SelfAbsorbed.ME : ‘It’s Your Life, We Just Write it Funnier’

This past weekend, as I was happily going about my business, getting ready for the movies, I received a most disturbing phone call from my accountant. He effectively ruined my day with one simple phrase, “you owe money on your taxes.” I dropped the phone. Say WHAAAAAAAAAAT?!?!?! I never owe money on my taxes! In fact, I look forward to tax season because I always get money back.  After he explained to me, three times, why I owed money this week, I started to cry and he hung up on me. Apparently, accountants aren’t the most sensitive of people.

Turns out I screwed up my W-9 at a former job and stupidly opened, and later closed, an IRA that I was peer-pressured into opening by a friend who had started a new job and needed new clients. After all is said and done, I owe a considerable . . . .  well, I guess that depends on your definition of considerable, but to me, anything over $1k is considerable . . . . amount of money. When I called to tell my parents my sob story, my dad delivered the news that this money is owed by April 15th. Say WHAAAAAAAAAAAT?!?!?! I was under the delusional impression that the U.S. government and I could work out some sort of monthly payment plan, like me and Victoria’s Secret. Turns out, no such luck. Bastards.

And, to make matters worse, a good friend of mine is getting married in April. In Miami. This means that I not only have to fork over way too much money to the government, but I also have to find money for a plane ticket, hotel room and wedding gift! To help me pay for all of this, I’ve started praying that I win the lottery, even though I don’t play lotto, or that I meet a sexy, rich, man who wants to provide for me. But I’ve also come up with a back up plan. Just in case.

My backup plan is (drum roll please) . . . stripping! YES! Being a stripper has always been a sort of dream of mine, ever since I was a young, drunk, college girl. I remember one night, after several rounds of beer pong, I got the brilliant idea to go to the town strip club and try out for a position. My friends (males and females) thought this was a great idea too and they helped me get ready and even made signs of enoucragement that they planned to hold up high above their heads as I sloppily danced around on stage, drunk, and half naked, in front of a room full of old, overweight, townies. It was the perfect plan, except for when we arrived and were told that they were booked for the evening. However, one stripper, who had apparently taken a shine to me, encouraged me to come back during the week and try again. We all left feeling pretty disappointed and rejected and went back to the bar to comfort ourselves.

And no, I never did wind up going back to the strip club because I sobered up and wondered, what the hell was I thinking?

So, I guess it’s back to wishing for my rich Prince Charming to come and save me from my debt to the government. In the meantime, I am now accepting any and all donations. And if you don’t donate, I may be forced to become a stripper. Is that really something you want on your conscience?