I don’t need your judgment, Turbo Tax.

I decided I was so jazzed about having to stay sober for the Oscars that I was just going to go all out and make today and awesome day and do my taxes! And file my FAFSA! Because I may not have a job next year so I sure as hell had better have some student loans available!

*ahem*

This is not, in fact, as industrious as it may seem. I use the baby return forms for people with no discernible assets and I even use Turbo Tax because I got fed up with the online forms that refused to download. Whatever, I don’t have time for you, IRS.gov.

But this morning I noticed that Turbo Tax was getting a little judgy. Like, during the little “collecting personal information” part:

Based on the information you’ve provided, we think you should file as SINGLE.

Yeah. I guess.

Just to confirm, you have elected to file as SINGLE.

Yup.

This means that you are not now, nor were you ever married during 2010.

No, I was not.

In fact, you probably didn’t even date that much and will most likely end up alone.

Wait, what?

You were alone for all of 2010, correct? This is the IRS. You can’t lie.

You don’t have a “happy and very very busy with graduate school” return?

No.

Okay.

What is your date of birth?

LOOK I’M ONLY 23 OKAY?

Hmm. Based on the information you’ve provided you’d be an old maid in the Regency Era.

Can we move on?

Fine. Do you (just you, because you don’t have a husband) have any offshore accounts?

No.

Do you (just you) own six homes (not seven)?

No.

Do you (just you) own seven homes?

Still  no.

Did you give money to a Nigerian prince?

No.

Are you a Nigerian prince?

No.

Would you like to marry a Nigerian prince? Because you’re single and filing as such?

No. Really. I’M GOOD THANKS.

Okay. We’ve calculated your final return. Please review before submitting.

“You [make a paltry sum of money], you [live with your parents so you can’t even claim the huge amount of tuition YOU paid as a deduction], you [have no dependents because no one wants to knock you up].”

Yeah. That’s about right.

Congratulations! You will be receiving a refund of [about three cents]! Would you like that in a gift card?

Can it be to H&M?

No.

Then just direct deposit, please.

All right! It will deposited to your (just yours, not your non-existent husband’s) account. Thank you for using Turbo Tax!

Oh, shut up.

Okay. I may a teensy bit sensitive.

Flight

This past weekend we had a massive snow/ice storm that destroyed Southeastern Wisconsin and killed babies and stranded kittens in trees and yet somehow still wasn’t as bad as Snowpocalypse or a continued debate about the budget bill.

At least according to the newscasts that went something like this: “Today protesters broke through a one-inch thick sheet of ice covering their homes to return to the Capitol for Day 829 of the protests…”

(I swear. It’s becoming like the hostage crisis.)

Anyway, our power kept flashing on and off. Which was mildly annoying because, uh, I’m trying to write a response paper here please so if we could just keep the power on for more than a min…DAMMIT.

It stopped being annoying and became a little bit terrifying when the power outages were preceded by flashes of blinding neon blue light that surrounded our house. And then it went totally dark. Because that’s not disturbing at all.

(Alien invasion and the apocalypse were quickly considered and discarded because I think aliens even want to avoid Madison this week and I’m not a fundamentalist Christian.)

It became downright terrifying when we realized that the flash of neon blue light was coming from huge sparks from the wires RIGHT OUTSIDE THE HOUSE and, you know, SPARKS ELECTRICITY HOUSE NOT GOOD.

So we called the power company and they started working on it but what with the union thing going on, I was not content to just assume everything was going to be fine. I figured this house was going down in a blaze and I should probably be prepared. So everyone else gathered an appropriate number of things like socks and coats and things you can’t replace just in case.

I gathered a weekender (Very Bradley, natch) bag that included the following:

– My German dictionary. Because I hate German and even though it was only $8 it galled me to think about having to buy another one.

– Witness to Hope. Because if you’re a refugee somewhere I can’t imagine anything better than 1000 pages that you need to read anyway.

– My folder that contains my notes for my paper this semester. BECAUSE YOU DO NOT WANT TO DEAL WITH ME IF I HAVE TO READ MORE ABOUT HOW PAUL VI WAS MISUNDERSTOOD.

– My Kirsten doll. Shut up. I’m an adult.

– My Rebecca doll. I MEAN IT.

– A makeup bag. Because I know someone would probably kick me out of the caravan if I said, “Uh, hey…could we just stop at BareMinerals really quick?”

– A change of clothes. Because I always thought it was sad that refugees lost all their clothes.

– My UWM sweatshirt. Because those are expensive. And I want to be able to show my children and say, “Hey, remember when we had a UW system?”

– My hair straightener. Because I’m vain.

– My $23 conditioner. Ditto.

– My Ethnic 203 binder because even if I was living in a shelter somewhere I’d still have to go to work because I wouldn’t want people to think I was “sick”.

Interestingly, my computer and flash drive that contains ALL MY GRADING only made the second cut when I realized the house wasn’t actually on fire THAT SECOND.

Yeah. So. I’m pretty sure if I’m ever fleeing…well, anywhere, I’ll pretty much just be laughed at and waved out of the country.

Which actually might not be a bad thing. See, Mom? You have nothing to worry about with Spain.