Boy, did I get some bad news yesterday. Nothing life-threatening, but definitely something that's going to put a crimp in my style until the end of June: I owe taxes out the wahzoo.
Now, in 2003, I was able to put a large chunk of money into my retirement fund to avoid this fate, but in 2004 I put a large chunk of money down on a cottage, instead. As a result, I have no money to keep the Feds at bay.
And these are the same Feds who think people like me should be grateful we get to breathe the same air as "normal" folks, even while they're despoiling this same air and generally doing a reverse Robin Hood on our sorry selves. In other words: I not only have to come up with a lot of money, I have to come up with a lot of money for people who are out to get me (not that I feel singled out--they're out to get just about everybody who isn't rich, white, "Christian" and heterosexual).
I've been wrangling with a bit where I say, "Fine, you don't want me to get married and have the same protections as straight folks? Well, what you going to give me in return? I pay the same damn taxes as straight folks, so if I don't get the same goods, give me a deduction--that's right, a god-damned DYKE DEDUCTION."
No, it's not funny, which is why I'm still working on it. And it's not as if I'll ever live to see that day, either. I tell you, if I were given the choice between equal treatment for me and my gal and a tax deduction representing everything we don't get because we're dykesauruses, I'd be sorely tested today. I'd get over myself and choose equal treatment, but I'd waver.
But then, what the heck do I really need to buy? I've got more than enough stuff--just ask Linda.
Speaking of Linda, we went to the clinic yesterday to have her checked out, and have to return for yet another ultrasound in three months. The doctor seems to think what he sees is nothing to worry about, but then he keeps asking us back for another look--just to be safe. Is this a confusing state of affairs, or what? I'm trying not to worry about it, but I know it's in the back of my mind and likely Linda's, too. Here's hoping we show up in June and they finally say, "Oh, it's nothing. Go home and never darken our door again!" It could happen, couldn't it?
Realize we were such lesbians at the clinic (get your mind out of the gutter, folks): While we waited in the examining room for the doctor, we worked on the brackets for the upcoming NCAA women's basketball tournament (Linda's in a pool). Lesbians? Basketball?! Embrace the stereotype, say I!
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