Thanks, but.....?

So yesterday, as is my custom, I’m watching the national news, and they have one of those teasers as to what the next segment is going to be.

“Up next! We meet a woman who fought back against the IRS….”

Next thing you know, the phone rings insistently. In my usual intuitive fashion, I know who it’ll be.

Ring ring

Me: I know mom, I’m watching the news.

Mom, all excited: You’re watching channel 7? You saw they’ll have something about the IRS?

Me: Yep, I’m on it.

Clearly this was going to be a David vs. Goliath story, where this lone woman took on The Man, pushed back against their absurdity, and emerged victorious. Proletariats, unite!

Then the story comes on.

And they show this woman who, yes, has engaged in battle with the IRS. She owed them the astronomical sum of about $3K – and paid them in full. And had forms and receipts showing this. And yet the IRS didn’t believe her, so they took out more money from her bank account – this time $5K+, for the original supposed amount plus interest and penalties. And then they were still harassing her- showing up at her door, calling at all hours, etc. Now saying that she owed them $7K. This woman then tried using the Taxpayer Advocate service – and those folks determined that yes indeed, she had paid the IRS in full and should get that second $5K back. But the IRS wouldn’t budge.

Then ABC news got involved. Wrote to the various congressmen responsible for overseeing the IRS – no response. Contacted the IRS, got a standard form letter in return: “If we have erred in any way, we apologize for this theoretical error that may or may not actually be an error and may or may not have actually occurred.”

The story ends with this poor woman still out her money, with not even the ABC people being able to help her. I try to call my mom back, to chuckle about this rather depressing story. No answer. Undoubtedly, she’s gone out drinking.

I am sooooo screwed.

More fruitless ramblings

I had an epiphany the other day, about why people hate the IRS so much. Oh sure, you’re thinking – that’s kind of low-hanging fruit there Miss Tasha, now isn’t it? But hear me out. I truly think that most people would NOT hate the IRS quite as much as we all do if there were one important component to the system, which is clearly sadly lacking: equitability. Fairness. I think we’d pay our taxes and still grumble at all the waste and fraud, but there would also be an element of “okay this sucks, but we’re all in this together and it sucks equally for all of us.”

Except that’s not the case.

I see it this way – it’s like being in line at the amusement park. It’s hot, you’re waiting a long time, but there’s a feeling of general camaraderie. Until those bastards go whizzing past you in the fast-track line, that they’ve paid extra money to use. Suddenly, there’s a sense of, Proletariats of the World, Unite!

Because that’s bullshit. If

there should be equality anywhere, it should be at the amusement park, where you all suffer together, dammit, no matter your station in life. You want fast-track, go build your own Disney, okay, Mr. Moneybags? And that’s how it’s always been, until recently. Which is just not right.

So here we are, the poor schlubs paying our taxes, because we can’t afford expensive lawyers or accountants to figure out all the tax loopholes for us – and then we read about those asshole GE people, making their $16 BILLION in profits, yet not paying a penny in taxes. Or our politicians here in Illinois – who at the last election also revealed that they paid nothing. And the list goes on.

But of course, no one cares about us, which is why – as usual – I took my grievances to the local paper. Where they’ll be summarily ignored – also as usual. But hey, at least it made ME feel better. This is also for all of you, my little proletariat friends. One day, we too will rise up. I hope. Or move to Canada. That’s looking like a better and better option these days.

To the editor:

It was with no small amount of disgust that I read about GE – in spite of making $16 billion in profits – not paying a penny in federal income taxes. This, against the backdrop of my own audit by the IRS. Oh, but you’re probably thinking, as most people do, surely you must have done something to deserve an audit? Some tricky accounting that flagged your returns?

Come to think of it, yes. First, I’ve made the deadly mistake of being self-employed. Clearly, based on how many of us are chosen for audits, the IRS frowns on this kind of aberrant activity.

