Wednesday, May 11, 2005

I'm Melting!!!! I'm Melting!!!

Well, I'm not melting in an ice cream or snowman kind of way. I mean it in the melt down sense of the word. I do love the world melt down. Nothing can quite conjure up the image of just hysterical sobbing, outpouring of snot and eyes puffed shut like those two words.

I keep reading how my hormones are supposed to be more balanced now that I'm approaching the end of my second trimester. Which is a nice theory. But the thing is, they weren't balanced before. So really, they only reached a new level of imbalance (think 9.8 on the Richter scale) and have now reverted back to their old ways.

The thing is that I'm a fraud. I'm a 12-year old girl pretending to be a 29-year old woman. I drive, I make money, I drink alcohol (well, not these days, but when I'm normally not with child, I do drink), I do all the things that adults do. But on the inside, I giggle at these things, because really, I'm not 29. I'm 12. I still ooh and ahh over My Little Pony commercials and enjoy amusement park rides and water rides. And nothing makes me laugh harder than the words "fart" and "poop."

And yet, as much as the 12-year old in me is able to keep up with the fast paced adult world and all its weirdness, ever so often, something happens that makes me realize that I'm not an adult and that I'm really not equipped to handle certain situations.

Case in point being my starting my own business. My Barbie once owned a hot dog stand (she also drove a ferrari. I guess business was really good or she also sold illegal substances that I wasn't aware of), so you'd think I'd know a few things about owning a business. But Barbie didn't seem to have to deal with issues like pay roll and taxes and balancing the books and all headachy stuff like that.

But I do. And today, I had to figure out how to get my taxes, Medicare and Social Security that I retain out of my check to the IRS. And let me tell you, I don't know who writes the litterature for the IRS, but I'm guessing they do it while watching Judge Judy and Passions, because they ain't paying attention to what they're writing. Because really, none of it makes any sense.

And so after a first breakdown, and a call to the IRS, I paid a lot of money (by my standards, not for a corporation like Exxon or IBM) in taxes to the IRS. And then a nagging thought came in my head that maybe I didn't do it right on line and that's when the you know what really hit the fan. You see, I called the IRS back and sobbed the whole time I was on hold. I kept trying to pull myself together, to not frighten the federal employee on the end of the line, and I did manage to hold it together long enough to tell him once he picked up that I was pregnant, unstable and didn't know what the hell I was doing.

And then I started sobbing.

And something funny happened. People are always complaining about the lack of service from government employees, how they don't treat the public right. Well, let me tell you, when they get a call from a hysterically sobbing women, it melts even the hardest-hearted government employee. I have never been treated so well in my entire life. I'm guessing the treatment I received is probably what Julia Roberts experiences at the Ritz or Donald Trump aboard his private jet.

I was called sweetie. I was told that they would make it ok. I think they even agreed to not make me pay taxes for the next 10 years. Although, I'm not absolutely sure on that last one, so I think I'll keep giving money to Uncle Sam just to ensure I give birth outside of his prisons.

So, from now on, anytime I need to call customer service for anything, whether it's a company, an airline or the government, I'm going to ensure that I send myself on an emotional tizzy before calling. I find this works much better than my previous method of being a complete bitch telling them they're a bunch of morons.

Love,

Catwoman.

1 comment:

Koree said...

So, if I had sobbed hysterically back in say, March, you would have blogged? :-) I'm so glad you are back.