April 16, 2010
Which means Ramen Noodles' stock is about to plummet.
Do you remember the overwhelming sensation of sucking an entire large ICEE through a fat straw at supersonic speed? We should name that feeling Tax Day.
I'm one of those people who doesn't consider tax season officially open until April 15th. Some people call it procrastination, but it's really more an issue of IT'SMINEMYMONEYMINEMINEMINE.
Yesterday, like every other tax day for the past 5 years was a blend of stress and flurried activity mixed with a steaming pile of freak out. This year I thought it would be super fun to self file with Turbo Tax instead of dropping well organized receipts (and $350) into the lap of my trusty H&R Block office. 'Cause I know how to partaaaaay. Also I figured that I would console myself while writing my annual check to Uncle Sam with the fact that HEY! I totally saved $350.
But do you know what? This year my head didn't explode all over my checkbook. I will not only not be writing a check addressed to Uncle Sam, but Uncle Sam will be writing a check to me. There. I said it. Out loud and everything. And the Earth didn't explode. Which means it must not be a cruel trick on the part of the universe. Universe, I think I love you.
I had decided to postpone my delica order until after my gray matter took up residence outside my body and this morning my inner alarm clock slapped me awake chanting BRING IT ON! So I brought it.
Oh internets, how I love the month of April/Juli. That saved cart of delica gorgeousness? Turned out to be a birthday present. From someone else. Which means I didn't have to pay for it. Which means I got to keep more of my money.
Turns out my head did end up exploding. From surprised delight. And I didn't even get any on my checkbook.