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Pay me my money down

Dear Georgia Department of Revenue:

It’s been more than three weeks since I dutifully mailed in my 2015 tax forms. Your federal counterparts (i.e., the IRS) cashed my payment check the day they received my forms. Yet I’m still waiting for my refund from you.

Usually I file electronically and get my refund lightning fast. However, thanks to some asshat who tried to steal my identity on a federal return (little did they know that I am not a federal refund kind of gal), I had to mail in the forms.

So now I’m wondering, “Where’s my refund?” It’s a common-enough question that you have a web page devoted to the answer. Let’s break it down:

You cannot help me by phone (no number given) or walk-in (Where would I go to do that in Savannah?) until 30-45 days have passed. I repeat (and so do you): 30-45 days. That is an eternity in today’s instant-gratification society.

Oh wait: You have a portal to allow tracking.

Great!

I signed up. I received this response when I tried to track my refund:

Screen Shot 2016-04-27 at 3.23.10 AM

 

What is the freakin’ deal?

Comma splice aside (What? No one to proofread? There should be SOMEONE, given the fact that employees aren’t tied up helping people for 30-45 days or so), I promise I entered the correct information. I’m looking at my tax forms. I used my SSN to log in, for crying out loud.

I don’t want to get all loud, Rihanna style, but I do want my refund.

I shouldn’t expect efficiency and logic from a government entity, but I do. I’m optimistic like that. So if you could get your act together, that would be great.

Yours in fiscal responsibility,
Beth

Dear Readers,

I apologize for my radio silence. I have writer’s block. Well, it’s not a block as much as it is a bad case of self-censorship. I assure you I’m not “wasting time,” George R.R. Martin style.

Until I post a new letter (read: decide to stop worrying about offending someone), here is a fun matching game for you to play.

Match the comment with the person who said it to me. Answers at the bottom.

  1. “Will you make time for my funeral?”
  2. “If you swallow your gum, you can just poop it out.”
  3. “Can we go to Lowe’s? I need some red tape.”
  4. “You’re quiet. Are you upset? Are you mad at me?”
  5. “Something is wrong with you.”

A. My 11-year-old son
B. My 9-year-old son
C. My father
D. My boss
E. My husband

Note: Void where prohibited. Action figures sold separately. Results may vary. Contents under pressure. Consult your physician if fever persists for more than three days or if pain continues for more than five days. All sales final.

See you here soon (I hope),
Beth

Your life sucks without me.

1. C, 2. B, 3. A, 4. D, 5. E

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Dear Erin,

Thanks for letting me know about Eddie’s online dating habits. I had no idea. He has always passed himself off as a man who cannot even remember his iTunes password or use the calendar on his phone, but yet he has been able to carry on a secret life. I can’t even be upset because I’m too shocked and impressed.

This is just the kind of information I need around Christmas time. I’ll be sure to pay close attention to receipts for odd purchases. I won’t automatically assume they are gifts for me.

Also, what is the “thruth?” Is that the official name for realizing the truth about thrush? And what does that have to do with Eddie? Oh WAIT … are you trying to tell me something about my health? Egad! I didn’t even know that was considered an STD!

Erin, you have helped me out so much. Thank you for your interest in my well-being and marriage.

You are a true friend.

With gratitude,
Beth

image

What’s this? An alien life form?

Dear Fall,

So I noticed that we haven’t seen you yet this year. I don’t want to make you feel guilty or anything, but some of us rely on you for relief from that asshat Summer.

Summer always overstays his welcome, as far as I’m concerned. He makes me sweat. He likes girls in those gross high-waisted booty shorts. He’s great with the kids, but is a bore when they go back to school.

It’s November. You were supposed to be here Sept. 23. Winter has already booked his visit for Dec. 22. If you are running late, though, I guess Winter is too. I don’t really care about Winter. Sorry, not sorry.

Fall, it’s your visit I look forward to every year. When you come, I get to wear sweaters, boots and maybe even a jaunty scarf. I get to make soups, stews and hearty pies. I get to stock up on bocks, stouts and porters. I can’t do that with Summer hanging around in his half-shirt yelling, “More Bud Light!”

Summer goes shopping.

Summer goes shopping.

