Tha Tax-Man (A Confession) The Blackout and The Head Cheese

Taxes, taxes everywhere but not a cent to pay with. Everybody has been freaking out about taxes lately to me. My sister Forensics told me about her tax horrors, my good friend Sarabellem was having a last-minute freak-out and then there's a cover story in the City Pages this week about Tax Scoff-Laws like me.

I want to be as open as possible on here, for whatever reason so here goes: I owe back-taxes. A LOT in back taxes. In fact, since some ghetto bitch at AT&T turned me on to the idea of changing your deductions for a little while, I haven't gotten one red cent back from either the State or Federal governement. I do my taxes like everyone else and realize I just created a bill that I need to pay. Me and paying bills have had an on-again off-again relationship ever since my very first bill for a JC Penney card I opened at the state fair one year because I wanted a free fanny pack (Shut up, fanny packs were COOL back then!!)

This last year I turned over a new leaf and decided that 29 is as good a time as any to get my act together financially. It didn't help that Crucial, a work-friend of mine used to look at her paycheck online in my presence and say: "Uh-uh. They ain't finna git MY money!" as she bumped up her deductions. I did the same. WOW did I have big paychecks, but damned if I don't owe the Feds a HUGE amount of money right now. Relax, Mr. Tax-Man, I have payment arrangements in mind. I just have to call you next week and set them up. I know from the experiences of my good friend The Nurse (student loan issues like every other college student) that garnishments are no fun. It's better I negotiate how much comes out than they decide for me.

I'm paying what I owe the state tomorrow for sure. The Feds are going to get about $50 per paycheck and whatever else I can throw at the debt until it's paid off. And my deductions? NEVER EVER EVER AGAIN WILL I BE THAT STUPID!! I want to break even like every other single person, thank you.

On a lighter note, Olympics, a pretty cute straight guy at work, confessed to me that he went out drinking last weekend and got so trashed big chunks of the nights were missing. Apparently he got him and his friends thrown out of damn near every bar in downtown Murderapolis. I jumped on this and told him that I wasn't comfortable with him hitting on me at the bar Saturday night and that I really wanted to keep things on a work level. He believed me for a second. He is slightly less capable of joy.

His friend Biceps (the health nut workout freak witht he great body) showed me a piece of head cheese today. I damn near hurled. It looked like a piece of flat pizza or fake dog vomit. If having a body like that means eating shit like THAT, I will stay fucking fat, thank you!!