The Rise & Take Over of Artificial Intelligence (aka Computers = Insanity)

So, I haven’t written in a bit. In my defense, I’ve been very busy doing a lot of nothing. ahem.

I’m really not sure where my days are going. I haven’t been nearly as productive as I want to be during this ‘off work’ time.  I’ve spent half of today trying to fix my son’s computer (again). i’m uber close to lobbing it out the window in a fit of rageousness.

He said he had a ‘bad day’ at school, because he had a headache and he’s tired. His crankiness level certainly isn’t helped by the fact that he can’t get on Minecraft, because Internet Explorer keeps shutting down. (My kids might be a bit addicted to Minecraft).

So my sis.in.law and I thought it would be groovy to give Insanity a shot. You know, that crazy workout program? So we sat down & watched it (while eating popcorn & drinking soda. Ha!). Then we thought ‘hey let’s try that!’  Yeaaaa.

There’s a reason it’s called “Insanity”.
You have to be insane to do it.

We didn’t even make it through the fitness test at the beginning. Lungs fell out of chest halfway through, pretty sure I kicked mine across the room while attempting a powerkick that would make Bruce Lee cringe. Workout program, my non-Insanity’d butt. More like torture program.

You have these three overly cheerful people (who are obviously robots, in reality) and they’re all “Oh yay, let’s do this!”

So you start doing these outrageously exhausting kicks & jumps (“Faster!” the robots chant as you’re gasping for oxygen & trying to find where you kicked your lung, “C’mon! Faster!”). We had to give it up halfway through it – it’s definitely not the workout program to do if you have a jacked up back. & these human-robots want you to do this everyday? Sure, when you hook a caffeine drip straight to my heart and get me an oxygen tank.

I could barely freaking move the next day (& the day after that). I think my spine melted into goo. Painful, aching goo.

Of course, my husband throws his two cents in (& he’s right, of course): “It’s called IN-SAN-I-TY! Why did you think they gave it that name?” Shut up, darling, before I send the exercising robots after you, and then switch your coffee to decaf. (Insert grumbling – achy, painful grumbling – here).

That was four days ago. I’m almost able to walk without cringing now.

I’m secretary of the PTO at my kids’ school, right? Right. I’ll be the first to say that I’m the worst PTO secretary ever. I’ve been to a couple of the school-related things to help out (bookfair, photo day, that kind of thing) but I haven’t actually made it to any of the PTO meetings. Head, meet desk. When I first joined, hubby’s car was jacked up, so we were sharing mine. He drove mine to work on the nights of the meetings. When he got it fixed — well, I still didn’t go to the meetings. PTO Secretary Fail.

Anyway, book fair’s this week at school. I volunteered to help out a few days. Do your kids have these book fairs? The book pricing at these things is ridiculous! I think my textbooks for my college classes were cheaper than the six books my kids bought between them at the last one.


It’s like:
“Mom, book fair is this week!” Great, I’ll go take out a loan so you can get a book you’ll glance at once and toss on the bookshelf, to never touch again. “Awesome, thanks mom!”

I love books myself. I think I’ll marry them.

I think I’ve made up for not writing the past week. I should go be productive now, but I’ll probably make more jewelry (which is productive, as it’s for my business) and watch Supernatural or Doctor Who.

Robot Wanted

I’m exhausted. The end!

No, I’m kidding. Well, not about the exhausted part. That would be a boring thing to kid about. My sense of humour is wayyy better than that (or so I like to tell myself).

I went to do an assessment/training for a new job today. I think I did fairly well, I’ll find out in a few days. It’s a factory job. I’ve been in childcare for 13 years, at one childcare center, but I resigned that position last month (long, ranty post about that coming, no doubt). I’ve never worked a factory job. Heck, I’ve never even been on the production floor of a factory. Today I went for the assessment, for a Toyota plant.

I did not get to build a robot. *sulk*

 

I did, however, do a lot of repetitive tasks, bunches of lifting, and some kickbutt drilling. Would have been better if I was getting paid for the four hours I was there, but alas, they waved their cutlasses about and I was without my Jack Sparrow hat, so I agreed to a non-paid assessment/testing.

  Johnny Depp. Dreamy sigh.

What? Where was I? Oh, right.

After the hour’s drive home, I promptly and enthusiastically…  sat my butt down on the couch and fell asleep for about 30 minutes. My hubby & our roommate (my brother’s lovely girlfriend is staying with us) came home half an hour after I dozed off, and I whined about hunger, as I hadn’t eaten since 6:30 a.m. Legit whining, it was 1 pm! Hubby offered to fix me food. I growled out something incoherent, and it was decided that wifey (me!) and roomie should go out for Chinese food. Yum.

I’ve spent the last hour learning a dance (“Break The Chains”) for the 1 Billion Rising movement, which will be taking place on Lovey-Gooey Day. That’s Valentine’s Day in street terms.

onebillionrising.org

So. Worked my booty off today, then came home & danced for an hour. Yay exercise. *collapse*
I should be making jewelry that I’ve sold & need to ship out tomorrow. If I had gotten to build that robot at the factory, it could be doing it for me!  D:<

It’s time to make the young’uns do homework. I could use a whole army of robots for that.
I’ll leave you with this:


[Amy Pond, you groovy, snarky companion. (<3 Doctor Who)].

