Iceberglandia

I always get a chuckle out of this. Not that it’s entirely accurate, mind you, and a very “important” piece of information is missing, but it’s entertaining to read. Despite the fact that it hasn’t been updated at least since 2003 and I could almost recite the thing from memory, it is always something to look back to when I’m bored on the computer.
As big a fan as I am of metal, including black metal, I find it hard to defend some of the things that go on in the community. I don’t say this from upon a soapbox, I don’t mean to sound preachy. I say it with the same jest that Chris Rock used the phrase “til the sweat drip from my balls” from a Lil’ Jon (?) song to argue the indefendability of rap lyrics.
And I mean, just look at black metal. Look at the bands, all dressed up un black, wearing “corpsepaint” and trying really, really hard to look evil. They’d be much better off wearing a sign arond their necks that says “MOCK US”. Still, every now and then a decent album comes out, so I can’t dismiss the whole genre.
Anyway, since E! won’t be doing a special on these guys anytime soon, it is my duty to present to you the story (with some of the elements being true, others simple exaggerations of the truth, and others complete and utter bullshit) of a merry bunch of norwegians, collectively known as Mayhem.

Formed around 1985 by Necrobutcher and guitarist Euronymous (born Oystein Aarseth), Mayhem was the first death metal band from Norway to make much of an impact in their homeland, which in the early ’90s developed a burgeoning underground scene rife with violent, sometimes anti-Christian activity — as evidenced by Mayhem’s non-musical history. Drummer Hellhammer, who at one time worked in a mental hospital, is the only remaining member of the band’s prime-period lineup. Lead vocalist Dead committed suicide in 1991 (two years after joining the band) by shooting himself in the head; Hellhammer made a necklace using some of his skull fragments, and Euronymous reportedly cooked and ate pieces of Dead’s brain. Euronymous, in turn, was stabbed to death while in his underwear on August 10, 1993, by the band’s bass player, Count Grishnackh (born Christian Vikernes). Grishnackh’s alleged motive was jealousy over the fact that Euronymous had a more evil reputation; he inflicted 23 separate wounds, it was also rumored, so as to outdo rival band Emperor’s drummer, Faust, who was convicted in the stabbing death of a homosexual acquaintance. When police arrested Grishnackh, they found over 150 kg of stolen dynamite in his house, complete with a plan to blow up a large church on a religious holiday. Grishnackh went on to pursue his electronic-influenced project Burzum while in prison; meanwhile, Euronymous’ parents requested that his bass tracks be erased from Mayhem’s 1994 album, De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas, (which featured session vocalist Attila Csihar). Still, thanks to growing worldwide interest in Norwegian death metal, Mayhem product has continued to appear on the shelves into the next century. Hellhammer also put together a new Mayhem lineup, which has toured sporadically. During one such tour in 2003, a concert-goer in Norway received a fractured skull as a sheep head flew from the stage while band member Blasphemer was cutting the head away from the torso.

And thus endeth our tale. Said bio was copied directly from www.allmusic.com, and while I could go on and on about the inaccuracies, I won’t. I thing that should be enough to entertain you. At least it’s a change of pace from all the Britney/Lindsay Lohan/Anna Nicole Smith stories of fallen angels you see everywhere else. Oh, and as for that “important” piece of information missing from the article, it regards the suicide note left behind by Dead. According to some, the whole text of the note was… wait for it…

“Excuse all the blood”.

The Iceberg.

Well, it seems I’m gaining weight again. First of all, I want to make it clear that I’m in no way vain. I mean, I do want to look good (sort of an impossible thing, when you’re me…), but I don’t obsess. So this post is not about vanity, ok?

In that last paragraph, I mentioned I don’t obsess, and by that I mean I don’t smear my body, face and hair with products, I don’t dress myself in fashionable clothes (jeans and a T-shirt, maybe a button-up shirt on top, and athletic footwear), and most importantly, I don’t do anything out of the ordinary to stay thin. But it HAS become a kind of obsession not to allow myself to gain weight. Not an obsession so exaggerated that I’ve starved myself, skipped meals, gone anorexic or bulimic, none of that. But still, I don’t want to gain weight, for a couple of reasons.

1) Health.
After I had my extiction-level event 4 years ago, one of the suggestions my doctor mentioned was my need to lose weight. My heart wouldn’t be able to handle a fatso, or so he said (he also said that if I continued to smoke and drink I’d be dead within a year, so IN YOUR FACE, DOC!). And for 2 and a half of these last 4 years, my body went in the opposite direction. I gained weight, not a lot, mind you, I was never “obese”, but I was, well, kinda chunky. My size 36 jeans weren’t doing it anymore, and I was looking into becoming a size 38. Weight-wise, I think I maxed out at 110 kg.
Being able to drop 30 kilos in one year, I weighed exactly 80.5 kg, exactly one year ago. And, apart from all the other benefits, I felt better, heart-wise.

