Energy Vampires

I stumbled upon an article on gossipbook crackbook facebook the other day Via Rebekah who got it from someone else.  Anyway the article titled:

How Energy Vampires Drain Your Spirit and Soul

11 Ways to Protect Yourself From Negative Influences

Made a whole lot of sense to me.  OK granted I know a lot of people who blog that use it as their space to vent/un-load (myself included) for whatever reason.  I pay for this space, ergo I feel that I should be entitled to post what the hell ever I deem fit.


Fair enough.  If anything I have to say gets anyone down that much, they don’t have the read anything that I write.  Writing is therapeutic for most people.  I personally do it because it’s my outlet, a way to express myself to no one in particular other then whomever happens to stumble upon my blog that day.  We all have problems, we all have issues and we’re all a little crazy no matter how “normal” you might like to think you are.

Society is hard core fucked up you know!

Anyway, back to what I was saying.

Energy vampires.

So. Many. Of. Them. Infect. My. Life.


Essentially I’m tired of people expecting other people to blow sunshine up their ass every damn day!  Learn to be self reliant and find your OWN form of happiness!  I can drum up several examples of people who post status updates on facebook/titter/their blog whatever social media outlet you choose; that scream: PITY ME!  FEEL SORRY FOR ME!  FIND A MAN/WOMAN/S’HIM/WHATEVER THE HELL I’M ATTRACTED TO FOR ME! PRAISE ME! MAKE ME FEEL SPECIAL!  ACKNOWLEDGE  ME!  PAY ATTENTION TO MEEEEEEEE!

I have since blocked these people from my news feed because quite simply I can’t take their self centered bullshit any longer.  People like that NEED HELP.  Usually because they have no self esteem/self worth.  Why can’t you just be happy with YOU.  Why is a requirement for other people to make you happy?  Who has time for that?

I really wish people would learn to get off their asses and learn to be self sufficient for a change!  Life is what YOU make it, not what others do!  Be INSPIRED by others to do something good for yourself/others.  Only YOU can make this happen at the end of the day.

Please, please!  GET. OVER. YOURSELF.

Google is your friend!  Having a shitty day and need a laugh?  GOOGLE!  Bored, want something to do? GOOGLE!  Learn, educate yourself, amuse yourself, do something worthwhile because YOU can!  Christ don’t sit on your ass and expect other people to do it for you.  Otherwise you’ll find yourself in the “energy vampires” category ergo someone I can’t stand anymore.

on a totally random/semi-unrelated note.  I stumbled upon this interesting article on a very smart octopus.  Working as a Chef usually means your going to stumble upon squid of some form in your life.  I refuse to eat them because I see what they look like BEFORE they hit your plate.  At least now I can justify it by saying that some of them are smart.  However  even though I said this was semi-un-related, Otto seems to be an attention whore too.  Not so random after all.


Canada post is Le Suck!

Dear Canada Post,

You are a huge ass, fucking douchebaggery filled, ball sucking, ass monkey.

I bought a new Camera, it’s pretty fucking sweet as a matter of fact.  So I being the good awesome, fucking exceptional friend that I am…  I told my buddy fucker that I would send him my old one.  As is, free of charge.  It’s kind of crappy from being dropped too many times and the automatic flash don’t work for shit but it still takes awesome pictures when it it’s not being douchy decides to co-operate.  I even included my grossly over-priced XD memory card (cost me $40.00 for 1GB bah!) because my shiny new camera actually takes regular memory cards (it’s about damn time Olympus!) and a mini tripod in case he wants to make some home porn be in the picture properly using the self timer function.  You know instead of standing in a mirror like a fucking douche.

So on Saturday (the 16th of October) I dutifully and lovingly packed up my camera, using fragile tape and everything and headed off to the post office.

Package for Fucker

Yeah you see what I did there?  His real name is Adam, I call him Fucker.  It’s a term of endearment.  Really.  I love the guy~  See look:

Adam & I, Old Port Montreal Sept 2010

I even sent it EXPRESS because I’m awesome like that.  So I texted Fucker to tell him that I mailed out his package and said goodies and it should be there by Tuesday/Wed latest.  Well you can imagine my surprise when I got home from work this afternoon and I get a notification slip from you douche-bags saying I have a parcel and could I please hand over $9.41 (cash only of course) to pick this up.  Seeing as I have NO ID at the moment and have ALL my packages sent to work because I live there, happen to be around when delivery men show up therefore ensuring that I get my package.