Then, I made the true mother of all mistakes: I got cancer. And a month later, while still training for Ironman while working on coming up with a treatment plan for my out-of-the-blue Stage 2 breast cancer, I was in a bad bike crash, and had bleeding on the brain and a broken collarbone as a result.

This of course meant that not only did any income come to an abrupt halt, as not only could I not type or work on a computer, but I was also in LaLa land as far as the brain injury was concerned. One would think that the IRS could subsequently put two and two together, and think hmm, little income, huge medical bills, this must somehow correlate.

One would think wrong.

So yes, now I’m being audited for 2008, 2009, and oh yes, they’ve decided to throw 2006 in there as well. Because they managed to lose my return for that year, so I had to recreate it – again, while dealing with these medical issues and being not quite all there mentally.

And what are the supposed red flags that the IRS wants to take a closer look at? My medical bills, of course – they’ve expressed shock and amazement that one’s medical expenses could actually be so high. My utilities. Yes, utilities. Do people really lie about their gas bills on their taxes?? Then of course my property taxes. Apparently no one from the IRS actually lives in the real world, or at least the real world as it exists in Chicago, where all of these things are ridiculously high.

The end result is that now, as I’m trying to cobble together some semblance of a post-cancer life, and am looking for work (anyone want to hire a self-employed marketing and communications expert?), trying to figure out how to pay my bills, etc., I’m also being forced to dig through literally hundreds of pieces of paper – all my medical bills, a legacy of not just treatment but epic battles with my recalcitrant insurance company – to find every last receipt and bill.

And as I’ve said to my friends, even if the IRS does find some issues with my return, you can’t get blood

from a turnip. But I suppose it’s easier for them to go after me and those of my ilk, rather than the GEs of the world, and the investment bankers. Those who can afford to lawyer up, who make the real money, they manage to avoid getting on the IRS’s radar. I am apparently a much easier target.

It was bad enough that my life was completely derailed by cancer; now the IRS has taken over that role. But hey, as long as GE and companies like it are in good stead, who cares about the little people? Let them eat cake, I say. It’s worked so well for all of us thus far.

Why retailers love me, part 64

Oh, I know that all of my eighteens of fans out there in the blogosphere have assumed that my lack of writing lately is due to the fact that my life is a total trainwreck. That I’m lost in the sea of despair, mired in a quagmire of hopelessness, floundering in a briar patch of calamity. That I’m spending my days – and nights – Ativaning and teledrinking myself into oblivion, cursing and bemoaning my fate in life while burning mini-replicas of GE executives and IRS agents in effigy. There is no happy shiny swirly twirly gumdrop land in TashaWorld.

And you know – that’s not too far from the truth. Life does indeed suck, and I find myself so bogged down by the suckiness of it all that I’m paralyzed into a state of inertia. I don’t know where to start with anything – should I be gathering the scraps of paper from 2008 that the IRS wants? Or working on the 2010 taxes? Or wondering how I’ll come up with the $4700 to pay my property taxes for HALF the year? Or pointlessly sending out more resumes, since no one ever gets back to me? Oh, where to begin!

Drugs and teledrinking are my friends. Not my only friends by far – but good friends nevertheless. You know how I was waiting for that ONE good thing to happen in my life, to let me know that it’s not all totally hopeless? Yeah, still waiting. Well, there is the potential stalker - but that can wait until another blog post.

So where was I…oh yeah, despair, bitterness, suckiness. But you know, even in the darkest of moments there can be great hilarity, so why the hell have I not been all over that? And here’s where we get to the crux of the matter: computer suckage.