So Fall, please get your act together. I hear you may show up Sunday. Let’s hope so. Summer just cranked up Nelly’s “Hot in Herre” … again.

Wish you were here,
Beth

*Apologies to Fall Out Boy

Something special is afoot

IMG_2853Dear Maureen,

Only a true friend would give me a taxidermied raccoon arm/paw as a gift. You are a true friend. Even better, it was just a Tuesday — not my birthday, Christmas, or any other gift-giving occasion.

This critter appendage now likely is having more fun in death than its owner had in life. I know my family and I had fun taking photos with it (see gallery below). I even started an Instagram account.

Thank you from the bottom of my taxidermy-loving heart,
Beth

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Going bold, then going home

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Dear Del Taco,

One of the best things about traveling to the West Coast is that I get to hang out with you for every meal. Yes, every meal. I love you that much. I love you so much that I wrote you a song. Well, Lady Antebellum wrote the song and I bastardized it.

“Need You Now“
Perfect little packets scattered all around the store.
Heading to the counter ’cause I can’t fight it anymore.

Does Del Taco cross anyone else’s mind?
For me it happens all the time.

[Chorus]
It’s a quarter after one, I’m super starved and I need you now.
Said I wouldn’t go but I’ve lost all control and I need you now.
And I don’t know how I can do without.
I just need you now.

Another shot of hot sauce, can’t stop looking at the spread.
Just one more burrito, doesn’t matter green or red.

Does Del Taco cross anyone else’s mind?
For me it happens all the time.

[Chorus]
It’s a quarter after two, I’m really hungry and I need you now.
Said I wouldn’t go but I’ve lost all control and I need you now.
And I don’t know how I can do without.
I just need you now.

Oh, no!
Why is there no store in Savannah at all?

[Chorus]
It’s a quarter after three, I’m starved again and I need you now.
And I said I wouldn’t go but I’m trying to get my fix and I need you now.
And I don’t know how I can do without.
I just need you now
I just need you now.
Oh, Del Taco, I need you now.

Please consider expanding to Southeast Georgia. Make a loyal customer happy.

Yours in Fiesta Pack Pride,

Beth

thumb_12lbbeancheeseburrito

This.

Sexy time Tom @twhiddleston


Dear Tom Hiddleston,

Oh, hey! So … I didn’t see you there, what with all the other “it” guys. It’s hard to notice Loki with Thor and Iron Man and Hulk around.

But yeah, then “Crimson Peak” happened. And um … wow. So, I had to, well, write this letter.

When you as Baronet Sharpe looked at Edith (Mia Wasikowska) for the first time, I was all, “Hey, his eyes are kind of … piercing.”

Then when you leaned her back in the attic with a powerful kiss, I thought, “Oh. My!”

And then when you two consummated your marriage — your Victorian man breeches slipping down to expose a delectable derrière, I had to fan myself with my empty nacho tray.

So, yeah.

I’m not the only one who got the vapors. Bustle writers did too.

I just wanted to say thanks for opening up the field for me. Clearly I was loitering too long in Johnny Depp/Blake Shelton land.

Love and hot gothic romance kisses,
Beth

Dear Delta,

I thought we were exclusive. I thought you cared. But then you wanted a three-way with WestJet.

It’s not OK.

I’m monogamous. I’m loyal. I booked my trip to be with you.

But then you were all, “I have this big project in L.A. and I can’t take you to Vancouver. WestJet will take you.”

And WestJet is the college roommate whose tooth got knocked out in a bar fight. And he might have herpes. And toe fungus.

WestJet had a few screws loose — literally.

WestJet did not inspire confidence. WestJet treated me like some random person when I’m used to the special treatment I get from you, Delta, because you recognize how much time and money I spend with you. WestJet turned on the air and wanted to charge me for a blanket. Delta, are you listening to me?

Yes, I know: #firstworldproblems.

But I care about our relationship, and I want to make it work. Make it up to me: Take me out, treat me well, and we can forget this ever happened.

Deal?

Loyally yours,
Beth

Dear B. Lev. and M. Lev.,

I’m so sorry that my upgrade meant only one of you could get upgraded. B. Lev., you should have let M. Lev. have the upgrade. It’s not because she is a woman and your wife (I assume); it’s because she became insufferable (and likely will punish you later).