2) Economy.
Not that it matters a whole lot, but after discarding my 36 size pants, I went and restocked my wardrobe with size 32’s. Until recently, I had trouble keeping them around my waist without employing a belt. But for the last couple of months, I’ve noticed I’m filling them out a bit more. It would suck to have to dispose of my size 32’s, and have to start buying 34’s.

3) Logic.
I just don’t get it. I shouldn’t be gaining a damn kilo, let alone a single pound. See, everything started to change for the worst (weight-wise) when I moved into this house. Not because of the actual moving (or maybe, a little bit, but I’ll get to that in a second). See, right after I moved here, I was able to purchase a bike. Because, you know, I’m sure it won’t be stolen from here. And, as soon as I got the bike, I started noticing an increase in both my “volume” and my “density” (god, I hate my physics teachers). Shouldn’t it be the other way around? I mean, I used to walk, now I ride a bike. It takes more effort to ride the bike, so I should be burning more calories, shouldn’t I? Well, about that other point: When I lived at that other place, I ate a meal and a half a day. By that I mean I’d eat a normal meal at work (when I’d supposedly be burning it off quicker) and then, depending on my shift at the time, a “snack” in the morning or in the evening. Said snack could be anything, healthy or unhealthy, light or saturated with calories. The reason for this, you all know, is beacause at that shithole everything got stolen. But now that I moved, I have my own kitchen and I cook a lot more. So, I eat more. But still, I mean, I watch what I eat. So, I fail to see the logic in burning more calories and eating healthier resulting in gaining weight. And if you ever come across a sentence with more gerunds than that last one, let me know.

4) Pride.
This is where the “obsession” comes. See, if a year ago I managed to weigh 80.5 kg, and during the winter, when the body supposdly stacks up on fat I managed to stay below 84, I hate that right now I weigh 87 kg. Especially, since I consider that my habits from one year ago and now are similar, if not considered “healthier” in the present:
a) Both in July 2006 and July 2007, I have/had been doing the exact same job for months before.
b) In both instances, I rode my bike to work, for roughly the same distance. However, in 2007, the ride is more uphill, which would suggest a higher calorie burning.
c) Last year, my main meal was pulled off the lunch truck (usually a heavily salted pasta dish, or a burger or two). This year, I make my own food (shifting between salads, grains (rice & beans – go ahead and make your “beaner” joke), and the occasional stew.
d) On the weekends, I drink about the same amount of booze. Last year, however, I’d order pizza & wings every week. Now I eat stew or salad.
e) As far as sugars are concerned, I’d say the same amount. However, while a year ago I mixed my booze with orange juice but ate a lot of candy and chocolate, now I’ve found it easier to mix my beverages with ginger ale and cranberry juice. But, I hardly ever eat candies or chocolate. And soft drinks? Nope. I think in the last 4 months I’ve had 1 coke. And that was because I couldn’t find coffee anywhere near work.
f) As far as physical activity other than transporting myself to and from my workplace, I would say the same amount, except now, since I can’t smoke inside this place, I climb a lot more stairs. 8 at a time, mind you, but you’d think they’d add up…

In closing, I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I don’t like it. And, worst of all, I don’t understand it. And, well, the actual weight is the least of my worries, as long as it doesn’t spin out of control. I could care less about the figure, except I don’t want to look/feel bloated. Of course, I’m not going to diet, or subject myself to surgery, or fall victim to eating disorders. I wish I could do more exercise, but with a heart in such a shitty condition as mine, no gym will take me (haha).

Anyway, that’s my rant for now.

The Iceberg.

Last year, I was hoping to make a trip to Scandinavia in 2007. I have always been drawn to said european region, for reasons beyond my understanding. Well, OK, my bloodline is drawn from the vikings, so there’s an explanation.
Genealogy aside, there is so much cool shit in those three countries, that one can not comprehend why one is not already there. I mean, you have the Norwegian Black Metal scene, swedish death metal (both the traditional, and the Gothenberg sound), finnish black metal, a penchant for alcohol abuse, swedish blondes, norwegian brunettes, finnish vodka, cruises sailing through the fjords, porsches burning up stockholm at dawn, the first WWE wrestler to defeat Tatanka (Finland’s Ludvig Borga – I just had to throw that in there), and of course, the best, most kick-ass mythology in history. Now, when you name your first-born daughter after a group of characters in that mythology, you know it’s cool shit.

