Did my taxes today.
Took about ten minutes … is that a bad thing?
I thought this practice was going to propel me into a sense of responsible womanhood. Instead it left my forehead boiling with anger and stupification over the endless acronyms and pathetic boxes left blank, due to my complete befuddlement as to what in the H they were referring to.
After a few minutes of Googling, calling mommy and interrogating Toona about the CC blank on 12a of my W2, I finally just decided to hope most of America was dumber or more of a swindler than little ‘ol me, and I would be swiftly passed over by the IRS, whom I assume all wear pinstriped suits, Stanley Tucci glasses, bald heads and carry graphing calculators … even in the shower.
I decided to go with a generic website A has been using for the last few years. It sounded ferocious and effective … and was endorsed by a NASCAR racer. If that doesn’t say reliable financial planning! Hoo boy.
Anyway, my lovely boyfriend decided to note to me, after barking at him about the meaning of the word “resident” for the forty-third time, that I act like Homer Simpson when doing my taxes–as evidenced in this 1998 episode of the show, “The Trouble With Trillions.”
If you just watch to the five minute mark or so, you’ll get the idea.
So therefore, things I have learned from doing my taxes:
1. I hate inanimate objects that are cleverer than me.
1099-INT/BBQ/WTF? Eat my shorts.
2. I still need my mommy.
3. I promise to not procrastinate this next year. Definitely. I hope.
So if you don’t hear from me, my hasty clicking prompted the IRS to rappel down the side of my building and put me in tax moron prison for mistakenly claiming I owned a business, was a Baptist minister and had 17 kids.