This is going to end badly

For the last week or two Gilderoy and I have been having "issues". I want him to log on to the internet, he pretends the internet must not exist because his linksys adapter is totally working just fine but there is nothing out there.

The little green light on the receiver thingy blinks like it is working, but the little computer icon on the bar at the bottom of the screen keeps yelling about trying to acquire an address or something.

Of course, I accuse Gilderoy of lying, because Phoenix can access the internet just fine. Gilderoy points out that Phoenix actually has a cord shoved up his bum physically linking him to the cable modem so that could have something to do with it, and have I checked the wireless router? Maybe the fault lies there, because it can't be Gilderoy or Gilderoy's receiver thingy.

I counter with the fact that Salazar Awesomesauce Slytherin gets on-line just fine, and Awesomsauce is also running on the wireless. So the router must be good.

"Maybe Awesomesauce is stealing someone else's wireless? He is a Slytherin, that's the sort of thing they do."

I would say of course he isn't, but thanks to Captain's latest attempts to make Awesomesauce play nice when we're traveling I can no longer figure out how to tell what network he's accessing anymore.

"Nope, I'm pretty sure it's ours," I bluff.

"But you can't be sure sure, can you? So you don't know if it would even help to replace the fairly new receiver or if it would be better to replace the three year old wireless router... or if I'm getting senile in my advanced computer age of nearly four years old... Also, are you aware that you're having conversations with an inanimate object?"

At which point there is usually a threat that I'm rebooting the computer ONE MORE TIME and if the damn thing doesn't start playing nice there will be hell to pay, and then finally, after the seventh reboot and four hours later because something is still running in the background somewhere and slowing everything the hell down bad enough that I can't even turn the computer off without having to resort to a hard boot and mucho annoyance I finally get Linksys to manually accept the secure network password and let me on-line even though it is supposed to log in automatically and it friggin' knows what the password is and it's just being an annoying wanker...

Even the damn Wii (who I just realized does not have a name) can get on-line.

I hate technology. I know just enough about it to know that it's not working right, but not enough to know how to fix it.

This wouldn't be such a problem if I didn't have to reboot every. Single. Time. I want to print something, because Gilderoy and the printer (who I call George for no reason that I can remember) hate each other and shortly after I finish printing things the two decide to ignore each other and Gilderoy will start to deny that George is there. Even though George is connected to Gilderoy with a cord up the bum and not via the wireless network.

Even the electronics in this house should be on psych meds.

This is going to end badly

For the last week or two Gilderoy and I have been having "issues". I want him to log on to the internet, he pretends the internet must not exist because his linksys adapter is totally working just fine but there is nothing out there.

The little green light on the receiver thingy blinks like it is working, but the little computer icon on the bar at the bottom of the screen keeps yelling about trying to acquire an address or something.

Of course, I accuse Gilderoy of lying, because Phoenix can access the internet just fine. Gilderoy points out that Phoenix actually has a cord shoved up his bum physically linking him to the cable modem so that could have something to do with it, and have I checked the wireless router? Maybe the fault lies there, because it can't be Gilderoy or Gilderoy's receiver thingy.

I counter with the fact that Salazar Awesomesauce Slytherin gets on-line just fine, and Awesomsauce is also running on the wireless. So the router must be good.

"Maybe Awesomesauce is stealing someone else's wireless? He is a Slytherin, that's the sort of thing they do."

I would say of course he isn't, but thanks to Captain's latest attempts to make Awesomesauce play nice when we're traveling I can no longer figure out how to tell what network he's accessing anymore.

"Nope, I'm pretty sure it's ours," I bluff.

"But you can't be sure sure, can you? So you don't know if it would even help to replace the fairly new receiver or if it would be better to replace the three year old wireless router... or if I'm getting senile in my advanced computer age of nearly four years old... Also, are you aware that you're having conversations with an inanimate object?"

At which point there is usually a threat that I'm rebooting the computer ONE MORE TIME and if the damn thing doesn't start playing nice there will be hell to pay, and then finally, after the seventh reboot and four hours later because something is still running in the background somewhere and slowing everything the hell down bad enough that I can't even turn the computer off without having to resort to a hard boot and mucho annoyance I finally get Linksys to manually accept the secure network password and let me on-line even though it is supposed to log in automatically and it friggin' knows what the password is and it's just being an annoying wanker...