As we all know, technology hates me. It’s true. A fact. So my PC that’s only a couple of years old, it’s been slowly giving up the ghost in a particularly cranky and annoying manner. Slowing down, not wanting to get online – but the worse thing has been the keyboard, aka the Instrument of Satan. The keys on the IoS kept sticking, and so – carefully following instructions I found on the internets – I’d pry off individual keys carefully to try to fix them, and of course what happened? Yeah, the keys wouldn’t go back on. So I lost the q, which wasn’t too bad. Then the m. Then, the horror of losing the comma. Not just the comma, but the little plastic doohickey that I could still press so as to be able to use the q and m? Yeah, it fell off. So I superglued it back on. Which then made it stiff as a rock, so to use a comma I have to press REALLY HARD on it.

Which is why I’ve been using a heck of a lot of dashes instead lately.

And you can imagine that typing has been a bit of a PITA.

Until today.

Today, the glorious day that I’m typing away on a Macbook Pro. WITH all the keys. Imagine that! Let’s go back to that beautiful day Friday when I made my way to the Apple Store….

(que Wayne’s World music)

I stride in briskly, as usual, and the 12-year old workers at the front of the store barely glance up. Okay, they give me a chipper hello, but I’m on a mission so I keep moving. I know what I need, and don’t need pesky youths hovering over my shoulder. Ah, there they are – the MacBooks. I get to work.

(15 minutes later)

Me: Oh hi mom!

I’m meeting my mom here for lunch, since I’ve gone to the Apple Store in Deer Park IL rather than the one in Skokie.

Mom: Wha….

Me: Hold on just a sec….finishing up here….okay then!

Mom: What are you typing?

Me: Oh, I’m just pulling up my blog on all the laptops here. A service for the little people, as I call it. Why should they be forced to read boring websites when they can bask in the brilliance of my blog?

Young Apple Guy: Can I help you folks?

Me: Oh, I’m interested in the laptops – I was just pulling up my blog.

We look down the row of laptops and see the distinctive blue green screen of my blog on every screen. I smile brightly.

YAG: Sure, that makes sense, have to see what the important stuff looks like.

Me: Exactly! Oh, and look, here I have pictures of my dogs. Aren’t they adorable?

Mom: But don’t you want to….

Me: Look! Here’s Timmy! Precious, no?

YAG: He’s great….

Me, cooing: And look, here’s The Kone! Ooh, and here’s a pic of the two of them.

Me, adding: I’m going to wind up on some website about customersfromhell, aren’t I…..

YAG, chuckling weakly: Oh NO, of course not….

Me: Aren’t you fortunate I came to this store specifically because it’s in Lake County, so I pay 6% sales tax rather than the 10% in Cook County? Yes, I’m stubborn that way. It’s the principle of the thing!

YAG: Oh, I’d do the same thing.

Hmm. He’s doing a good job of humoring me. We then further vex him by trying to prove that my mom is indeed a retired teacher and so we should get the 10% discount. Because I’m beyond po’, so my mom is buying me the computer as an early birthday gift.

Mom: Okay, here’s my insurance card…..my AAA card…..my senior discount at De…

Me, interrupting: Mom! None of that works. Don’t you have anything that says “former teacher” on it?

Mom: Here’s my AARP card……my punch card for the eyebrow lady at the mall……

Me: Mom! How about your bank account? Would it show where your pension check comes from?

Mom: Oh wait! I know! I just got an email about a Retired Teacher’s Luncheon next week.

I log into my mom’s email account and voila, there it is! At this point poor YAG is looking a bit like a deer caught in headlights.

Me: So what do you think, will that work? We could also try….

YAG: NO! I mean, no, that’s fine, perfectly fine, that’s enough proof right there, yes sirree, absolutely, not a problem at ALL……

He dashes off to get the computer. Oddly, someone else comes back over to finish checking us out. I’m sure it’s a mere coincidence that we didn’t see YAG again, right? Right??

Anyway, you don’t appreciate the beauty of typing with all the keys intact until that’s no longer an option. So tonight, I’m grateful for computer keys. Especially that damn comma.

For today...that’s all I got.

