I just checked the mail on this gloriously sunny day here in Seattle and found a great fistful of correspondence.

1. Everyone’s favourite tree-killer, Val-pak. Did you know you can remove yourself from their irritating mailing lists by simply calling?

2. A kawaii-stickered, purple-enveloped card from pen pal (either Easter greetings or birthday, I’m unsure yet)

3. A spidery, hand-written letter from my niece in Houston, prolly thanking me for whatever goofy thing I sent her in the post …

4. Bill and welcome notice from PSE, our gas company.

5. IKEA letter addressed to GC.

6. IKEA letter address to me, looks just like GC’s, so I’ll bet they are phone order receipts …

7. Letter from the IRS, forwarded from AZ.

Usually I organise my mail according to the boring stuff first then the goodies at the end. But with a letter from the IRS, I figured I’d go ahead and open that first.

What did I find?

I am being examined by the IRS.

I have checked various online sources to make sure that I read it correctly.

And yes, I am being audited.

It is a preliminary letter notifying me that in 2004, a rather large figure was reported by the financial institution and not by my accountants. I called his country ass to verify this and he said that he would take care of it once he received the letter, which I am forwarding today to his offices.

The ironic thing is that after I received my current prepared returns, I was going to seek different accountants to do my taxes from now on because I just don’t feel like I am getting the appropriate level of the service for the @..$^ing money that I pay. Just because he did my father’s taxes for years and years and years, does not grant him automatic goodwill towards me if his office staff lets their personal judgments about my life filter through when I have to speak to them. I mean, I felt like I was having to justify myself when my accountant asked how much I spent on this house and why didn’t I just buy a place in Houston? Because I’d have to live in HOUSTON, that’s why. I just think he, as a true old school good ole boy got along with my father better then with me … and it’s time to find someone who won’t make audible sighs when I inquire about this or that. Does that make sense? Like he wants to come right out and tell me how he feels about how I am living my life … but he does not know me well enough to do it?

Anyway, I’m irritated in the way that you get when you have sand between your toes with socks on or when you have a popcorn husk jammed in between your furthest back molars.

And I swear I have an insta-headache coming on.

Fuck. An audit by the IRS … can I go back to bed now?

Seeya on the flip side,
– a rather cross GermanCityGirl 😦

Music: None for the morning.

Meal: Appetite strangely absent.