For as long as I can remember, even before discovering the metal scene, even before developing an interest in the fairer sex, for some reason I always found an obsession with Scandinavia. Until recently, my main focus was Sweden. I even took it upon myself to learn the swedish language, and for a couple of weeks I felt all excited that I could say “Talar du svenska?”, until one unfortunate event which led my dad to question my interest in Swedish by saying “what for? Everybody in Sweden speaks English!”

And as much as I would still love to go to Sweden and show them my awesomeness, recently I have felt a stronger desire to visit the country which sees nothing wrong with duplicating letters every other syllable, the nation Wikipedia describes the freest in the world, the motherland of the cross-country skier that won the gold medal in Salt Lake City 2002, and more importantly, the Dudesons and Children of Bodom.

Interestingly enough, my interest in Finland was derived from the movie The Dudesons, which is a european version of what we in the Americas know as “Jackass”. But it wasn’t the human dartboard, the ambush on the neighbor’s car or Britney the Pig that drew my attention, it was the scenery. Of course, with the internet close at hand,I developed a deeper interest for the country. One of the things that fascinate me is that, despite being trapped between Russia and Sweden, the finnish language is not an offspring of either. Being a language buff does that to you, sometimes.
Another thing I like is their flag. While every other Scandinavian country (Iceland, Norway, Sweden and Denmark) share with Finland the feature of a cross on their flag, Finland’s is the simplest. A blue cross on a white background. For some reason, I find that cool.

And well, life taught me that 2007 was not going to be the year that I’d be going there… But the article I read last night refreshed my intentions, and I’ll be damned if I’m not there in 2008. Said article mentioned that since there’s not much to do in Helsinki, all young people do is drink and fuck. I am so there.

The Iceberg.

What a fucking week it’s been. Irony, bad luck, depression and health concerns have taken turns slapping me in the face. For one, the plant where I work shut down, which ideally meant I could update my blog, at the very least. But inspiration escaped me, as I have other concerns on my mind at the moment.
But, lady luck, the big whore that she is, just had to come a-knockin’ on my door today, much to everyone else’s chagrin.
See, today is saturday (assuming I complete this before 12.00 AM, which is doubtful). I just spent the whole afternoon imbibing Canadian Club whisky with ginger ale and V8 fruit juice, watching soccer (first, Austria eliminating the US in the under 20 World Cup, then my fellow countrymen successfully facing Uruguay for the 3rd place spot in the Copa America, and finally a particularly compelling U-20 game between Spain and the Czech Republic, which the Czechs won in penalty kicks), and then I came to the computer. And lo and behold, I had e-mail!
Said mail was from a friend (or at least I like to entertain the idea that she’s my friend) from work. It was not a mail addressed to me in particular, but instead one of those thingamajigs wherein you are expected to answer a bunch of idiotic questions for the entertainment of everybody on your mailing list. And I said unto myself, “Iceberg, the internet asketh of you these questions, and you shall answer them, verily”. So, here I am, finally with a subject to write about. Here’s 69 questions I’ll “verily” answer.

*Takes deep breath…
1. The phone rings. Who do you want it to be?
Realistically, my daughter. Ideally, a booty call from <insert hot celeb>.

2. When shopping at the grocery store, do you return your cart?
Fuck, yeah. I have to retrieve my quarter!

3. In a social setting, are you more of a talker or a listener?
Listener. Never been much of a talker. Unless the whisky’s a-flowin’.

4. Do you take compliments well?
Depends on the source. And the compliment.

5. Do you play Sudoku?
I prefer other kinds of puzzles.

6. If abandoned alone in the wilderness, would you survive?
Well, that depends on how many man-eating predators are around, as well as poisonous creatures I might step on, walk close to, or attempt to eat. But as far as the mindset goes, I guess I’d have no problem.

7. Do you like to ride horses?
No. Last time, the fucking thing went ballistic. I’m now traumatized and I hate horses.

8. Did you ever go to camp as a kid?
A couple times, as a Cub Scout. The mosquitos and the idiot adults scaring the shit out of me with the sasquatch took care of that, though.

9. What was your favourite game as a kid?
There was this game in which a bunch of kids were assigned a number, or a word… we’d throw a ball against a wall, shouting one of the other kids’ number or word, and said kid had to catch the ball. If successful, he’d do the same thing, calling out another kid. But if he failed to catch the ball after one bounce, he’d have to face the wall while the rest of us took turns throwing the ball at him. Fun times!