Chugging along on the Bitterness Train

So I’m more pissed off than ever these days. I know, I know, what else is new, right? Well, the more I think about all this IRS crap, the more pissed off I get. Seriously, you people are auditing me because you don’t understand how someone can make so little money in the year they’re diagnosed with cancer and have a bike crash/brain injury and are thus unable to work? Really? And then you also don’t understand how someone could have such high medical bills? Do you people even watch the news once in a while?? You know, to have a clue about those skyrocketing medical costs all of us out here have been yammering about. Apparently not.

So in my mind, they’re picking on the broke person with cancer because, quite frankly, they’re idiots. I mean really. Let’s let Bernie Madoff get away with scamming billions and billions of dollars for years, and let’s see nothing wrong with IL politicians paying zero in their own federal income taxes – but let’s pick on Miss Tasha.

And I have to give credit here to my most awesome friend George from Canada, who tried to help me out by contacting my congressmen to tell them how appalled he was, as a Canadian citizen, that I was having this crap foisted on me. And to the credit of Mike Quigley’s office (current congressman, who I once played ice hockey against!), they did contact me. I sent them the info, they sent off an inquiry, blah blah. Then yesterday I’m toodling around on the Googles, and I’m trying to see if this “contact your Congressman” idea ever does any good – and I find a website where a lawyer is answering a question, and basically says – oh, you don’t want to contact your Congressman except as a last final resort. We consider that – are you ready for this? – the nuclear option.

Fantastic. So now the IRS will be even MORE determined to find something wrong, just to prove they were right.

Tonight I was talking to Normal Brother Andrew from California, and I tell him my latest woes and how I’m basically screwed. Because once they start looking at your bank statements, suddenly everything is income, even if you’re just being reimbursed or paid back for something. And expenses, pshaw, why did you think that was deductible? I tell him all this, and there is…..silence. And then:

Andrew: Wow. Well……so……I guess things really did get worse, huh?

This, from my brother of the “It could always be worse” fame.

So, my friends, in times like these, when your life is falling to pieces all around you and there’s no bright spot on the horizon, not a glimmer, one is left with only a few options.

The first is to hunker down, hide from the world, which I guess is what I’ve been doing, but it hasn’t done much good. Trouble still hunts me down, like the sly bastard it is.

The second is to check out, as in check out. I can’t say it hasn’t crossed my mind, but….no. Not an option.

Then there’s the third option. Oh sure, I guess there are other things one can do – like join a monastery, or go AWOL, etc, - but when everything is scraped down to bare nothingness, this seems like the only realistic thing to do. Yes, the only one.

So yes, I’m doing it. I’m heading to N’Awlins. It’s not quite putting the band back together, because my former fellow NOLA-travelers have full normal lives unlike myself – but rumor has it that Craig can be persuaded to head to the Bayou with me and as many of my awesome CancerChick friends as we can round up.

Or, as I put it on Facebook – “I’m broke, I’m being audited, I’m probably headed to jail – fuck it, I’m going to New Orleans.”

So it has been spoken, so it shall be done. Not tomorrow, and not next week, but soon. Because, as I like to put it, when you’re robbing the bank you don’t worry about double-parking. And because……life is short. And the IRS can just suck it.

The Reckoning, part II

I glare at them as they come in, toting their wheelie bags of torture documents, and as soon as I open the door, I realize – oh yeah, I have Dobes. Big dogs. Oh well.

AMIL: Oh…oh boy….can’t you put them aw….
Me: NO! They’re little lambs, look at them. Konie baby, no jumpies!
OMIL: Aren’t those dogs mean…
Me, firmly: Lambs. Precious little lambs. Just keep walking to the back room, try not to let them trip you up.

They finally make it back, and to the boys’ delight, I give them big marrow bones to gnaw on to keep them occupied. The interrogation begins.

Me: First, should I put on some coffee? Would you like a brownie? I made them just for you guys, to soften you up.
OMIL and AMIL: Oh no, thank you, we’re fine.
Me: Do you guys really operate under a “No Snackie” rule? My friends and I were wondering this.
(speaking at the same time)
OMIL: Not really…
AMIL: Yes.

