H&R BLOCKingmywilltolive

Dear Brianna,

It's that time of year again. The hair pulling, teeth grinding, number crunching urge to hang yourself time of year. TAX SEASON.

No joke, I made somewhere around $5,000 dollars last year. In a year, that is all I made. I'm a disgrace to all people. And yet, I still need to file my tax papers. Why? Because the man makes me.

Well this year, I'm stickin' it to the man. I'm rollin' up in there George Harrison style and tellin' that taxman "I'm gonna walk up to you and you're sure as hell not gonna tax my feet just cause you're the tax man, yeah yeah yeah, the tax man!" Then I'll throw a roll of pennies and he'll go fetch it like the dog he is. While his back is turned, I'll run across the street to the Duane Reade and sit in the window and eat some Fiddle Faddle until I see that he's emerged from his dark H&R lair, at which point I'll pop up from the lawn chair that I stole from the back of the store and run towards him. He'll be walkin' down the street towards his 1997 Toyota Eclipse and I'll get all up on him and whisper in his ear "you drive a car, but they don't tax your street, cause you're the taxman, yeah yeah yeah, the taxman." And when he turns around to see who's there I'll disappear in a puff of smoke because while I was sitting in Duane Reade I bought and read a magazine about magic and now I'm a fucking wizard. He'll turn back around and I'll reappear because I've haven't perfected the staying invisible part of the trick yet because the article was long and I got bored, and he'll take out his keys and bend over to unlock the door but will be distracted by the dime, nickel, and four pennies that I taped to the door handle and while he uses his dirty taxman nails to peel the tape from the door I'll stand behind him and yell "Nineteen for you and one for me, taxman, yeah yeah yeah, taxman!" I will then extend my arm and obtain an empty taxicab, which I will take to the end of the block because I only have $3.00 after buying Fiddle Faddle and a magic magazine and I'll take the subway home.

Why would I go to all this trouble, you ask? Why would I spend an entire day of my life badgering a man who just writes numbers on papers all day? Why wouldn't I fill out the forms myself? Well the answer is simple. I hate numbers. I hate money and they both give me panic attacks. I also hate people are are really good with numbers because I'm really bad with numbers and I'm jealous and instead of respecting them I just get angry because I have anger issues. Well, you know what? Fuck all this. My cat's doing my taxes.






















Love,
Katie

(This post is just a joke. I don't really hate taxmen, I actually respect anyone who can work with numbers and not start to cry almost immediately.)

Where do we go from here?

Dear Katie,

Anyone who has ever met me knows three things about me…

1)I love dance parties

2)I WILL marry Seth Green

And finally…

3)I am a Buffy fan.

Some time has passed, three-ish years to be exact, since Buffy the Vampire Slayer ended its seven-season run, however the show’s effect on me has not gone away. I am a slave to Buffy-speak, I dress like Willow, and have never lost that self-confidence that I learned to have from all the sassy females on that show. Anyway, the reason I am all Buffy-centric girl again is that I just finished re-watching the series on my first edition DVDs. As a way to ease the transition from college graduate to working gal, I decided to go back to the series that helped me transition from an awkward, just Bat-Mitzvah’d, teenager to a little bit less awkward high school and college, dare I say, woman.

I’ll spare you the ups and downs of the first six seasons—the Buffy/Angel romance, Oz mocking me with his monkey pants, Willow and Tara, The Musical, and Buffy dying…again—because none of it compared to the experience of seeing the final episode, aptly titled, “Chosen.” My first experience with this episode, needless to say, was not good. It was the summer between my freshman and sophomore years of college and I was about to move to New York. I sat alone, in the middle of my bedroom floor, and watched as the past seven years finally came to a close. Crying does not describe what I was doing in the iconic scene showing the core four—Willow, Xander, Buffy, and Giles—standing together in the new high school much like they did at the end of the very first episode. When Giles uttered the classic line, “The Earth is definitely doomed,” for the second time in the series, I lost whatever “it” I had left to lose. I was carrying on so loudly that our neighbors from across the street called to see what was going on. My mom came into my room and held me, trying to calm me down, but it took some time to recover. What was I to do with my Tuesday nights? What was going to happen to Buffy and the Scooby Gang? How would I get my Joss Whedon fix?

As you can imagine, life did go on, but I never subjected myself to watching, “Chosen,” again... until Monday afternoon. To celebrate my first day off in who knows how long, I stayed in bed and finished the seventh season. I was content, fed, rested, and in perfectly good spirits. No signs of tears in sight. Not so much has changed though because as soon as I saw that scene again, and saw the Scoobies part ways for the battles of all battles, tears welled up in my eyes. I didn’t hoot, and I definitely didn’t holler, however I was definitely emotional. And as everyone asked Buffy, “What are we gonna do now?” I asked myself the same thing.

Love,

Brianna

Boo, you whore!

Dear Brianna,

I like Lindsay Lohan. I feel bad for her when magazines and blogs rip her apart. I think they give her a bad rap. She doesn't seem all that bad, right? She's young, she's living, she's makin' it happen. Sure, maybe she has cost people a lot of money because she's late to her movie sets a lot. But who hasn't had a case of the mondays where they just don't wanna get up? I know I've had the mondays probably every week. So, I can't blame her. Sometimes, I buy magazines just to see what she's up to, mostly because my life is somewhat boring and I also don't like actually reading on the subway after working for 8 hours. Call me superficial; I just find her interesting. Unfortunately, Lindsay done and gone messed things up. She's crossed the friend line. She's taken all the trust and love I've built for her and rolled it into a big fat joint that she obviously smoked before heading out of the house like this:



Alright Lindsay. Enough is enough. I told you it was okay when you started wearing the tee-shirts with all my favorite bands on them. I figured, enough people really like these bands so, whatever, you know? It's all good. I said okay when you decided to dye your hair the same color as mine. I mean, I love my color, but I don't own it. But this time, you've gone too far.

Those are MY earrings!



and MY sunglasses!



Step off, bitch!

Blaze your own trails!!

Love,
Katie

Every dog has its day

Dear Katie,
We are gathered here today to say goodbye to my late great ipod mini, "Funky Delite." Funky was a dear dear friend. She was silver and beautiful, and although she had my name and phone number engraved on the back, I'm afraid I will never see her again. It was a result of my own carelessness that Funky and I have been torn apart. I should never have taken her out of the safety of my purse at the pizza place on 7th Avenue. I was asking for trouble. In the two seconds that Funky was out of my site, some evil evil riff raff had taken her away from me. Granted that 2 seconds included a trip to H&M and almost getting on the Subway to go home, but still. I ran back to the pizza shop, I even dug in the trash for her, however she was already gone. There is nothing I can do now, but move forward. Miss Funky Delite and I had a good two year run together, but now those times have come to a close. I will have to move on to a new ipod. One that maybe doesn't run out of battery every three hours and only start working after I warm it up in my hands for a while. Despite our differences at the end, I am sad to see my dear ipod go. If you are the riff raff reading this, please turn Funky over and give me a call. I don't want to take her back, I just want to say goodbye. Rest in peace, Funky Delite. No matter where you end up in this crazy world, you will always hold a place in my heart.
Love,
Brianna
PS- Saturday wasn't so bad afterall.