At Least I Didnt Get Him Addicted to Crack.

My heart sinks deep into my belly whenever I see puffy rosy baby cheeks. I get irresistible urges to snack on chubby, munchy little baby knees and elbows. Just the sight of tiny onesies and miniature converse makes my voice reach this insane decibel in which I INVOLUNTARILY COO. And the smell of baby makes my ovaries quiver.

All of these things are true. In fact, Geoff likes to tell people that I am prone to stealing their offspring. Fair? No. But likely.

So with all of these truths, all of these admitions, you think I would make a really awesome mother right? Like the kind of really, really, kick.ass. mom that Dr. Phil and Oprah call to write articles about balancing career and motherhood?

Because I got to work about three hours ago and realized I HAVE NOT FED SIMON SINCE YESTERDAY MORNING.

For Real

A Conversation Between Soul Mates:

Scene Opens to a long distance phone call:


Me (As read in a tone signifying the importance of one bearing her confidence to the man she loves): ...blah blah blah...significant things...blah blah....body image issues...blah blah

Geoff (Interrupting): Wait! I have something important to tell you before you go on.

Me (Touched to be interrupted by what will undoubtedly be a compliment and a request to stop doubting my beautiful self. Gorgeous man, cant bear to hear me self deprocate): Yes?

Geoff (Obviously pleased with himself): There's a movie coming out in June...

Me (Slightly miffed on the obvious lack of compliment but thinking perhaps the conversation is taking an intellectual turn in which he will suggest a documentary on the entrapment of women in a society hell bent on making them feel badly about themselves): ...

Geoff: Check it out. Nazi... Zombies... (pause to allow for the apparent magnitude to set in) Seriously.

End Scene.

Singular Understanding

A very good friend of mine was broken up with this week.

I have no interest in revealing who this person is on the internet, but suffice it to say she is a singularly fantastic soul that was tragically under appreciated by the ass clown that was lucky enough to get to touch her boobies for 6 months.

She is taking it really really well. I remember my last breakup pre-Geoff that started with me taking 8 shots of tequila with my then roommates and ended with me trying to explain to a near stranger why its normal that I sometimes cry and burp tequila whilst making out on a bar stool. And I didnt even like that relationship that much.

Turns out there are classier ways to do things.

She has decided to avoid alcohol (clever girl) and perhaps barstools all together for a while, and is instead pouring her attention into more productive things like how to steal wine from his house.

In the meantime I have volunteered to deface his car (in a non-permanent, cant-get-arrested-for kind of way) and talked straight trash about him for the last three days. Because fuck him thats why.

Supportive, thy name is Mariana.

And Then My Heart Dropped Out of My Butt.

Being a generally productive and yet alarmingly naive member of society, I paid my taxes.

I saved my W-2 without the ado of last year, an adventure that required me to dumpster dive for the first and preferably last time in my life. But, being a quick learner, I opened that puppy and put it straight into the "vitally important" stack of mail on my entry table. Its the stack right next to the "not as important" and "coupons for things I might like to eat someday" stacks. I am nothing if not organized.

And in true testament to my adulthood, I didn't just leave that form in the dis-appropriately named stack to be discovered months later while searching for a long forgotten gift certificate. No. I actually used the damn thing to fill out government paperwork. Ok. I lie. I sent it to my Dad. Yes. The man still does my taxes. What?

The point is, I got the W2 to the appropriate tax paying receptical, and sat back waiting for my refund. Because given that my monthly paycheck shows me how much has been appropriated, and that amount is roughly the sum I used to get paid in my intern days, I assumed the ole GovT was done with me. And you know what assuming does. Makes an ASS out of the ME that thought she was getting a grip of REFUND.

I got an email from my Dad's tax woman (it sounds kinky but it isn't) asking me several questions, since this year has brought her the added joy of doing Geoff's taxes too. And I blithely hit "reply", chuckling to myself about all the Cadbury Eggs and sunless tanner I would buy with my refund. Until I got to the end of her message. And here is where today's post title comes in. My heart dropped out of my butt (a place it is never meant to drop out of) as I read that I OWED a substantial amount. OWED. ME. OWED. NO REFUND. Heart. In. Butt.

I hate taxes and I hate the government and Im pretty sure I want to delorean my ass (and subsequently attached heart) back to a time when April brought me things like refunds and Cadbury eggs and sunless tanner. Instead of what Im stuck in now, which is an April where I CANNOT AFFORD ANY CADBURY EGGS. What the hell Obama? I voted for your ass. Least you could do is kick me a refund.