(pause)

OMIL: Okay then, so, before we start, do you have any questions?
Me: Well, yes, I suppose. Why are you people bothering me? How did I get picked for this?
OMIL: It’s a random process…
Me, ranting: It’s not like I make any money! Especially in 2008!
OMIL: Oh, that reminds me, we’re going to audit 2006 too.
Me: WHAT??? You can’t do that! What happened to the 3 years statute of limitations? I can barely find my papers from LAST year, now you want 2006??
AMIL, who’s been silent until now: Blah blah random explanation that’s probably made up blah blah can look at returns up to 7 years back blah blah.
Me, muttering: Well, good luck with that.
Me, more loudly: I don’t get it – what’s the deal? Do you think I have a printing press in my basement? Gold brick manufacturing in the garage? What??

Yes, I actually said these things.

OMIL: Well no, but when your income is less than your expenses….
Me: I know, it’s a problem! I’m po’! Everyone knows this!
OMIL: Well, that’s why we…oh….oh! No thank you, I don’t need that.

Kona has come along and, in showing off his generosity of spirit, has decided that Mean IRS Lady #1 needs to partake of his bone. His slimy marrow bone. Which he’s just placed into her lap, on her black pants. Oh my.

Me, smiling weakly: Heh heh, that’s my boy, he’s generous that way. Umm, where were we?

OMIL starts with the questions, and we’re trucking along, until we get to a question that almost has me burst out in laughter.

OMIL: So, would you say your income in 2008 was typical? Less than other years? More than?
Me, giggling: Oh, I’d say I made significantly less – I did only work half a year you know. That was the year of The Cancer. (Sad Cancer Face)

I go through my spiel – The Cancer, bike crash, broken collarbone which left me unable to type, brain injury that left me stupid, daily radiation treatments, etc. I think this either brings AMIL over to my side – or they’re suddenly segueing into a good cop/bad cop routine.

AMIL: OH! Oh no! That’s my foot!

Timmy has come along and plunked his little head on her foot, as he’s continuing to chew on his bone.

Me: Tim Tim! Move please.
AMIL: He’s cute. Are you planning on keeping him?
Me, sighing: No, it’s too hard as a single person. Plus it’s so expensive… (Sad Cancer Face)

She reaches out to pet him and he sits there like a good little boy, and I tell her about where he came from, and she tells me about a friend of hers who works in rescue. OMIL can’t get a word in edgewise.

OMIL: So back to these questions!

Me: Oops, sorry. Kona, no!

He’s just dropped his bone on her lap for about the seventh time. This is getting to be a bit Monty Python-esque.

Me: I can see the headline now – “Woman jailed for IRS agent harassment.” Just send me the dry cleaning bill. They love you guys, by the way! I keep giving them bones to keep them occupied.
AMIL, giggling: That one likes you Yvette – you’ll have to take him home with you!

Kona is now trying to climb into OMIL’s lap. Sigh.

AMIL: Oh, and are those poinsettias? How do you keep them alive so long?

Thus follows a long conversation about how I keep my poinsettias alive, and how hers always crap out by mid-January, but how she’s tried to overwinter them, etc. OMIL manages to break in every once in a while with a question, which I think AMIL finds slightly annoying. We’re bonding here, okay? Hmph. Kona keeps burying his head in my lap, which I figure has to be a good thing, yes? I mean, it’s not like Bernie Madoff had dogs that adored him, right? So according to the transitive function, Kona loves me ergo I am a wonderful, non-tax-evading gem of a person.

AMIL: So if you wind up needing to pay for any of these documents you need, like from the bank, you just call Yvette and let her know – we don’t want you to have to pay for anything. We’re trying to be the kinder, gentler IRS you know….

My eyes widen in disbelief, but somehow, by the grace of god or someone, I manage to remain silent at that.

