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I think this is what is called, irony.

I hate when I’m wrong. When I’m right, I like to rub it in. Nicely, but rub it in good. Saying I TOLD YOU SO, is very gratifying. Especially in marriage.

Irony-

Origin of IRONY

Latin ironia, from Greek eirōnia, from eirōndissembler

First Known Use: 1502
plural iro·nies

Not this kind of irony.

Definition of IRONY

a (1) : incongruity between the actual result of a sequence of events and the normal or expected result (2) : an event or result marked by such incongruity b : incongruity between a situation developed in a drama and the accompanying words or actions that is understood by the audience but not by the characters in the play —called also dramatic irony, tragic irony

Here’s the shiz– I got a speeding ticket in the school zone at Emma’s middle school. Craptastic. It has one of those flashing school zone lights with the auto camera that flashes if you go over the speed limit and they mail you the ticket. When it was first installed James got a warning mailed to him. Boy did I ride him on that one. And don’t get your bloomers in a bunch- I nagged him incessantly on why he needs to heed to the 20mph law for that strip of road. It’s a school zone for pete’s sake, they don’t put those signs up for nothing, I yelled.

So what happens? An envelope comes in the mail that HE opens (I need to get the mail first apparently) and was actually feeling guilty thinking it was his (the cars are registered in his name). He politely says, ‘the Honda Odyssey was photographed in front of the school on Dec. 8 at 2:38 pm going 29 in a 20’.

Curse you camera ticketer machine thingy!

Curse you camera-ticketer-machine thingy!

I wanted to answer, ‘oh, that was the day some punks took the minivan for a joyride and happened to drive by the school’.  But instead, I just looked at him and said, ‘yeah, so?’

Hubs- “looks like it won’t go on your driving record and will just be a parking infraction.”

Me (nonchalantly)- “oh, lucky me. How ironic since I always nag you about that huh?”

Hubs- “yep, surprised it was you not me.”

Me- “aren’t you going to rub it in?”

Hubs- “no”

I hate when he’s the better man. Dammit.

So then I said, “the good news is I returned the library books that were way over due and they were going to charge us for and they found the one that was turned in but they thought was missing and were going to make us pay for, so really my money is just going to the city anyway.” (okay, our library is a County library, but give me a flippin’ break)

The point is- What I thought I saved in library books fees, I owe in speeding tickets.

And gosh darn it, James is nicer when it comes to rubbing stuff in my face. So there. I said it.

'Slow down ma'am, this is a school zone'

Forty is the new everything

I’m a little bit giddy, a little bit nervous, and kinda paranoid all at the same time.

Here’s why:

My girlfriend Christin and I are going to the Grammys. Yeah. The real deal. Where Lady Gaga and Tony Bennett and LMFAO are all in the same room. It will be our early 40th birthday present to ourselves. Our friend Jennifer is taking us. She’s got some awesome connections and a super awesome dad that’s how we got to be so lucky.

So between freaking out, figuring out what I’m going to wear, making hair appointments to cover my roots, waxing (I don’t really wax) and telling the hubs he’ll have the kids for a whole weekend on his own, the back of my mind is going through the- ‘does this mean that with something this good, the universe will even the score and something bad will happen?

I know. That’s awful. How cynical of me. Good things happen to people, regardless. Bad things happen when  nothing good has happened. So why do I think because I get a stroke of good fortune, misfortune will come knocking?  Because I’m normal. Or fu*#ed/normal. The new normal.

So on top of all that, yes,  I’m turning 40. In August. But still, it’s there. On the calendar. Like a root canal. Or a pap smear appointment. But it’s also kind of super awesome. Why? Because I feel like now the best is yet to come. Even if the universe wants to settle any scores,  my life is way better than it was 20 years ago. Hell yeah. My twentieth birthday was spent going to my retail job, living in my cramped apartment, a few friends to make me feel special, no bars yet- I didn’t have a fake ID (too much of a goody-two-shoes) and no boyfriend. Now a boyfriend shouldn’t make you need to feel complete. But come on, let’s be real- I was a girl with needs. The need to be romanced, kissed on the neck, kissed on the lips, and snuggled. (More than that, but my mom reads my blog)

The plan is for me and the family to be in Europe with friends in August for my 40th. That’s pretty fantastical. Expensive. But fantastical. Of course, I’m stressed because I don’t have passports for the kids yet. And since the new law requires all of us to go in person so James knows I’m not kidnapping our kids to New Zealand, it makes for a difficult time getting us all together to the appointment, at the Post Office, on a Saturday. Or I’m just procrastinating because it doesn’t sound like fun to get a passport.

So yeah. My 2012 is going to be excellent. Like Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure. But I doubt there will be time travel.

So the Grammy’s. I promised Emma I would  try and get a picture of Nicki Minaj.

I’m sure the next 5 weeks (FIVE WEEKS!) will be full of outfit questions and other babblings.

Yay me. And Christin. And Jennifer. Happy Birthday to  us.

Emma's favorite. I can't understand a word she sings. Emma says that's probably because I'm old and a parent.

My favorite. Maybe she'll sing to me.