10. If a sexy person was pursuing you, but you knew he/she was married, what would you do?
If I’m not the one in a relationship at the moment, bring it! Unless she’s dating/married to a friend. I have principles, you know.

11. Who do you want to be with right now?
Nobody. I’m in an emotional pickle right now, and I would not like to burden anyone. But, ideally, Salma Hayek or Jessica Alba.

12. Could you date someone with different religious beliefs than you?
Are you kidding? Right about now, I’d date different species! But seriously, yes, why not? As long as they’re not kooky with their beliefs and they do their damndest not to push them on me.

13. Do you like to pursue or be pursued?
I hate “the games people play”.

14. Use three words to describe yourself?
Awesomest. Human. Ever.

15. Do any songs make you cry?
Everything Metallica has done since “And Justice For All”. And when I’m particularly down, Bryan Adams and Mel C’s “When You’re Gone”, because it reminds me of my daughter. Oh, and there was that couple of weeks when “Bittersweet Symphony” really hit home.

16. Are you continuing your education?
Well being a student in the school of life, and being that as of now I’m still alive, I’d say “yes”.

17. Do you know how to shoot a gun?
Yes, yes I do. I prefer crossbows and Morning Stars, though.

18. If your house was on fire, what would be the first thing you grabbed?
My laptop and my external disk drives.

19. How often do you read books?
Usually, just once.

20. Do you think more about the past, present or future?
I tend to learn from the past, make changes in the present, and hope to reap the rewards in the future.

21. What is your favourite children’s book?
Wacky Wednesday

22. What color are your eyes?
They seem to change colour, from blue to green to gray.

23. How tall are you?
1.83 meters. Yes, I use the metric system. Want me to puss out and satisfy brits and gringos? 6′1″.

24. Where is your dream house located?
In the least explored part of the Seychelles, Tuvalu, Vanuatu, Kiribati, or wherever I can be left the fuck alone.

__________
Whatever happened to q’s 25 and 26?
__________

27. Have you ever taken pictures in a photo booth?
I’d be hard pressed to remember. Not recently.

28. When was the last time you were at Olive Garden?
Never, at least in my memory.

30. Where was the furthest place you traveled today?
The dairy section at No Frills on Willow and Silvercreek. I know, I lead a glamorous life…

32. Do you like mustard?
Love the fucking thing.

33. Do you prefer to sleep or eat?
Depends if I’m hungry or sleepy, but at least sleeping doesn’t make me fat. Of course, I’ve had trouble sleeping more than 3 hours straight for the last couple of months, so I’d have to say eating. Being good in the kitchen helps.

34. Do you look like your mom or dad?
50/50, I guess. Lucky me, I’m not bald yet!

35. How long does it take you in the shower?
Depends. The actual soaping and rinsing, probably 10 minutes or less. But sometimes it just feels good to stand there in the hot/cold (depending) stream of water.

36. Can you do the splits?
I’ve never come up with a situation where doing the splits would come in handy, so it’s not something I’ve practised, plus I hardly ever exercise my inner thighs, so I regret to inform you that, no, I can not do the splits. You know who can, though? WWE’s Melina. And praise Allah for that.

37. What movie do you want to see right now?
Funny that you’d ask. Considering my mindframe at the moment, I thout it would be cathartic to watch “Falling Down”. Being that Rogers Video and BlockBuster are too far away, I decided to download it. Two days later, I finally sat down to watch it, and the fucking thing was in german. So, an english version of that, and I wouldn’t mind watching “300″ again.

39. What did you do for New Year’s?
Spent the night in Mexico, with a special person.

40. Do you think The Grudge was scary?
That kid was fucking freaky!

42. Do you own a camera phone?
Well, I own a phone with the camera feature… but when I really, really want to capture a moment, I use my actual camera.

44. Was your mom a cheerleader?
I most certainly hope not!

45. What’s the last letter of your middle name?
Funny shit… I don’t have a middle name. Just a first name (which I hate) and two last names.

47. How many hours of sleep do you get a night?
If I’m lucky, 5 or 6. Damn insomnia.

48. Do you like care bears?
No. And a pox on you for asking such a profound question.

49. What do you buy at the movies?
Duh! A ticket. I bring my own concoctions, or I’ll buy a large coke and pour a mickey in it.

50. Do you know how to play poker?
No. When it comes to the fine art of learning stupid shit, I prefer to document myself with trivia pertinent to the real world.

51. