(re-run)
t’s that dreaded time of year again. April is next week and so many things are due to be paid:
Estimated Federal taxes
Estimated State taxes
Property taxes
Accountant’s bill
IRA contribution
I am considered self-employed, so no taxes are withheld from my pension or royalty payments. That means that four times a year, I have to pony up one quarter of my estimated income taxes for the year.
Property taxes are one percent of the price paid for the home. Both of my homes were purchased in 2011, which means I paid big amounts for them compared to say, Iowa, where I’m from.
California state taxes aren’t too bad, but many people leave the state to cheaper states when they retire, places like Oregon, Nevada, and Tennessee. I have no plans to leave my adopted state.
Today I headed out to visit my three banks to scrounge up enough money to pay the bills stated above. It’s like this every spring. Royalty checks haven’t come in yet, I’ve been giving one of my adult children too much money, and now I’m turning over my sister’s life insurance money to my mom’s care.
I expected to have to wait at each and every bank. I was pleasantly surprised when the Wells Fargo line was short. I moved money from savings to checking to pay my estimated IRS bill.
Then I went to B of A to move money from my regular account to my IRA account. The banker questioned me since interest rates are so bad for my IRA. I told her I was just doing what my accountant told me to do.
Then I went to the post office and mailed my grandson his Easter egg box so that he would get it before Easter. It’s some books, toys and a box of animal crackers. The stuff cost less than the shipping, now $24.75 for a large flat-rate box. But it’s going 3000 miles, so not too bad.
After that I went to BMO, which used to be Bank of the West. Why so many banks, you ask? My conspiracy boyfriend of yesteryear told me to spread out my money in case the big banks failed. It sort of works for me as a way to hide money from myself, so that I can always pay my April bills. There was a line, the people in front of me old and in masks, with a yappy poodle mix and a strange black suit bag, like one of them had just gotten off an airplane.
The dog barked at me, and I realized that I still had dog treats in my pocket from the morning dogs’ activities, getting walked or playing ball. A second teller came to her window and called me over. I hadn’t bothered to get checks after Bank of the West became BMO, so she helped me with that. Then she directed me to a desk out front to obtain a debit card. She was very pregnant, so we discussed her baby boy and when he might show up. She has two names picked out, but they’ll wait to see which one fits him better.
While she went off to get me a magically-fast debit card, the poodle mix came over to get a treat, with the masked man’s permission. That’s when I noticed the dog’s long body and asked if he was part Dachshund.
“Yes,” the man said. “Picasso is only 37% poodle. I did a DNA test for him. The breeder was a scammer.”
“Well, he’ll be a healthier dog,” I said. “Great name, by the way.”
The teller reappeared and gave me my debit card, and I headed out. It was raining lightly, and I doubled back to my favorite thrift store where I spent $6.31.
If l hold out paying the accountant until next month, and I’ll be able to cover it all.
FIRST DATE, WORST DATE EVER! 