So I hop onto Canada douchebaggery with the tracking number to have some sort of a clue whom this might be from.  Well Lo and fucking behold it’s a package from Fucker!  Who lives in Kitchener, that’s how I knew.  Except according to this which transcribes to: YOUR PACKAGE WAS SENT BITCH and the tracking I so dutifully took a screen shot of:

Douchy confirmation BS!

According to that, it was successfully delivered!  Except that’s NOT. TRUE. FUCKERS.

So essentially let me break this down:  Apparently one of your tight ass postal workers doesn’t appreciate my calling MY friend Fucker and thought it was a personal affront to you?  No you see if that was a random attack on one of you postal workers I would have done something like this instead:

This would have been grounds for a complaint, but I DIDN'T do that...

But you see, I didn’t.  Basically your just trying to ass rape me for money.  Do I look like a fucking ATM to you?

apparently i'm a bank machine

I don’t fucking think SO!  You know what really kills me though you douchebag ass monkeys?  It cost me $8.54 to mail it.  Yet to have it sent back to me it’s $9.41?  Please tell me how THAT works out?  So I had to shell out money to send it there, and because your carrier/delivery person has some deep seated fucking issues and needs therapy, I have to pay $9.41 to have it sent back to me and then pay you AGAIN (yes that would be three fucking times!) so that my poor friend fucker can have a digital camera to capture precious memories such as him dancing around in his underwear his adorable children?

I sent you a really snarky e-mail.  I anticipate your reply, and possibly someone pissing in my mail box.  Which would be quite the feat.  I’m looking forward to calling up the Ombudsman and nailing your asses to the wall for your fucking douchbaggery.

Just thought I would let you know.  I’m good like that.



Home reno’s suck balls!

Seems like just about everyone I know is doing some sort of home reno work.

Now don’t get me wrong, there’s always that awesome sense of accomplishment that comes with doing something yourself.  I’m also VERY stubborn!  Also picky.  Very. Picky.

I like things to be done my way OK?

OK for real though, my slumlord landlord is a douchebag.  The property manager is nice, but up to her armpits in buildings and tends to get sidetracked.

A lot.

So needless to say, if I can fix it myself.  I do.

Because it’s easier for me to just knock the price off my rent and send her in the receipts for minor repairs.  So when I first moved in here, there was some minor (or at least appeared to be) water damage to my hallway ceiling.  Of course she said she would get someone in to fix it.  Hell even the “handyman” said he would come in and fix it for me.  Mind you this was after waiting 3 weeks for the installation of my new water heater oh and 6 months of having almost NO heat!

So I got sick of the yellow hall/kitchen area and decided to paint.  Painters tape is your friend.  Except for mine, because well hell that would be easy and make sense.  So in spite of my using one of those nifty painting tools that pretty much ensures that you WON’T get paint on your ceiling, molding, whatever and gives you a nice clean line…  My almost 6 feet tall, impatient over zealous self almost ALWAYS hits the freaking ceiling with paint.

Of course my ceiling is apartment white and the color on the walls?  A nice dark mocha color.  So while I did make a valiant effort to clean the shit off, my mess off the ceiling, it would seem that I missed a spot and likely stopped giving a shit  got sidetracked thought awe hell I can paint over that.  Which I totally can, although that would mean taking care of the peeling ceiling in the middle of the hall.

Do. Not. Want.

So I let it go, much to my OCD’s dismay.  Pete even offered to fix it for me, I blew him off by saying that I wasn’t sinking anymore money/time/effort into this place when it’s my landlords problem to have this shit fixed.  Not mine. Except I of course was not satisfied with the shade of my accent wall/ceiling color variation.  I wanted it to be much lighter.  I thought well, the hallway isn’t that long and I hate the paint on the ceiling because it looks like crap!

So I thought I would tackle this project by myself.

That was a huge mistake.

You see, last summer when I was dating John he came over beofre I got home and sent me a text to inform me that there was a flood in my hallway.


Which made it even worse.  It’s blatantly obvious to me that upon close inspection this wasn’t the first time that this has happened.  So Sunday night I got the bright idea to fix it myself.  Because I was sick of it, and the property manager told me that it was OK to tackle minor repair projects on my own.  Actually I think she prefers it because she knows it’s just the cost of the materials and nothing else.

