that a guy named Joey Chestnut ate in 12 minutes. Seriously! Fifty-nine and a half!! Picture your shopping cart with 6 packs of hotdogs and 7 -1/2 bags of buns. Now picture eating it ALL. I think you better put a couple bottles of Tum*s in that cart, too.
I just can’t imagine how or why anyone would do that. I mean you would probably have no room left for cheesecake!
Okay, I wandered off the sidewalk again. I was talking about (and like) a broken record. Young ‘uns, you are just going to have to go Google*it!
As I drove to work this morning, I listened to the hopeless weather forecast on the radio… highs in the double sweaters with slight chance of isolated fun. For a moment I thought I was back in the ‘Otas where spring is aptly named because you can bounce between shorts and your winter woolies all the way into June. Summer does usually arrive but it never stayed long enough for me, so I moved to a friendlier climate… except I’m not feeling the love this year. And I’m thinking, I did not suffer through umptwenty snow storms for this! This winterish spring we are having. And to top it off, last night I dreamed that Alpha got a giganticus, ultra-befroggily tattoo on her back because she said she had nothing better to do. And she told me not to worry about it because she had it on good authority that swimsuit weather would NEVER COME AGAIN!
I think it’s time to move my cold a$$ south again... south like Costa*Rica, I'm thinking.
Yeah, like right about here:
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
I'm dreaming of a...
So, I woke up this morning
and I looked outside and
*SURPRISE!*
it was snowing.
Not small, ambiguous pieces of precipitation...
NO, it was the big, fat cotton ball sized stuff.
Serious snow.
And I thought
'Ohmygosh! I must have shopping to do
and cookies to bake
and a tree to trim
because surely Christmas has been
moved up to April this year!'
And while this thought
did not make me
the tiniest bit happy,
I did give myself a smug little back pat
for not having taken down
last year's Christmas lights.
and I looked outside and
*SURPRISE!*
it was snowing.
Not small, ambiguous pieces of precipitation...
NO, it was the big, fat cotton ball sized stuff.
Serious snow.
And I thought
'Ohmygosh! I must have shopping to do
and cookies to bake
and a tree to trim
because surely Christmas has been
moved up to April this year!'
And while this thought
did not make me
the tiniest bit happy,
I did give myself a smug little back pat
for not having taken down
last year's Christmas lights.
Back again...
Okay, I'm back... I think. It got complicated maintaining two places so I quit this one... for almost a year. I'm trying to make a complete move over here, but I have to figure out what to do with two years worth of the old stuff at that other place.
So, I will take it slow and fix this up and... yeah, stay tuned.
So, I will take it slow and fix this up and... yeah, stay tuned.
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