Kasia March 3rd, 2008
Tax season does two things to me. First, it stirs up my normally-dormant terror of numbers, and makes my head spin with visions of being financially sodomized by the IRS and sent off to debtors’ prison to break rocks next to Tiny Tim and the bad guys from the Disney Robin Hood movie. I had that more or less under control until I bought a home and started itemizing deductions. Now I’m back to panic attacks; so since my father takes a well-deserved two-month vacation to Florida every February and March (hmm, wonder if the timing is intentional?), I’ve started going to a professional tax preparer, and will for a couple of years or so. Once the baseline is re-established, I might switch back to TurboTax.
The other thing tax season does to me, now that I’m itemizing deductions, is brings out my inner whiner. I do try to keep my inner brat in check most of the time, but what I’ve discovered as I’ve been cross-checking my receipts and digging through my checking account for documentation of things like co-pays and gifts to organizations that didn’t bother to send me a receipt (*cough* you know who you are *cough*), she comes out with a vengeance. I find myself coming up with all sorts of things that SHOULD be deductible, darn it, even if Uncle Sam McStinkypants doesn’t think they should be. WAAAAAHHH!
(Note that my tongue is planted firmly in my cheek. Please don’t think I would necessarily advocate these write-offs as a matter of public policy!)
For example, a few years ago when the OMB decided that credit cards were doing bad things to people by having unreasonably low payments – and I appreciate why that’s bad, mind you – and decided to rectify it by recommending higher payments, I decided that if Uncle Sam reeeeeally wanted to help Joe American get out of credit card debt, there should be a tax incentive for paying down your principal, or some sort of partial interest write-off, or some such. I’m sure with all the brains in Washington, they could come up with something.
Well. Digging through my checking account, I was reminded of that, and I came up with some more:
- Utilities. Come on. With how fuel prices have gone up – and will continue to go up – over the past several years, don’t you think Uncle Sam could give us some kind of break on this? I mean, utilities are quite possibly the most boring – and most ignored – of all basic bills. People who actually pay them, and on time no less, should get some kind of carrot for doing so. (Yes, I mean above and beyond not having them shut off. It’s enough to make me pay them, but it’s not enough to make me like it!)
- On a related note, gas to drive to and from work. We’re up at $3/gallon now, and they’re projecting $4/gallon for the summer. Since I live in Detroit, the belly of the automotive whale, and giving adequate funding to buses (much less building some other public transit network) is tantamount to treason, I think we should get some kind of break. Don’t you?
- Cat litter. For Pete’s sake, Uncle Sam, my cats aren’t smart enough to use the toilet. Doesn’t that count as some kind of disability? Let’s not discriminate against Feline-Americans here! They need SOMEthing to poop in!
- Anything paid to the government, including the ginormous application fee for the Canuck’s K-1 visa application. Is it my fault I fell in love with a foreigner? Don’t discriminate! Give me a write-off!
- Car and home insurance. Yes, they’re good things to have; but the law forces me to have the former, and the mortgage company forces me to have the latter. And that ranks up there with utilities as un-fun things. I think anything un-fun should be at least partially deductible as a matter of principle. Including my condo association fees. Come to think of it, with how useless my association proved to be over the last year or so, I’m thinking those should count as a charitable gift to the management company…
I did warn you that this was a whiny post. Don’t worry. Once I’ve seen my tax guy, and have found out how much of my money I’m going to get back, I’ll probably snap right back to normal.
On the other hand, if I’m not getting as much back as I think I should, I may end up in a bunker somewhere in Montana, eating cold canned soup and talking to myself…