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Busy, busy, busy.
Also anxious, anxious, anxious.
###
I was doing Mrs. Baldoni's tax return when I snuck a peek at my email. Mrs. Baldoni (not her real name!) is a cheerful 97-year-old widow who was led into the TaxBwana sanctum by a caretaker. She was with it mentally but completely deaf. Her only sources of income were social security and interest on multiple bank accounts.
EZ/Peazy, thought I.
Except that each of the interest statements was for $15,000 or so, and no federal or state income tax payments had been set aside for any of them.
Wow! I thought. Interest is—what? At best, 4% of a total deposit? Who keeps that much cash around in a time of inflation?
I was not about to give financial advice to a 97-year-old woman with $750,000 sitting around in various bank accounts, though. No, no, no, no! She should be giving financial advice to me!
I'd just delivered the bad news about the accumulated tax liability—a hefty sum—which I was relying on the companion to relay to Mrs. Baldoni.
My phone pinged: New email!
I looked: Icky sending me January's electric bill, which, according to Central Hudson, was in excess of $1,000.
WTFUCK???
Interestingly, I did not freak out.
Instead, I completed Mrs. Baldoni's return and then dashed off an email to Icky, typing very clumsily because my phone has an itty-bitty keyboard & my fingers are quite big.
We need to sit down and have a conversation about this, I wrote. If the high electricity bill does not represent a mistake on Central Hudson’s part, then it represents the use of the space heater after you did not order heating oil in a timely manner. I do not want to be penalized for your error – – particularly as next month’s electric bill will also reflect this.
If the bill was accurate, my part of that conversation was going to be, Fuck you, I am taking you to court.
As it turned out, the Central Hudson bill was not accurate: Central Hudson had tacked on 1,000 additional kilowat hours. This was rectified.
But the incident did bring to the forefront how deeply I dislike this guy.
I do like my space! And he's only up here for 10 days out of every month.
Still, I really do need to think about not being here next winter.
Sigh...
###
Other than that... I spent the morning—which I should have devoted to Remuneration—working on Adrienne's campaign. There are a lot of tedious details that need to be CC'd and BC'd to God knows who. It's massively time-consuming.
Also, RTT did get the Working Families Party endorsement, which practically makes him a shoo-in for the Ithaca City Council seat.
We are quite the political little family!
At least, we are not fulminating in futile rage over Trump. We are trying to do something constructive.
And it's Max's birthday today! I could not love him more or be prouder of the person he is and what he's accomplished.
Shortly, I am scampering off for lunch with Belinda, my Trump-loving pal.
And after that, I must get my windshield wipers replaced.
But when I get back from that, I must sit down & make some money.
Also anxious, anxious, anxious.
###
I was doing Mrs. Baldoni's tax return when I snuck a peek at my email. Mrs. Baldoni (not her real name!) is a cheerful 97-year-old widow who was led into the TaxBwana sanctum by a caretaker. She was with it mentally but completely deaf. Her only sources of income were social security and interest on multiple bank accounts.
EZ/Peazy, thought I.
Except that each of the interest statements was for $15,000 or so, and no federal or state income tax payments had been set aside for any of them.
Wow! I thought. Interest is—what? At best, 4% of a total deposit? Who keeps that much cash around in a time of inflation?
I was not about to give financial advice to a 97-year-old woman with $750,000 sitting around in various bank accounts, though. No, no, no, no! She should be giving financial advice to me!
I'd just delivered the bad news about the accumulated tax liability—a hefty sum—which I was relying on the companion to relay to Mrs. Baldoni.
My phone pinged: New email!
I looked: Icky sending me January's electric bill, which, according to Central Hudson, was in excess of $1,000.
WTFUCK???
Interestingly, I did not freak out.
Instead, I completed Mrs. Baldoni's return and then dashed off an email to Icky, typing very clumsily because my phone has an itty-bitty keyboard & my fingers are quite big.
We need to sit down and have a conversation about this, I wrote. If the high electricity bill does not represent a mistake on Central Hudson’s part, then it represents the use of the space heater after you did not order heating oil in a timely manner. I do not want to be penalized for your error – – particularly as next month’s electric bill will also reflect this.
If the bill was accurate, my part of that conversation was going to be, Fuck you, I am taking you to court.
As it turned out, the Central Hudson bill was not accurate: Central Hudson had tacked on 1,000 additional kilowat hours. This was rectified.
But the incident did bring to the forefront how deeply I dislike this guy.
I do like my space! And he's only up here for 10 days out of every month.
Still, I really do need to think about not being here next winter.
Sigh...
###
Other than that... I spent the morning—which I should have devoted to Remuneration—working on Adrienne's campaign. There are a lot of tedious details that need to be CC'd and BC'd to God knows who. It's massively time-consuming.
Also, RTT did get the Working Families Party endorsement, which practically makes him a shoo-in for the Ithaca City Council seat.
We are quite the political little family!
At least, we are not fulminating in futile rage over Trump. We are trying to do something constructive.
And it's Max's birthday today! I could not love him more or be prouder of the person he is and what he's accomplished.
Shortly, I am scampering off for lunch with Belinda, my Trump-loving pal.
And after that, I must get my windshield wipers replaced.
But when I get back from that, I must sit down & make some money.