Timmy then starts barking, loudly, apparently to indicate that this interview should be over. Luckily, they’re wrapping up, telling me what the next steps are, blah blah blah. I’ve been informed that this will “go on for quite some time” – yippee.

Let the drinking commence….

The day of reckoning is here

8:40AM

I get home with Kona from the dog park, and discover a tragedy at home that pushes all thoughts of Mean IRS Lady from my mind: we’re out of marrow bones! I look at my watch, the boys’ beseeching faces, my watch……and head out to the store. Priorities, people, it’s all about priorities.

9:15AM

Whew, made it home in time. I wonder if she’ll show up exactly on time? Damn, I should have made a bundt cake.

9:30AM

Doorbell rings – the boys start going crazy, and I go open the door. To find…..two people? WTF? Aren’t there rules against this?

Me: Wait, there are two of you?

Yvette, aka Original Mean IRS Lady: Yes, is that okay?

Me: Well, I was expecting just you so I’m not prepared for two, but sure.

Addendum Mean IRS Lady: Wait, dogs, you have dogs? I don’t like dogs.

Me: Yes, I have two dogs, but they’re friendly.

AMIL: Can you put them away in a room?

Me: A room? No. No I can’t. They will not be denied.

OMIL: You can’t separate them? She really is scared of dogs.

Me: They’re friendly, and they will NOT take well to being pushed aside.

AMIL: We have rules about dogs.

Me, getting huffy: Well! I told HER that I had two dogs and she said that was fine!

So we’re not exactly off to a great start here. Mind you, they haven’t even seen the boys yet. Oy….

(to be continued....)

Okay, I’m back

I know, I know, that was quick. And as usual, I know what you’re thinking:

“But Miss Tasha – we be all worried ‘bout you! And here you be, waltzin’ in like nobody’s business! What be up with dat, girlfriend?”

(For some reason, grammar goes out the window when my sixteens of readers speak to me. I know, I don’t quite get it either.)

I think this is a large part of why the Universe hates me – because I’m the most stubborn person in creation, and I refuse to let The Man keep me down. I guess I’m kind of like the evil villain in a slasher movie who won’t stay dead even though he’s been shot multiple times, bathed in acid, and hung and quartered. Err, or I’m like a Weeble-Wobble. Take your pick.

Plus the billions of emails I’ve gotten from friends offering sympathy, advice, their accountant husbands and friends, alcohol, flamethrowers, etc., has warmed my soul. Truly. Whereas yesterday I was despondent, today I am….okay, still despondent, but writing up in my head a post about the amusing conversations I’ve had with friends and my brother about the IRS. My brain will not be stopped. Plus, as always, I have some useful Tips from Miss Tasha, for those of you also facing this idiocracy known as an IRS audit. To wit, this is what I’ve learned from searching the internets:

• If you’re being audited, you’re screwed. Be paranoid and suspicious and realize that they’re out to get you.
• Be polite to the auditor – they’re just doing their jobs.
• Their goal is to trip you up, so say nothing, use one-word answers.
• Be open and forthright about everything.

Umm, okay. I guess.

As for why I’m being audited, I finally figured out the reason. The IRS can’t understand why someone of my brilliance and overall fabulousness isn’t rolling in money and fame and fortune; hence, they assume that I am, and are coming over to search the premises. Or as my dear friend Motya put it –

“I blame Komen. The IRS is thinking, "Oh, Miss Tasha has the cancer, so she must be swimming in monetary donations that she has failed to report. We'll get her!"

Damn you Komen! Yet another thing you’re responsible for. But yes, I’ll be dressing up mighty fine on Audit Day, in one of my many pieces of Fuck Cancer attire. That way Ms. Audit Lady will know exactly what she’s dealing with: a crazy person.

Next up: Conversations with my brother, and my potential tactics for dealing with Audit Day

P.S. For the purposes of this blog post, please substitute "Audit Alert" for Rumspringa. Thank you.