Sorry Cube, but Annie had a huge setback earlier this week when she hit a Dodge Ram at about 45mph. When she gets home and someone captures the perfect candid picture of me giving her a huge hug, I will finally have one worth keeping for the long haul (bar another tragedy).
I let my dad do most of mine actually, he’s retired and enjoys going full wizard with itemized deductions. Spends far more time on them than I would. Couple very interesting things you can do with vehicles if you’re self employed/have a small business.
It’s not writing it off. I’m simplifying a bit here, but envision 3 tax brackets — filing singly you’d have up to 50k at 0%; 50k up to 100k at 10%; and 100k on up at 20%. Married filing jointly (to a certain extent) alters the tiers, e.g., now it’s up to 100k at 0%, 100k up to 200k at 10%, and so on.
If you made 150k and your spouse made 35k, filing singly your spouse pays $0 in taxes and you pay 5k (50k @ 10%) + 10k (50k @ 20%) = 15k. Married filing jointly, your joint income is 185k, but you have different brackets, the first 100k is at 0% and the 85k is at 10%, for a total of 8.5k. The december thing just means that you can file married filing jointly (rather than singly) for the last year, no different that if you go married in July or August of that year. The point there was if you have a “fuck it let’s get married” moment in December, you should knock it out before the new year and save yourself some cash. If you both have similar paychecks, it’s a toss.
If you both make a lot, it’s better to actually “tie the knot” with a lawyer — legally binding contract but not married according to the state, then you’ll pay less tax; however, you could get boned if you have to sell a house that increases drastically in value.
I basically have this same type of playlist, check out:
Ok Whiskey – Jason Eady
Katherine Belle – American Aquarium
Distant Memory Lane – Fifth On The Floor
Memphis on the River – Matt Stell
Bourbon Flood – Dolly Shine
Texas & Tennessee – Lucero
December birthday here, deactivate the Facebook for 3 days and self-gift my birthday/Christmas present. Wouldn’t do it any other way. Blew up the AMEX with a rifle scope last year and building the rifle for it this year.
1. When I unlocked my phone there was a 10 in the upper right hand corner of my messages icon. Why can’t people type paragraphs instead of 10 individual idiotic half-sentences? (Never mind the irony that this is a listicle). Oh, great… it’s a fucking group chat. It is absolute horse hockey that a person can just put you into a group chat without asking first, but that’s a list for a different day.
2. “You guys want to do tapas on Thursday night?” No I don’t want to do Tapas, bitch, I want to chill in my uber cool loft in Seattle with Dominos, garbage wine, and my sadness.
3. Whatever, I have to keep up appearances with the people who worship me and my successful “alternative” lifestyle, even though I find them pedestrian, so I replied, “Yeah, I’m in.”
4. Is it Monday? Fuck, it’s Monday, still hungover from Saturday night and a marathon of Gilmore Girls alone with my wine on Sunday.
5. “I need to get out more anyway. I just moved to this city and I still eat at fucking Panera all the time. Time to get out of my comfort zone.”
6. “I’m like 75% sure tapas is some variant of Mediterranean food and I love chicken shwarma so if the menu stinks, I’ll just order that.”
7. “I haven’t been out on a Thursday in like two weeks, and I’m getting paid on Friday as it is — fuck it.”
8. Still Monday, I’m tired. Thursday is sooooo far and I’ll be even more tired working from home writing lists, but I had already committed, so I begrudgingly told myself that I was going (because my friends would beg me to go if I tried to back out, and who needs that?).
8.1 The rest of the week went by, and by midday Thursday I still hated everything.
8.2 I arrived at Valencia ten minutes early (which I really need to stop doing because being the first person in your group to a bar/restaurant/party sucks), I hate being the only responsible person in the world with a sick loft in Seattle.
9. The menu, it sucks, fuck Tapas, nothing pleases me. Eight different plates of food, interspersed over the course of what ended up being a few hours. Fuck. Not like I can leave now.
10. I curse under my breath to no one in particular because I see a couple in the back corner, and I’m forever alone.
11. “How the hell does that ugly horse have a date?”
12. When we finally sat down, the food was actually great. But when it’s served in portions that wouldn’t satiate a small child, it’s exactly like that girl who texts you on Friday night but never seems to want to actually meet up. I love to meet up, just kidding, I’m a giant tease but a “guys girl,” ya feel me?
13. TWO FUCKING HOURS AND I’M STILL NOT FULL.
14. My friends are assholes for inviting me somewhere new.
15. Two hours of my life I’ll never get back, and I’d advise avoiding said eateries at all costs.
16. At least leftover wine, Dominos, and another season of Gilmore Girls awaits me in my sweet loft. Fuck everything.
You’re a better man than me, every time I throw some expensive beer in the cart I end up hiding it somewhere in the store and picking up a case of camo Lone Star on my way home.
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Sorry Cube, but Annie had a huge setback earlier this week when she hit a Dodge Ram at about 45mph. When she gets home and someone captures the perfect candid picture of me giving her a huge hug, I will finally have one worth keeping for the long haul (bar another tragedy).
We do in the Midwest, they’re deer season colors: blaze orange with a side of camo domestic beer cans everywhere, it’s glorious.
I let my dad do most of mine actually, he’s retired and enjoys going full wizard with itemized deductions. Spends far more time on them than I would. Couple very interesting things you can do with vehicles if you’re self employed/have a small business.
