So I get up this morning. And all of a sudden, out of no-freaking-where. I can’t walk. The heel on my left foot screams out in pain as soon as it hits the floor.
I’m thinking…what in the?
I’m talking serious pain. I’m talking, maybe-I-should-just-walk-on-my-toes-although-that-seems-insane kind of pain.
A minor league baseball team in Michigan offers this at the concession stand. If you finish it, you get a t-shirt. That you can be buried in. This is called The Fifth Third Burger. It's made with nearly 2 lbs of beef, cheese, chili, sour cream and FRITOS. This is not part of the eat better forever campaign.
It’s been six weeks since I confessed that I needed to drop a few pounds.
And guess what?
I had to get my tax returns done early this year, back in February. Farc completed my return for me. And as always, he sent them to me via email in a password-protected PDF file.
For three months, my taxes have been done. Waiting. Sitting in my Inbox.
So why, why, WHY, on April 15th at 11:00PM, was I speeding down Route 280, trying to make it to the post office by midnight?
I started freelancing in ’98.
When tax time came around, I did what I had done since my first job at the East Orange Public Library. I gathered up my paperwork and gave it to my mom. She and my dad had an accountant who came each year around the same time. And for years, he did my return for a small fee that my parents paid for me.
Then I moved out of my parents home. And soon, taxes were one of those Things That Grownups Did. You know. Like, laundry and food shopping.
In 2000, I didn’t file at all. The 1099 forms that came in the mail from the magazines I wrote for scared me. There were no taxes taken out! What did that mean? How much did I owe the government? How much would I have to pay to get the return done?
I did what I usually do in these situations:
Is this a commercial for a KID’s MEAL?! What in the hell? And is that Sir Mix-A-Lot making a cameo at the end, saying bootie is bootie?!
This is so wrong. On so many levels. These fools even have the nerve to have a full-length video version of this song.
I need answers. Who greenlit this? This. is. wrong.
For the record: I’m more offended by the square booties in this commercial, for a kid’s meal, then anything I ever saw in KING magazine.
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Aliya S. King 