My Own Personal Technology "Fail"

Today we’re doing interviews for a position that is currently filled by an employee soon to be leaving to have babies. Two of them. I don’t know whether to be happy or seriously freaked out for her. She seems happy, though, so I guess I’ll go for that.

It’s a job that I would love to do but, judging by my own stupidity shown when trying to set up for said interview, perhaps it’s best that I didn’t apply. The interviewers are two people that I currently work for, and I’m afraid that not only would I not be chosen for this position, but I would also be fired from the job I do now. Best to keep up the illusion of my intelligence.

Interviews at my place of work consist of an oral discussion and a written test. While the candidate is cleverly trying to prove that they are the best person for the job, I was to set up the test room with the spare laptop, instructions, and data stick.

No problem, right? Maybe not for normal, observant people.

I used to pride myself on my attention to detail. Indeed, my resume currently boasts my “excellent attention to detail to ensure accuracy of information.” I’m beginning to think I need to remove that little tidbit.

See, we all have our own log-in information. I can log onto any computer within the company and be able to access all my own information and documents. So, you can imagine my panic when my settings wouldn’t let me connect to the network. I hadn’t planned for any mishaps and time was running low before the first candidate was scheduled to appear.

This was not an ideal way to start the morning and I was producing a worrying amount of sweat for my current sedentary position. No matter how many times I entered in my passwords, it still wasn’t working. Not to mention that I had a difficult time even opening the damn thing. I’m fairly certain that it was made in the 1990s.

(Really, guys? You can’t spring for new laptops? They’re not that expensive now. I think it’s a problem when we still use laptops that have little red dots to scroll on things. And maybe while you’re at it, you could think about some new desktops? I have to beat mine to a pulp every day because it makes extremely annoying noises. The tower is dangerously close to splitting open as a result of my punches. PS – not my fault.)

Scrambling, I ran (hobbled, I was in heels, after all) back to my desk to call E and ask if she had ever set up a laptop here before. Negative. My panic transferred to her. That’s why I love her – she doesn’t let me panic alone.

I frantically dialed IT while looking up all the technologically inclined contacts (2) I have in the company. Neither IT nor my contacts were available.

I was ready to start crying when JR, one of my work buddies, came over to see why I was becoming a puddle.

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M DOING AND I CAN’T SIGN IN TO THE LAPTOP! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO???”

JR calmly (he is remarkably steady amongst chaos) asked if the laptop had its own log in information.

Huh?

Instead of trying to explain to me what he meant (he knows better by now), JR took a look at the computer himself.

“Yeah, the log in information is right here. On the left side corner.”

My hand was covering it when I was trying to sign in. MY HAND.

“It’s okay. They hide it.”

I wish I could say that they at least present it in very little font.

They do not.

JR signed in for me, and everything the candidate would need was all right there on the desktop.

“Thank you so much. And please don’t tell anyone about this. It’s very embarrassing.”

“I’m putting it in my newsletter. You’re welcome, though.”

Guess I can’t really blame him.

Caution: Floor Slippery When Wet

This weekend, I visited J before she leaves for teacher’s college. We’re not the coolest people in the world and, while people our age would usually plan to hit the town, we decided to partake in a viewing of Step Up 3D.

(It was fantastic, by the way. Hot men that can dance? What’s not to love? I’ve also decided to take hip hop dance lessons in the hope that it will either a) make me look like the gorgeous female dancers; b) win me a man that resembles one of the male dancers; or, in a win-win situation for me, c) all of the above).

Anyway, after the movie, we decided to head over to a local ice cream shop for a wee treat. It was pouring rain out and, in order to avoid getting soaked in the 2 seconds it would take to walk from the car to the shop, I decided to run. Quickly. Right into the store.

Did you know that linoleum floors are extremely slippery when wet? Or that $4 sandals have very little traction on them?

Well, I certainly do. Now.

In my haste to get into the store, I swung the door open, looked back to see where J was, stepped into the shop, and slid through the doorway.

I just didn’t stop sliding.

I’m sure you can guess what happened next, but let me fill you in on the more intricate details.

