What a day. Don’t f*ck with me right now, it won’t be pleasant. My morning started with an attempt to fill up my “nothing but fume-filled” gas tank so I could get to work. Card denied. But I live in the freaking boondocks and half the time this gas station can’t read my debit card, so I wasn’t worried. I rummaged through my pocketbook and came up with enough change to purchase gas to make it the 3 miles to the next gas station. Card denied. More scrounging allowed me to purchase enough gas to get to the bank. Great. Now I was already late for my first appointment. The lovely bank employee researched the matter for me and after 45 minutes informed me that the IRS had frozen my accounts, effective this morning, due to an audit on my 2008 tax return. Fuck. I sent them the information they requested back in September. No news until this? I was able to get enough cash to fill my tank, however, thank you, East Haven gals. I’d deal with the IRS later.
My normal after-work routine of chicken and child care was replaced with 3 hours of phone calls to the IRS and listening to rants by my father, who was coming apart at the seams with all of this injustice. I was ready to pay what they thought I owed them when he intervened at just the right moment, screaming “Don’t pay them if you don’t owe them. This is unfair. It’s a technicality. Call them right now. What are you doing? Call a senator!” So, I called the number listed on one of the forms and was re-routed to another number. I was then given the run-around and told that I sent them all the information requested except for one piece. This missing piece was to verify that my children actually existed. Apparently the Godly decree on official church letterhead wasn’t sufficient. Would a report card for each child containing a small feces smear next to their name substantiate their existence? “Why wasn’t I informed?” I asked. “Why no correspondence for 4 months and then just freeze my checking and savings accounts? How is that fair?” I was instructed how to re-open the “Audit re-consideration” and what to do next. Know what I did next? I called my brother, the attorney. He told me to place a call to Blumenthal first thing tomorrow morning and to fax the 1 piece of missing documentation to the IRS right away. He went off on a rant himself about the injustice and how could the IRS be allowed to do things like this without due process. It was despicable, according to him. And according to me. And definitely according to my father. Fuckers.
So, for dinner tonight I thought I’d try a boilermaker. It sounded like just the thing to muster up a little gumption and give me the nerve to take these fuckers down. And take them down I will. Don’t they know I’m half Czech and half German for God’s sake? May the ethnic gods have mercy on them. And I won’t be listening to Lenny this evening… oh, no… it’ll have to be Pink or The Pretenders. Nothing beats mood-altering music than them… the kind of music that calls for picking yourself up by the bootstraps and forging ahead, leaving all those in your wake a complete shambles. At least that’s what I tell myself. So here goes… have one yourself and muster up the gumption to do whatever it is you need to do. I went with Jack Daniels and a Sam Adams Winter Lager. I’m not a sour mash girl, but this worked just fine. I really feel better now. Salut.
According to the book Drinkology, The Art and Science of the Cocktail, this is the “prelude-to-a-hangover” that “qualifies as a mixed drink only in the sense that the ingredients mix it up in your gut.” Pour a shot glass of whiskey (bourbon, rye, sour mash, Irish, or blended Canadian) and down it in one gulp. Immediately chase it with a mug or large glass of cold lager or pale ale, drinking in large, continuous swallows. Sit back and relax as you enjoy the after-effects. A slow, warm glow will envelop you and make you forget all of your troubles. What troubles? Who the hell is the IRS? Ex-husbands? Bah humbug! Bring it on, world, bring it on! One more boilermaker and I’m the freaking Terminator. Try me.