What I thought was going to be a simple patch job, has turned into an epic nightmare!  You see, the water damage has made the sub flooring above (I live in the sub basement) and my ceiling very soft.  Not soft enough to shove my finger into my neighbors bathroom above, although I fear that someday it’s going to leak again and their tub’s going to land in my hallway.  So I have stripped away the previous crap that lay beneath and have slowly layered up the plaster and it’s mostly even.  Far from perfect but hell in order to make that sucker straight the cost would be exponential and you know what?

I don’t own the place, so I don’t care!

Plastering was easy, I have it down to a partial science now.  One that requires minimal sanding when finished.  Usually.  Except this time, I didn’t factor in air bubbles.  Usually my patch jobs are small holes and minor things.  While this isn’t huge by any means it was still a lot of freaking work!  I have minimal tools to get the job done so long story short, after layering on an ass-load of plaster I sanded the ceiling down by hand.

I was covered from head to toe in dust!  It looked like a 50lb bag of flour have exploded all over me and my hall.  Lesson to be learned here:

Drop cloths are not only your friends, they cover all your shit oh and the un-bleached canvas ones make great fabric to reupholster your sofa with!

Let’s NOT cue the drama… Mmmm K?

I hate drama, I detest it.  I also hate attention whores and drama Queens.  Oh and people who lie for stupid, insignificant reasons.  Hell I just hate people in general!  Especially lately, maybe it’s because I have PMS? Who knows, and quite frankly I doubt anyone truly gives a shit either.

Attention whores, drama queens and what I refer to as ‘the topper’ really get my panties in a knot.  Also ‘pissing contents’ because really, who needs those?

Apparently some people do.

I want to punch them in the face.

Really hard.

Some people just can not handle not being the center of attention.  Drives. Me. Insane.  For example: When I’m talking about something I feel is important and they butt in with ya ya so they can blab on about their shit.

Is THAT the only reason you called me?  Because you want a fucking audience?!?

Please go get hit by a bus. Drop dead Shut your whore mouth for five fucking minutes!

Jesus H Christ!

Then there’s the times when your having a conversation about whatever and something not totally relevant/yet slightly relevant to your story comes up.   Something that your not planning on driveling on about for any extended period of time but more so providing more background info on.  They butt in with yeah I went/was there/seen it too.  Yet somehow you know they’re lying to you so you ask a question that had they actually seen/done the same thing on a different day/month/year they would provide an accurate answer.  Except they get all exasperated and flippant with you.  Because they know that you know they’re lying through their fucking teeth!  Why?  Because they thought YOU were going to talk about it endlessly, therefore taking time away from listening to them blather on about What. The Fuck Ever.  Because while they want YOU to be THEIR audience for the entire duration of the conversation yet they don’t have one fucking iota of interest in anything that’s about to come out of your mouth unless it has something to do with THEM.

Of. Course.

Except they think your stupid and don’t clue into their subtle lies.  Yet YOU know they’re lying.  In spite of the fact that I don’t say anything about it.  I know.  Oh boy, do I know.  Therefore because of your tactless bullshit, I have lost a whole lotta respect for you that you’ll never have back.  Oh I bet that gets your goat now doesn’t it?

When all you want to do is say: I don’t care, I don’t care Ohhhhhhhhhhh I Don’t give a flying fuck about What. The. Fuck. Ever. You’re about to drivel on about!

Woman like to relate, although some people take it to a WHOLE new level.  It goes from relating to: OMGWTFBBQ I’m out of the spotlight so let’s turn this into a pissing contest!  Because the attention NEEDS TO BE BACK ON ME, ME, ME!

Sadly, I can’t usually back down from these moments.  I try to, I’m usually ashamed when I can’t.  I’m competitive by nature, it’s the inner Chef in me (Read: All the guys who said I wouldn’t make it but I did; so fuck you, kiss my pasty white ass!) oh & my stubborn pigheaded ways that can’t Won’t refuse to do so.  When inside my head I’m screaming:


Nope, they can’t allow that, because it takes the spotlight OFF of them.

My fist is really itching to make an acquaintance with your face.

Yet I say nothing because that’s irrevocably rude.  Until one day when you push me over the ever loving edge.

Well so is blogging about it, but hey I’m not name calling and finger pointing here either.

Wonder just how many people are going to contact me AND accusingly  SAY OMFG STEPH I JUST KNOW YOU WERE TALKING ABOUT ME!

They’re going to assume that’s it’s about them.  Why?  Because they see themselves in this very blog post.  Perhaps there’s a reason for that.

Because that’s in their nature.  So is scores of several other things, but hey who am I to judge?