As I went sliding in the ice cream shop, my thought process went a little something like this: “This floor is extremely slippery … Oh dear God, I’m not stopping … WHY AM I NOT STOPPING?? … Oh shit, I’m going down … I am on my ass in the middle of an ice cream shop … I wonder if there’s a chance no one saw that…”

Let me tell you something: people saw it. J couldn’t stop laughing. She was laughing so hard she couldn’t (wouldn’t?) help me up. All three of the, thankfully female, workers came rushing out of the back of the shop, eyes wide and smiles playing on their stupidly pretty (I hated them) faces.

Perhaps the icing on the proverbial cake was that I didn’t gracefully slide onto the floor (I’m beginning to rethink this whole hip hop dancing career). Oh, no. I can only speculate, but I assume I held a resemblance to a (overweight) baby deer trying to stay on a surfboard during a tsunami. I wobbled fiercely. The arms went out, Surfer Dude style. My knees stayed together whilst my legs involuntarily spread from the knees down, a la Bambi. I tried so hard to stay upright that I crashed into the high chair that was located just inside of the door.

The high chair was the loudest fucking high chair in the history of the world. The tray fell off and clattered to the ground. On the floor at this point (I may have still been hanging onto the door handle), I flailed my legs hysterically in my urge to stand up and kicked the high chair tray around the floor (I left it there, by the way. Stupid wet ice cream shop floor).

One of the workers’ responses at my booming exclamation of “THE FLOOR IS SLIPPERY” (trying to save face, you know how it is) was “the sign is up, right?” Yes, thanks Barbie. The sign notifying me of the wet floor is indeed right in front of me. What the hell did that do for me, huh?

I didn’t even get a free ice cream out of the deal.

However, I wonder if they have a video of it… That would be some funny shit to put on YouTube…

Friday Night: Walmart. Alone.

Alone on Friday night (parents are watching TV. Together). Decide to write blog detailing my evening.

Partake in lovely, restful nap. But very odd dreams. Woke up unsure if the events that happened were real or fictional. Extremely confused.

Dad calls me for dinner. Promptly forget about weird dreams in excitement for food.

Eat delicious tomato and mozzarella salad. Pretend I am in Italy.

Sit on bed, very bored. Wonder where friends are. No one returns texts.

Talk to best friend on phone. Giggle about guys. Feel much happier.

Sit on bed again. Contemplate cleaning room, as it is difficult to see the floor.

Quickly disregard that ridiculous idea.

Decide to venture to Walmart. Mom suggests going to see new Walmart two towns over. Get very excited.

Briefly address excitement of Walmart trip, but decide it is best left alone. Not sure it's something I want to delve into too deeply. Assume it will be depressing.

Sing Journey really loud in car ride on way to Walmart. Think that ‘Faithfully’ would make perfect wedding dance song.

Realize that marriage will probably not be something in which I partake.

Change music to avoid depression.

Arrive at Walmart and realize that every Walmart looks the same. Somewhat of a let down.

Get lost in Walmart because it is so huge. Walk in circles before finding Cosmetics area.

Think that the layout of all Walmarts should be the same to avoid customers getting lost.

Realize that I am probably the only person to get lost in Walmart.

Walk around shoe area.

Hear music playing, and look in disgust at young couple who MUST be listening to their music on their phones.

Listen closer. Realize music is coming from own phone. Which is located in bra. Laugh hysterically to self.

Remove phone from bra with some difficulty to turn off music.

Replace phone back in bra and continue on merry way. Ignore weird looks from fellow shoppers. They can suck it. (Not literally, though. That’s weird.)

Awareness Monday: Organ Donation

I’ve decided to write a weekly post about an issue that I feel is important for people to be aware of. Sure, it’s fun to write about the trivial experiences that I go through in my daily life, but there is so much out there that is important to me, and having the ability to write about it in a public forum is an opportunity that can’t be overlooked.

I’ve always been an advocate of organ donation, but it wasn’t until I started reading blogs about Cystic Fibrosis, and experiencing the loss of a young cousin, that really drove the point home for me.

I’ve never been directly affected by Cystic Fibrosis. In fact, I never really knew much about it. I fundraised for Shinerama during my Orientation Week at University, but any knowledge that I gained about the disease was quickly overshadowed by the new experiences that were unfolding in front of me. It wasn’t until I read a story about Natalia Ritchie in the Toronto Star that I realized just how serious CF is.

(I’m not going to try and explain Cystic Fibrosis, because I don’t have a real grasp of what it is. It’s not my place to describe something with which I don’t have any experience).

Natalia was writing a blog about the experience of having her daughter carried by a surrogate, being unable to carry a baby herself due to her illness. She didn’t, however, let her disease rule her life. It wasn’t until she was close to death that it seemed as though CF might win the fight. With her new daughter in her thoughts and her family surrounding her with unwavering support and faith, Natalia received a lung transplant.

One of the most admirable traits about Natalia was her refusal to hope or pray for lungs. She recognized that, in order for her to receive her transplant, someone would have to pay the ultimate sacrifice. Her humanity and compassion truly make her an inspiration.

The relief and happiness I felt after I found out that Natalia received her lungs showed me that I don’t have to be personally affected by anything to have it matter. That’s what makes it necessary to create awareness about topics that people may not consider. We have the ability to make changes in so many people’s lives, so long as we care enough to make it happen. We have that power.

Through Natalia’s blog I came across one written by Ronnie and Mandi Sharpe. They share their lives with their readers, allowing us into their love story and into their campaign for creating awareness of Cystic Fibrosis. Ronnie’s positive outlook on life and CF, Mandi’s support of her husband and their campaign, and their great personalities are motivating to enjoy life to its fullest, as well as showing us that true love isn’t just in movies and books. They’re an amazing couple.

As seen with Natalia’s story, those suffering from CF may one day require an organ donation. I’ve chosen to be an organ donor. The woman who saved Natalia chose to be an organ donor. And so did Christie Rose.

Two years ago, my second cousin, Christie, passed away from injuries suffered in a car accident. She was 18. She had her whole life ahead of her, a loving family, and a huge network of friends. I’d never been to a funeral like the one that was held for her, nor do I think I ever will be again. Her school auditorium was filled with friends and family, all devastated by their loss. Christie had such an impact on everyone who was lucky enough to be close to her. I wish I had the chance to experience her personality to the extent that was described in so many tributes to her.

Christie chose to be an organ donor, giving the ultimate gift to help those in need - an ideal that she advocated and followed in her own life. Her organs were donated to many people, one of whom happened to be a young mother. Because of Christie, that woman’s children will grow up knowing the grace of a mother’s love.

Organ donation is one of the most selfless acts a human being can be part of. If you aren’t one, please consider it. If you are, know that you may, one day, allow someone to live the life they’ve always dreamed of.

From Bella to Quasimodo

First off, I’m writing this on the recommendation of M’s girlfriend, K. She got a front row seat to my allergic reaction and, as a result, decided it would be a good idea to “write a blog about [your] face.” An inspired thought, I must say. But then she’s pretty cool, so it’s not exactly surprising.

Allergies have never been a huge problem for me. Sure, I get stuffed up and sneezy in warmer months and I can’t be around cats without getting itchy and watery eyes (not a huge problem as I don’t even like cats), but that’s about it. It wasn’t until I was about 18 that I had my first experience with hives.

That experience lasted 3 days and left me with laboured breathing and swollen lips.

Since then, hives pop up usually during or after a work out (I MUST be allergic to exercise!). Most times, my lips swell. I know it’s the style to have Angelina Jolie type lips, but there are three problems that hinder my ability to look like one of the sexiest women in the world (at one point. She’s kind of skinny now). First of all, I already have large lips. Second, the swelling tends to be only in one area. It ends up looking like an unfortunately botched collagen injection. And third, I’m not Angelina Jolie.

You can imagine my distress, then, when I started experiencing hives symptoms last night. Burning ears, check. Itchy skin, check. Swelling, check.

Only this time, it wasn’t my lips. Oh, no. It was my eyes.

It started out with just a wee bump. I was in aerobics class, so I thought nothing of it and put it down to either sweat or from rubbing my eyes.

Then it started growing. By this time, the class was almost done and I could see the bump when I looked into the mirror, which was on the opposite wall to where I was. Well, shit.

Now, a little bump would have been fine. Not ideal, obviously, but I could have handled it. But it didn’t stop there. By the time I got home (this all happened within the span of about 20 minutes), my left eye was almost swollen shut and the other eye was getting bigger. Thank the Lord for sunglasses.