I’m sure you are lovely people under normal circumstances, but I witnessed some problematic behavior on the plane.

M. Lev., it’s ridiculous that you felt it necessary to come up to first class FIVE TIMES before we left the gate. Let’s recap. You:

  1. Asked if he had managed to find a place for his stuff. (As it wasn’t still in the aisle, I think you could have figured that one out for yourself.)
  2. Reminded B. Lev. to call his mother. Then took a swig of his drink.
  3. Stood silently listening to him talk loudly on his phone.
  4. Asked if he had, in fact, called his mother. Took another swig.
  5. Asked for his copy of The New York Times and complained about needing to eat your sandwich before it “deteriorates even further.”

 
During the flight, you even came up to harangue him outside of the lavatory. Good grief!

B. Lev., maybe I’m bitter because I wanted your window seat, but I really found  the whole scenario completely beyond the pale. 

M. Lev., I’m sorry you appear to have married a selfish old goat but, to quote a popular song, “Let It Go.” Enough with the not-so-subtle reminders that he did the wrong thing by taking the upgrade himself.

If I’ve misinterpreted the situation, I apologize. What do I know? I just observe and report.

Sincerely,
1D

1280px-IHOP_Restaurant_logo.svgDear IHOP:

To borrow from Taylor Swift, “Why you gotta be so mean?”

Let me explain.

My family and I recently visited the newly open restaurant in Pooler. We walked in and immediately were struck by the fact that servers outnumbered diners four to one. When I asked for a booth, the hostess gave me such a dirty look that I backed down and meekly took the table.

It was our server’s second day on the job and about to be her last, she said. Why? The owners and corporate reps were in town — hence the reason there were about 24 servers on duty. She said servers weren’t making any money because they had just a couple of tables all day. (This explains why we had to sit at a certain table.)

I watched her carry our four drinks, spilling mine because she didn’t have a tray. “Why don’t you have a tray?,” I asked, remembering my days as a server at Western Sizzlin’. She said there were only a couple of trays in the whole restaurant, and they could only use them for certain purposes. Carrying drinks apparently was not one of them.

Um … what?!?

I’m a chatty sort, so chat we did. She told me all the servers had just been barked at by one of the suits because they had too many cutlery bundles on the tables. They had put four bundles out for a four-person table. That makes sense to me, but it is not OK in IHOPland. Four-tops get two bundles; six-tops get four. No wonder we always have to ask for silverware.

o

I happened to spot one of the suits. As I was riled up, I marched over to talk to him. Topics: excessive amount of servers, trays, silverware. This fellow, a vice president according to his business card, could not have been smarmier. He was incredibly dismissive of me and simply said that “corporate” has determined all of the policies so that all IHOPs are the same.

Here’s an excerpt from our conversation:

Me: “But not allowing trays makes it harder for servers to do their jobs.”

Him: “They can use trays.”

Me: “They can’t use trays to carry drinks.”

Him: “No, they can. They just can’t put the trays on the table.”

Me: “But no one is using trays here.”

Him: “Yes, they are.”

Our server: (overhearing conversation but out of the VP’s eye line, meets my eyes and shakes her head, “No.”)

I did not see anyone use a tray the entire time I was there.

Another excerpt:

Me: “It doesn’t seem logical that tables for four people would only have two bundles of silverware.”

Him: “Yes, it does. IHOP corporate wants all IHOPs to look the same when customers walk in.”

Me: “But they could look the same if they had the right amount of silverware on the tables as well. We always have to ask for silverware.”

Him: “The hostess should count the number of people and bring the amount needed.”

Me: “Well, first of all, that makes extra work for people, which doesn’t make sense. Second, our hostess didn’t bring two extra bundles for us.”

Him: “Yes, she did.”

Me: (Looking at him with my patented “Are you effing kidding me?” glare) OK. I give up.

Good job, IHOP, for selecting a person for a vice president role who has such a handle on (inane) IHOP policies yet a complete inability to grasp why policies exist: to help customers have an enjoyable dining experience and want to return.

So we are not going to return. Sorry, IHOP. You need to rethink your rules and leadership.

Came hungry, left unhappy,
Beth