My dad called me yesterday and left a message on my machine. Call back at my convenience. It was hardly unexpected.
It's the end of January, beginning of February. I've received all four of my sets of W-2 tax forms. Happily, I've made just over $10,000 in the past year. Like, 31 dollars over ten grand. Roughly ten percent of that went to taxes, and roughly all of it will come back to me.
It's nice, knowing I've survived an entire year on my own, minimal financial assistance from outside sources, like occasional -- and much-appreciated -- checks from relatives, stuff like that. I recently invested in a futon, and can actually pay off about half of my credit card without having to subsist on Ramen noodles because of it. I'm doing okay -- not great, but okay. And ten grand? Dude.
And so my father called me, out of the blue. I haven't spoken with him in just about exactly one year. The last time he called, it was to inform me he would be claiming me on his tax forms.
Now, not to jump to conclusions, but there are three things my father could be calling me about:
1.) He saw the article in the paper and found my website and got pissed off about it...
2.) He suddenly had a realization that he's been kind of shitty to my brothers and myself and wants to apologize and make amends...
3.) He wants to know if he's safe in claiming me as a dependent on his tax forms this year. This last is the most likely, and number two is definitely the least likely.
He wants my money. I'd place a good bet on it.
If I claim myself as a dependent, and he claims me as a dependent, at least according to my mother, we'll both get audited by the Internal Revenue Service. If they audit me, they'll find out I didn't pay my state taxes last year, and that I owe, like, ten bucks. If they audit my DAD? Heh heh heh...
WHY is my dad calling me? Why does he even bother? I'd also place a good bet that he doesn't know my current address, doesn't know where I'm working, and has no idea what's going on with me. To be on the safe side, however, I instructed my bosses at both my jobs never to give my paychecks to anyone except me, regardless of what kind of identification they might present, and instructed the tellers at my bank never to cash checks in my name without asking for photo ID. Who knows, you know? I'm paranoid, yes, but I've also worked hard, and I'm not really in the mood for financial losses or similar drama.
So no, I doubt my dad has any idea what's going on with me now. I could have moved to Arkansas, and he wouldn't know. I could be happily committed to a woman and he wouldn't know. I could be a junkie on Liberty Street, and he wouldn't know, although he might suspect, as he always did, that I'm into kinky sex with strangers and hard street drugs and am generally out of control.
I'd just LIKE to see him claim me as a dependent.
I'd like to know just exactly what qualifies me as a "dependent"! On whom am I dependent for my meals and my shelter and my general well-being?! Nice try.
I have a picture of David Duchovny taped to my computer; just found it in a drawer. I'm sure there are plenty of awful things to say about him, but he's got a terribly sexy mouth. In the picture, he's got just a little bit of chest-hair sticking out from the top of his shirt. If it wasn't so stupid to talk to yourself in an empty apartment, I'd tell his picture that he can abduct me anytime.
I know I've been sort of negligent of this journal lately. My internet connection sucks. Also, I've been working like crazy. I promise to be better.
Until later,
~Helena*