I took two Benadryl and sat on my bed with an ice pack on my face. I think it made it worse.

At this point, dinner was being served and M and K were outside my bedroom door, excited to get a look at my hideous deformation. They promised they wouldn’t laugh.

M had his hand over his mouth. K covered her amusement by expressing her concern.

“Oh! Ooh, what happened? You might, uh, want to go to the Doctor’s.” Good advice, but there was no way in Hell I was leaving my house and going into the world looking like Quasimodo. If I was going anywhere, it was to a bell tower to live in shame of my deformity.

My Mom, while obviously expressing concern, had a hard time keeping her laughter to herself. My Dad, still trying to be serious about the issue, couldn’t control his emotions so well that I couldn’t see his face tighten up in order to bite back a smile. J and E, both of whom I sent pictures of my face to, burst out laughing at the sight of me.

And honestly? I wouldn’t have had it any other way. This is the reason I love my family and friends so much.

M, however, was perhaps the most insensitive of them all, asking me to keep my head down as I was sitting across from him at the dinner table and he was disgusted looking at me.

“You look like you’re from the circus.”

I charge $50 a ticket.

New York, New York!

So it's been a while since I've last written here. Truthfully, I couldn't get the energy to put my thoughts into a coherent post that would be both interesting and entertaining. I still haven't, but I thought I would give it a shot anyway.

My best friend, J, and I took a trip down to New York City to see our University friend and to take in the sights.

We drove down in my cute, white Cobalt, which didn't seem so cute after being cooped up in it for 7 hours, driving through small upstate New York towns and desperately hoping that our lives wouldn't become ideal models on which to create an epic horror film.

Aside from the toothless gas station attendants and jovial (or creepy, whichever you prefer) man with the Buffalo Bill type van, we managed to get to Poughkeepsie, New York with little more than sugar hangovers from the copious amounts of chocolate consumed on the road.

Fast forward past the uneventful train ride from Poughkeepsie to the City, and we had arrived. New York City. The Big Apple.

I don't know how many times we got hit with doors as New Yorkers hurried through and didn't think to (or didn't want to?) hold the door open as we struggled with our fully packed suitcases (so we packed too much. It was NEW YORK. You never know what you'll need there).

"We should get a cab to the hotel." I just wanted to be in an air conditioned room and lie down.

"Okay. Where?"

"This looks like a good place for taxis. How do you do it?"

Obviously, our naivety was extremely apparent, as we were charged $35 for a cab ride that, on the same route back, cost us $10. Woops.

NYC - 1. Bella and J - 0.

It was hot, muggy, and so busy that I couldn't walk two feet without touching someone else. For those of you who aren't familiar with me and my pet peeves, I do not like to touch people. I don't mean anyone, as I will gladly embrace family and close friends (and I always make an exception for good looking men), but touching strangers is not something that thrills me to pieces. I was ready to sucker punch everyone by the last day of our trip.

NYC - 2. Bella and J - 0.

We got lost on our way to Soho, because the metro lines were all weird and NOT clearly marked as to which direction they were traveling. It took us 2 hours to get to a place that was barely a 30 minute ride on the metro.

It may have been my fault. J was kind enough not to mention it.

NYC - 3. Bella and J (mostly just Bella, though) - 0.

Above all, though, seeing our friend was so fantastic, and he spent some of each day with us. We couldn't have been better taken care of by him and he truly made our time in New York worth while. A, we love you!

We saw Mamma Mia on Broadway (kick ass), ate over priced food in Times Square (didn't even care), sampled New York's best cheesecake (anyone see that Friends episode where Rachel and Chandler steal cheesecake from their neighbour? I'm pretty sure it would have tasted like this), saw the lights of Times Square, and stepped foot in the Plaza.

We even took ballroom dance lessons, but that's a story for another time.

New York City may have beaten us, but it truly is the Empire State (of Mind - holla! See what I did there?). It was noisy, smelly, hot, and busy, but then that's New York. I don't know if I would rush back there, but it was amazing to experience. I did, however, learn something about myself amongst the noise and heat and crowds.

I am not a city girl.