Taxes. Need I say more?
This weekend has been like an episode of the Keystone Cops.
Let’s see: Yesterday, I took the dotter off to the dance studio so she and I could partake in the “how to do your daughter’s hair properly for the recital” show-and-tell. After much combing and twisting and wrapping (with a hair net) and spritzing with water and spritzing with hair spray, the dotter’s bangs were tamed and swept back. We arrived home, she showed it off to daddy, and I was about to go get some milk…
When I realized I had left my purse at the studio.
Did I mention the studio is normally closed Saturday and Sunday, and the hair demo was a special event?
Did I mention I’m going out of town on Monday, leaving Small Mountain University Town at 8:00 a.m.?
We spent hours trying to track down one of the teachers or the owner; all of the phone numbers we could locate that were, say, Esther Wallace, were for different Esther Wallaces. In desperation, I left an email to the MySpace address, and called and left a message on the phone at the studio, hoping against hope that someone would call in & get the message.
Then there was this morning’s desperate attempt to find TurboTax Deluxe (not Premier, and not Schedule C, and not Basic). OmegaDad couldn’t find it at Sam’s, and called me from there to tell me so. Anyone who is inclined to lecture me about waiting until the last minute can rest assured that I’ve already gotten that lecture from OD.
So we decided to buy it from the website.
I happily motored along, clicking here and there, until I went to check out. At which point, I remembered, I didn’t have my purse, and thus didn’t have my Visa card.
I call OmegaDad. I get his Visa number, and the 3-digit thingie (we think it’s the right one, but it’s been worn off the card). I hang up. I start filling in the details, and realize I forgot to ask for the expiration date. I call OmegaDad back. The phone rings immediately over to his voice mail.
I try many times. Each time, it goes to his voice mail.
An hour later, he calls back. I get the expiration date. He hangs up. I fill in the details. It gets rejected (that 3-digit thingie).
He calls back in a few. I tell him what happened. He gives me a different Visa number. It works. I download the program and start working on the taxes, grabbing my file of documents.
I try downloading my W2 from the electronic service SMU uses. It claims I’m not there.
Gasp!
Luckily, I had a printout of my final paycheck of 2006.
Then, I try locating OmegaDad’s W2. I know we have it. Somewhere. Hours later, while I’m still searching for OmegaDad’s W2, the phone rings.
Much to my delight, it’s Esther from the dance studio. I drive off to the dance studio, purseless and license-less, vewy, vewy cawfully. Please don’t arrest me, Mr. Police Officer!
I get back home & start the program. I can get my W2 from the electronic service quite nicely through TurboTax. I ask myself, if it works this way, why didn’t it work the other way??
Since that worked so nicely, we try getting OmegaDad’s the same way.
He works for the feds. It has to go through his personal finance page login. He doesn’t know what it is. The page says he can use his normal fed login. Woohoo! He logs in. The page says it needs to synchronize his accounts so that from now on he can use his normal fed login to get in. Soooo…he needs his personal finance page login. ARGH!
Luckily, I have found the last paystub from 2006 for him, too.
Oy.
So. I am outta here tomorrow early a.m. We don’t have OmegaDad’s W2. If the figures from his last paystub are correct, we get a nice refund. We have to wait because we haven’t the vaguest idea if the figures are correct. We’re filing an extension.
ARGH. I hate taxes.
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