It’s not writing it off. I’m simplifying a bit here, but envision 3 tax brackets — filing singly you’d have up to 50k at 0%; 50k up to 100k at 10%; and 100k on up at 20%. Married filing jointly (to a certain extent) alters the tiers, e.g., now it’s up to 100k at 0%, 100k up to 200k at 10%, and so on.
If you made 150k and your spouse made 35k, filing singly your spouse pays $0 in taxes and you pay 5k (50k @ 10%) + 10k (50k @ 20%) = 15k. Married filing jointly, your joint income is 185k, but you have different brackets, the first 100k is at 0% and the 85k is at 10%, for a total of 8.5k. The december thing just means that you can file married filing jointly (rather than singly) for the last year, no different that if you go married in July or August of that year. The point there was if you have a “fuck it let’s get married” moment in December, you should knock it out before the new year and save yourself some cash. If you both have similar paychecks, it’s a toss.
If you both make a lot, it’s better to actually “tie the knot” with a lawyer — legally binding contract but not married according to the state, then you’ll pay less tax; however, you could get boned if you have to sell a house that increases drastically in value.
That’s why we need self driving cars, for those who can’t park/drive. Hopefully insurance doesn’t total Annie, will find out soon enough I guess.
She says: I’m a good driver.
I hear: The sound of my 6000lb Land Cruiser crushing another woman’s vehicle.
Time to dust off the passport boys.
I basically have this same type of playlist, check out:
Ok Whiskey – Jason Eady
Katherine Belle – American Aquarium
Distant Memory Lane – Fifth On The Floor
Memphis on the River – Matt Stell
Bourbon Flood – Dolly Shine
Texas & Tennessee – Lucero
But don’t change your current playlist, A+.
I can’t wait for the beautiful disaster that is the presidential election cycle.
I’d help if I could.
My hair is here to stay, actually looking forward to the salt and pepper Clooney look.
If our Jewish correspondent was still here he’d have words (about NYC bagels) for this one.
December birthday here, deactivate the Facebook for 3 days and self-gift my birthday/Christmas present. Wouldn’t do it any other way. Blew up the AMEX with a rifle scope last year and building the rifle for it this year.
Life and Tapas, a Listicle by Kendra
1. When I unlocked my phone there was a 10 in the upper right hand corner of my messages icon. Why can’t people type paragraphs instead of 10 individual idiotic half-sentences? (Never mind the irony that this is a listicle). Oh, great… it’s a fucking group chat. It is absolute horse hockey that a person can just put you into a group chat without asking first, but that’s a list for a different day.
2. “You guys want to do tapas on Thursday night?” No I don’t want to do Tapas, bitch, I want to chill in my uber cool loft in Seattle with Dominos, garbage wine, and my sadness.
3. Whatever, I have to keep up appearances with the people who worship me and my successful “alternative” lifestyle, even though I find them pedestrian, so I replied, “Yeah, I’m in.”
4. Is it Monday? Fuck, it’s Monday, still hungover from Saturday night and a marathon of Gilmore Girls alone with my wine on Sunday.
5. “I need to get out more anyway. I just moved to this city and I still eat at fucking Panera all the time. Time to get out of my comfort zone.”
6. “I’m like 75% sure tapas is some variant of Mediterranean food and I love chicken shwarma so if the menu stinks, I’ll just order that.”
7. “I haven’t been out on a Thursday in like two weeks, and I’m getting paid on Friday as it is — fuck it.”
8. Still Monday, I’m tired. Thursday is sooooo far and I’ll be even more tired working from home writing lists, but I had already committed, so I begrudgingly told myself that I was going (because my friends would beg me to go if I tried to back out, and who needs that?).
8.1 The rest of the week went by, and by midday Thursday I still hated everything.
8.2 I arrived at Valencia ten minutes early (which I really need to stop doing because being the first person in your group to a bar/restaurant/party sucks), I hate being the only responsible person in the world with a sick loft in Seattle.
9. The menu, it sucks, fuck Tapas, nothing pleases me. Eight different plates of food, interspersed over the course of what ended up being a few hours. Fuck. Not like I can leave now.
10. I curse under my breath to no one in particular because I see a couple in the back corner, and I’m forever alone.
11. “How the hell does that ugly horse have a date?”
12. When we finally sat down, the food was actually great. But when it’s served in portions that wouldn’t satiate a small child, it’s exactly like that girl who texts you on Friday night but never seems to want to actually meet up. I love to meet up, just kidding, I’m a giant tease but a “guys girl,” ya feel me?
13. TWO FUCKING HOURS AND I’M STILL NOT FULL.
14. My friends are assholes for inviting me somewhere new.
15. Two hours of my life I’ll never get back, and I’d advise avoiding said eateries at all costs.
16. At least leftover wine, Dominos, and another season of Gilmore Girls awaits me in my sweet loft. Fuck everything.
You’re a better man than me, every time I throw some expensive beer in the cart I end up hiding it somewhere in the store and picking up a case of camo Lone Star on my way home.
I once cuffed myself to book shelf with my dad’s set. It was a long night.
Going to any chain restaurant in a major city is a waste of time and disappointing, I don’t get the appeal.
Monday. No question. I can pretty much blow off any email after 3pm on a Friday as is. Monday, not so much.
Should I know who Meatwad and Carl are?