Hallmark Day (or the one known as Valentine's Day)

I think that one of the reasons my hubby and I get on so well is that we both hate Valentine’s Day.

Hate is a mild word. “Loathe” would be more accurate.
We wouldn’t “celebrate” it at all, if it weren’t for our kids and the little parties they have at school. 

All the hearts and pink and money money money that goes into this particular holiday makes me throw up a little.



I’m not a big fan of flowers. It’s a sweet sentiment, but they’re going to die in two days. That’s money well spent. If you want to show me that you love me, go do the freaking dishes or something.

Candy? Okay, I dig chocolate as much as the next chick. I can get that any time, though. I would still prefer you do the dishes. I don’t need that stuff on HallMark Lovey-Gooey Day.

The way I see it is: If you love me, show it year ’round. One day of the year isn’t going to cut it.

I remember our first VDay together (vaguely – that was like a thousand and six years ago).
It went something like:
Hubby: Do I have to get you flowers?
Me: Why? What did you do?
Hubby: For stupid Valentine’s Day, I mean
Me: Why? What did you do?

We show our love in other ways. Like telling him I’ll eat his face if he ticks me off but I love him anyway, or him telling me he loves me even when I’m a raging beast monster. We laugh together, we watch our fave shows (currently Doctor Who & Game of Thrones & The Daily Show) together. We get each other – he has this jacked up sense of humour sometimes which makes me laugh like mad. I’m completely awesome which makes him lucky. Wait — Is that what I meant to say? Well, I already typed it, I don’t want to have to backspace, so..

We’ve been married for 17 years, and every day that we’ve been together, he has told me that he loves me. Even when we’re angry and throwing words or chairs or small churches at each other, he tells me every day that he loves me. I don’t need a holiday to know that I’m loved – he says it in a thousand and one ways (and not all of them end with ‘take your crazy pills”!)

I don’t need flowers, or expensive candy (just bring me a gorrum kit-kat) or $38 cards with lame poetry. (I like his lame poetry way better ^_^). If he wants to buy me a new car, however – well, I could probably force myself to be okay with that. (Just kidding, my little honey bunches of oats. No pressure <3)

Hubby – “Why do you call me tolerant?”
Me – “Well, I am a little crazy sometimes”
Hubby – “Why do you say sometimes?”


(<-From the internet. Some place.)

Oh, Loves of Mine

[2-10-13]

My 10 year old daughter and my 8 year old son are both clever, highly intelligent, very imaginative children. They’re also both very strong-willed. Very strong-willed.

Sometimes they try to resolve their differences by trying to kill each other. 
After pulling them off one another (for the fifteenth time this week) yesterday, I discovered that my son had four large scratches across his chest. Hubby sent daughter to her room to cool down, then looks at me and says something like, “She gets that from you and your demon blood.” Commence glaring (to which he covers his eyes and flees, screeching, “Don’t look her in the eyes! You’ll turn to stone!”)

I love my kids. Even when they’re trying to kill each other or plot world domination (as my son has promised to do with the help of a microwave and a toaster. I'm not sure how that works, but he says he has a plan).


See how sweet & innocent they look?

I taught them how to cover up their more evil intentions quite well! ahem.

They really are the brightest, best moments in my days (& life). And the things they come up with amaze me (& crack me up).

“Oshawatt! You’re so adorable! That’s why I have to kill you.” – Ash (She was playing something with Pokemon?)

“If I murder the chickens, there will be no more chicken nuggets.” – Ash
“Wouldn’t that make chicken nuggets?” – Nic
(They’re playing Minecraft. I didn’t realise there was so much chicken murdering in Minecraft. Or.. any, really.)

[originally written 2-10-13. I'm moving posts from the old blog to the new one. /edit: Oh look, I figured out how to change the posting date. Whee.]

Title, Optional

So I’m sitting here one day, and I’m reading these awesome blogs by these awesome people, and that little voice in my head starts sulking.

“I want a blog,” it says to me.
No. You don’t need a blog.
“But I want one.”
You have online journals, offline journals, an online Etsy shop, several photography accounts that you’ve done rubbish with. You don’t need a blog.
“I want a blog!”

So it’s a spoiled inner voice – I caved (of course), and here I am: Transversing (or maybe transgressing! We’ll see!) the world of blogging.

So who am I, other than another random chick on the ‘net with a spoiled inner voice? I’m Angi. Nice to meet ya. ^_^

I’m a mom of two beautiful, brilliant children. The wife of an awesome (& rather tolerant) man. A total fangirl/geek. A would-be cosplayer (if only I didn't suck with a sewing machine). A childcare professional. Would-be photographer. Writer, when time permits. Someone creates geek & alternative jewelry.

I’m a lot of things. Am I blogger? I guess we’ll find out.