When it comes to classifying months of the year by personality type, you can come up with some pretty accurate descriptions. For example, given its cold temperatures and slowed pace, January is solemn. Since nothing of any merit happens, August is bored. But with so much coming at us recently, it's easy to say that April is downright sassy.
Let's inspect this phenomenon more closely. We've just come back from the fun and debauchery of March, with its sunny weather, spring break festivities and all the mayhem that surrounds St. Patrick's Day.
Now we're unsuspectingly forced back into a haze of term projects, unseasonable warmth and an inexplicable increase in parking tickets doled out by a force so vehement that even the alias of Parking and Transit Services can't mask its actual name of The Desolate One.
And amidst this tornado of complete and utter disservice to anything fun, we are forced to deal with yet one more aspect of the real world that our time at ASU can't even seem to hide: income taxes.
With the nearing deadline of federal financial dysfunction, for many of us this weekend will be devoted to yet another final project that we probably don't understand and misplaced the assignment sheet for.
We'll have to request an extension from our least favorite economics professor, Dr. Uncle Sam.
While some of us are probably able to avoid the brunt of tax season by merely declaring our tips and signing a single page form, tax season is a prime reminder of the life that awaits us outside these hallowed halls of Miller High Life-induced academia.
Well, at least it is for me.
Thinking of finances usually causes me to experience a mild form of what some might call a heart attack, which usually has less to do with taxes and more to do with my increasingly dilapidated credit score.
Wondering just roughly where I stood, I invoked the help of the foremost authority on the subject. I'm speaking, of course, of a random msn.com bulletin I found while searching through the gossip section to see if Ryan Reynolds is actually cozying up to Scarlett Johansson at various Los Angeles hotspots.
Before I go into details, I'd like to point out that there's nothing quite as earth shattering as discovering you have basically committed credit suicide by the tender age of 23. Of course, you heeded the warnings of your high school economics teacher.
Yes, you listened to your well intentioned parents. And obviously, you've shredded the majority of those ubiquitous credit card invitations.
Or maybe you didn't.
In that case, you're just like me, with a wallet full of maxed-out plastic and a mailbox overflowing with unpaid bills. Despite my admitted state of fiscal ignorance though, I carefully filled out the online questionnaire with high hopes that my results would not automatically dispatch a team from the credit bureau to seize my valuables.
Not that it would really matter, because the most valuable item I own is the complete set of Precious Moments figurines circa 1994.
After hitting the submit button, I considered if I actually needed everything I've purchased on credit. The authentic throwing stars emblazoned with different Sailor Moon characters? No. Watercolor portrait of Richard Mulligan and his television daughters from "Empty Nest"? Probably not. Mr. T gold chain replicas?
Never mind, I totally need those.
On the results color scale, I was elated to find that my potential score was not in the red zone. Orange zone, yes, but that still gives me plenty of time to strive for complete and utter credit disaster.
And if there's one success I've always been able to achieve in this life, it's definitely failure.
Heather Hull will probably
be indicted for tax evasion
at some point in her life.
Post bond at:
