Monthly Archives: March 2015

This Is Taxing

Google images: cogniview.com

Google images: cogniview.com

User ID Login: Fun_Times_with_Taxes.

Password:  Yearly_agony_2014.

Do you want to continue where you left off last Tuesday in completing your taxes using this convenient electronic tax program?  Yes.

Did you own a farm in 2014?  No.

Were you a member of the military in 2014?  No.

Did you buy anything (or things) in 2014?  Yes.

Did you use cash to buy the thing (or things) in 2014?  Once in a while.

Did you use a debit card or credit card in 2014?  Of course (duh).

Did you pay interest, rent, taxes, stipends, finance charges, bank charges, dividends, IRA payments, alimony, IRA deductions, child support, and/or did you pay penalties for parking with your motor running in the Walmart crosswalk while waiting for a spouse or other family member to pick up a couple of groceries real quick?  Yes.

Did you pay penalties for parking with your motor running in the Walmart crosswalk while waiting for a spouse or other family member to pick up prescription(s) and/or greeting card(s), excluding Valentine’s Day and/or Mother’s Day cards?  Probably, I think so, yes.

How about Father’s Day?  No.

Were you living in Santa Domingo in 2001?  Not that I know of.

Did you buy non-GMO crackers manufactured in Colorado in the fourth quarter of tax year 2014?  Not sure, probably not, but maybe so.

If you answered “But Maybe So” to the previous question, please subtract $49.50 from your estimated tax refund in line 17a on tax form BYE-9506-HA.  Where? What form did you say?

If you answered “Definitely No,” please buy crackers before April 15, 2015, and pay an extra $49.50 directly to your local Walmart customer service desk.  Yeah, okay.

Did you drive a car in 2014?  Yes.

Do you expect to drive a car in 2015?  Yes.

If you answered “Yes” to the previous two questions, please report all destinations or potential destinations on form WE-86-U.  Walmart, church, work, gas station.

The Walmart on the east side or the Walmart on the west side?  Usually the east side.

That’s too bad. You have forfeited your potential refund and now must pay the government $989.50 for wasting gas, and also for completing your tax form with answers that are insufficiently specific.

I’m moving to Santo Domingo.

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Perfectionist Pitfalls

Google images: galleryhip.com

Google images: galleryhip.com

Okay, so I try to be good, to do the right thing, not to make mistakes. To please others. To recycle. To eat right. To brush and floss. To focus. To exercise. To trim my eyebrows every two weeks. To speak softly and carry a big stick. To say please and thank you. To use a patient and considerate tone of voice. To be spiritual. To be mental. To be acrobatic. To be aromatic. To be conservationistic. To be tidy, and to be disciplined and to eat only half a bag of Oreos at one sitting.

These attempts at goodness have one apparent result. I’m never happy with myself, because I’m never good enough. Does anyone else have this problem? Why is happiness as fleeting as the delicious smell of steak when I drive past a restaurant by with my car window open?

As I continually strive for goodness, here are some of the words I repeat to myself:

“Why am I dumb?”

“Why can’t I keep myself from distraction when I open the back door to throw a tin can in the recycle bin and end up wasting 20 minutes picking up the sticks strewn around the yard from last autumn’s windstorm?”

“You’re such an idiot!”

“Fool! Why are you blogging when you should be working on your taxes!”

“Where am I going?”

“Why am I here?”

“What’s the vertex angle of an isosceles triangle with a 2-centimeter base and a 5-centimeter leg?”

“Sigh”

“Huff puff.”

“Where’s the blasted potato peeler?”

“Rats.”

“Mice.”

“Other rodents and small weasels.”

“Poor, poor pitiful me.”

“Shameful.”

“Sadful.”

“Scandalful.”

Perfectionism is difficult. So difficult that the other day I looked up the word “perfect,” hoping to find some help for a condition that seems commendable on the surface, but in the end seems to cause nothing but miserable slavery to a standard I can’t reach.

Here’s a “perfect” quote I found:

You will keep in perfect peace all who trust in you, all whose thoughts are fixed on you.

What exactly does that mean? Peace? For perfectionists? Really? That sounds good. I’ll have to give this trust thing a try. Meanwhile, I’ve got to run, because I’m behind schedule and I’m running late, and it makes me mad, because I’m always such a darned… a darned…

TRUSTING PERSON!

Yes, that’s better.

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Filed under Happy to help, Humor, Life challenges, Time management, Trust, You're not alone!

Auto Text Confusion

Google images

Google images: pixgood.com

My daughter helped me set up my phone so that words I’m texting will automatically correct themselves before I finish typing them. She said that this is known as the “auto-spell” feature. It is supposed to be convenient, but it doesn’t always work that way. I was driving to an appointment the other day, when she texted me:

“Hi, Dad, it’s Rachel.”

I put my cereal bowl on the dashboard and pulled my phone from my pocket. Holding the steering wheel with my elbow, I texted, “Hi, Racer, hover yogurt toddy?”

She texted back, “Dad, turn off your auto-spell. It’s causing problems with your texting skills again.”

“Howl?”

“Go to ‘Messages’ and then scroll to ‘Settings’.”

“Oaken. The whittle?”

“Click on ‘Settings’.”

“I’m tryst, but boat not worming becalm my scream keeps goading blanch. Can u leaf me knot how 2 kelp my backlight on for a long shore speck? It offers after an only secondary.”

“What?”

“I saint, I is tried to got settlers, but mine screen door blackfish, because I donut hole how longer the live cellulite level monastery backlight at is.”

“Backlight?”

“Or what u ever call itch.”

By this time, my fingers were tired, so I pulled over and stopped the car so I could finish this text conversation.

“Dad,” texted Rachel, “I can’t understand a thing you’re texting. Can you just FaceSlap me now?”

“Actuary no, buzz I’m in the cart gnarly. I while call yo.”

“Why don’t you just call me?”

“Yet, that what I justice say. Let meet gone to mind speech dialysis now. Talk 22 you in a mice.”

“Okay,” texted Rachel, and she signed off.

I hit back, back, back on the keypad and then pressed 5, which is Rachel’s speed-dial number. I heard her phone ringing on the other end.

“Hello, Dad?” said Rachel.

“Yes, hi Rachel. How are you?” I said.

“I’m fine,” said Rachel.

“That’s good,” I said. “What were you texting me about?”

“Nothing, I just wanted to say ‘hi’.”

“Oh, hi.”

“Hi.”

“Well, gotta’ go,” said Rachel.

“Okay, bye,” I said.

“Bye.”

I pulled back onto the road and continued to eat my cereal. This texting is not what it’s cracked up to be, I said to myself. Then a cop ticketed me for wearing my seatbelt over the wrong shoulder.

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