Even the damn Wii (who I just realized does not have a name) can get on-line.

I hate technology. I know just enough about it to know that it's not working right, but not enough to know how to fix it.

This wouldn't be such a problem if I didn't have to reboot every. Single. Time. I want to print something, because Gilderoy and the printer (who I call George for no reason that I can remember) hate each other and shortly after I finish printing things the two decide to ignore each other and Gilderoy will start to deny that George is there. Even though George is connected to Gilderoy with a cord up the bum and not via the wireless network.

Even the electronics in this house should be on psych meds.

My yoga instructor is trying to kill me, I'm pretty sure.

Went to my first yoga class today. With an actual live yoga instructor.

At what point, exactly, did I lose my mind enough to think this was a good idea?

So sore. Soooooo sore.

Also, when one is completely and utterly out of shape, has just woken up two hours before hand and hasn't actually had anything to eat or drink, one should probably not be surprised when the urge to vomit springs up somewhere around the fifteenth downward dog.

I'll be hearing that in my sleep, by the way. Downward dog. And now, the downward dog pose. Okay, back to the downward dog.

I hate the downward dog.

I wussed out and had to sit on my little yoga mat many times during the 50 minute class, just until my stomach settled enough that I was pretty sure that the next time I upended into the f'in downward dog I wouldn't heave. Thankfully, I was not the only overweight, out of shape person in the class (the majority of us wore "Haha, you want me to want? Hahah. No." faces at least once, even though we gamely gave it our best shot). There were two ladies who were pretty good at this yoga stuff and one woman who probably could have stepped in to teach because she was extremely bendy.

Luckily, the instructor kept most of the class pretty simple (although not simple enough for my tummy, but since mother nature decided to smite me unexpectedly today, that's not terribly surprising) while sneaking over to rubber girl and suggesting modifications to the positions that would make them "more hardcore" for her.

On one hand, I can't do a push up to save my own life so easing down from the plank to "hover" over the mat is just not going to happen. On the other, I can rock the butterfly like whoa.

To celebrate surviving our first class, Sarah and I considered going to Whataburger and getting a patty melt. Because we have no real respect for our bodies, it seems. In the end, we went to Olive Garden and I nearly inhaled three bowls of salad and a bowl of soup.

My yoga instructor is trying to kill me, I'm pretty sure.

Went to my first yoga class today. With an actual live yoga instructor.

At what point, exactly, did I lose my mind enough to think this was a good idea?

So sore. Soooooo sore.

Also, when one is completely and utterly out of shape, has just woken up two hours before hand and hasn't actually had anything to eat or drink, one should probably not be surprised when the urge to vomit springs up somewhere around the fifteenth downward dog.

I'll be hearing that in my sleep, by the way. Downward dog. And now, the downward dog pose. Okay, back to the downward dog.

I hate the downward dog.

I wussed out and had to sit on my little yoga mat many times during the 50 minute class, just until my stomach settled enough that I was pretty sure that the next time I upended into the f'in downward dog I wouldn't heave. Thankfully, I was not the only overweight, out of shape person in the class (the majority of us wore "Haha, you want me to want? Hahah. No." faces at least once, even though we gamely gave it our best shot). There were two ladies who were pretty good at this yoga stuff and one woman who probably could have stepped in to teach because she was extremely bendy.

Luckily, the instructor kept most of the class pretty simple (although not simple enough for my tummy, but since mother nature decided to smite me unexpectedly today, that's not terribly surprising) while sneaking over to rubber girl and suggesting modifications to the positions that would make them "more hardcore" for her.

On one hand, I can't do a push up to save my own life so easing down from the plank to "hover" over the mat is just not going to happen. On the other, I can rock the butterfly like whoa.

To celebrate surviving our first class, Sarah and I considered going to Whataburger and getting a patty melt. Because we have no real respect for our bodies, it seems. In the end, we went to Olive Garden and I nearly inhaled three bowls of salad and a bowl of soup.