One for you, nineteen for me

I heard the strangest accent ever today: Imagine a very proper Brit dropped into Arkansas for just long enough to pick up a drawl, without really losing the British accent. Bizarre. Then I saw a comb-over so bad it stopped me in my tracks. It hadn't occurred to me before I saw that one, but comb-overs are pretty rare here. I guess old Spanish men have better taste. Both these things happened on my way to yet another police station for the nth step in my seven-month process of becoming legal. And now I have my card and it's finally over. I'm a resident! Yay! Pretty anticlimactic, really, but hopefully this means I'll keep getting regular paychecks and won't be deported.

The paycheck thing is important, because I just signed over pretty much all my dollars to the IRS and the state of New York. I'm a good liberal, I like paying taxes, I'm not gonna bitch and moan, but... OUCH. The New York City tax is what really killed me. It could be worse though--I could live in Yonkers. Then I'd still have to pay a city tax and I'd be living in Yonkers.