I ran into a family friend while at Toronto’s Festival of Beer this past weekend and caught up quickly. He then took a quick photo of me and sent the snap to my dad:
This whole interaction amuses me: the note to begin with, my Fathers response and, most importantly, the fact that this guy has my dad’s number stored as Papa Bear – he is not related. I guess he got contact information from my sister or I and just didn’t bother to update the contact name 🙂
I really am a huge fan of our new office. Firstly, everything is shiny and new – who wouldn’t like that? The whole place was designed to be bright and open and thankfully not beige like our old office. The crisp, clean and modern interior really does just feel nice to spend your days in.
Due to the mantra of bringing more natural light into our space, HR sent out a memo regarding ‘Light Sharing’. Essentially this is fictitious corporate jargon that means that they’ve planned the office in such a manner that allows for maximum natural light – accomplished mostly by putting offices and meeting rooms on the interior or short sides of the building. Brilliant, and it works. The aforementioned memo simply stated that due to the ‘light sharing’ concept, those lucky enough to be seated at a window were not to put down the blinds. Do not block that natural light that we paid some designer a pretty penny to let into our spaces, right?
One tiny flaw here though. Those lucky ones (myself included, huzzah!) that are seated along a window happen to be forced to have their monitors actually backing onto the window – that’s where the dual monitor brackets are permanently attached to the desks. So I stare out a window, all day. Most of this is lovely as I can actually see straight down King street and periodically gaze off at the Earl’s patio I can just see and dream of patio beer. The downside, however, is that I’m staring due west – which is directly at the sun in the late afternoon.
Apparently those on the opposite side of the office have it much worse as they get full on morning sun, while currently I’m only dealing with about an hour a day. We will see how the seasons change this balance.
In the meantime, as soon as the sun hits my eyes I’m lowering the damn blinds. My retinas have enough issues as it stands. I also refuse to wear a visor at my desk to help me cope, which is a tactic my more rule abiding peers have apparently taken on.
Autocorrect never ceases to amuse me in all it’s various permutations.
The Common Autocorrect
Correcting a misspelling by replacing with an incorrect word:
• Accidentally telling your boss you’re “in bed with a nasty clown“.
• My friend D told me she was rioting and was subsequently really confused when I replied with “Damn the man save the Empire!” Oohhh she meant to say she was tutoring
Similar to above, but this tends to happen when you’ve completed a word and spelt it correctly – Autocorrect tries to make you more efficient by helping you select a more commonly typed word instead:
• How many times to you end up saying good instead of food?
• I’m sick of telling people to “duck off”
The How Did It Know?
Ever type a few letters and are shocked that your phone seems to know exactly what you were going to type?
• Try typing sphygmomanometer.
The It’s Your Own Damn Fault
Don’t blame Autocorrect this time, fat thumbs.
• “I’m so excited for the weekend :(” your phone isn’t forcing you to be sad, you are
And Finally, my favourite The Inexplicable Capitalization
POUTINE. I’m not yelling, my phone just always capitalizes POUTINE.
Clearly, my phone and I have a very deep connection.
Well that was a good run. My historically complicated relationship with gravity has returned, literally with a bang.
After an evening out with friends in Montreal I was scurrying down the stairs of the bar to leave and completely wiped out – my friends actually heard me fall from outside. Ouch.
Thankfully I appear more bruised than broken!
Apparently I then decided to apply extreme caution on our snowy walk back to the hotel by walking at an absolute snails pace. My friend Andre kindly offered to give me a piggy back ride (though not as selfless as it sounds, I was a barrier to poutine consumption), which is something I seem to have forgotten from childhood. I completely failed on my end of the piggy – I apparently just hugged his back thinking that was sufficient and when my friends tried to encourage me to jump up to the proper carrying position my tiny hops were hilariously inefficient.
So they resorted to pushing me along while I disapprovingly muttered “Too fast, too fast, too fast.” I’m such a treat when I’m over served.
In other news, I think this really is the height of fashion.
I love the balls the on the forehead look – those Montrealers know style.
Toronto is a big city right? right? Then why does it feel so small sometimes!?
So I went on a date last night with someone I met online (gasp, I know), I’ll call him the Italian. So creative.
Pretty early on in the evening we discovered that we have some mutual friends – well friends to him, family to me. He used to work with two of my cousins and seems to know them fairly well. Definitely not that surprising, and the connection was easily established as I sport my Cousin’s company logo on my cell phone.
We chatted a bunch about my cousins – who are awesome, so we had tons of funny stories to discuss – and moved on to other topics. Turns out that we have a lot in common as we have likely been a at least a dozen of the same parties, worked in the same building for a few years, were probably at some of the same concerts back in our punk days (wow, I’m old – back in the day totally applies here), and even grew up in similar suburbs.
After a few pints we headed to a different bar and during our first pint there he raised his eyebrow and said “So what do you know about Uncle Bill?”
“You mean my Dad?!”
Backstory: My Father is a bit of an email junky. He loves to forward absolutely everything that he ever sees on the internet on to different groups of people. I mostly get emails about Cats. He has another group, however, that get the more risqué deliveries. And by risqué, I most definitely mean Porn.
So I guess my Cousin has on occasion flipped an email to the Italian and indicated the source as ‘Uncle Bill’.
So my Dad has sent porn to a guy I just started dating. Awesome.
I’ve had my share of confused conversations – most of which tend to occur at the office. Remember when a Senior Vice President called me a Drug Mule (sort of) in a meeting?
Well, now that I’m in the Land Down Under, I have some phrases I need to translate and store in my memory bank to prevent my tilted head, deer in the headlights look of confusion. They may speak English, but we certainly don’t use words in the same way!
- I’ve got to nut it out. Does not mean anything to do with male genitalia, seems to be a variant of ‘sort it out’ or ‘figure it out’. I’ve heard this one at least five times in just over a week.
- Cuppa. Ok, that one is pretty easy – ‘Cup of Tea/Coffee’ – but when someone looks at me and just says Cuppa it doesn’t ring any bells yet.
- Skinny Flat White. Another coffee reference, coffee with foamed skim milk. Not a latte, haven’t figured out the difference yet but one appears to be served in clear glass mugs. The first time I ordered a coffee at breakfast, the lady said ‘What kind?’ I’ve been confused ever since.
- Schooner. Pint of beer! This one was incredibly valuable for me to learn, as I’d been making strange hand gestures at bartenders for a week until someone enlightened me. Also good to know, apparently they’ll just give you a pint size unless you specifically ask for smaller. I love this country.
So far, the Aussie’s pretty much speak English so it hasn’t been too difficult to fake my way through – and they mostly seem to speak at the same breakneck pace as I do, which works in my favour. One comment, however, left me with a very telling look on my face that made everyone in the room stop and think about what I thought had been said.
Change Manager: We don’t want you feeling like a SHAG ON A ROCK
Nancy: *slightlyhorrifiedandsimultaneouslyconfusedlook* ?
Everyone: Awkward laughter
Shag on a Rock
Blush, apparently it means something akin to ‘Bump on a Log’…. not… well, you know.
Actual email I came across today in a general mailbox while doing some research:
Insurance can be funny.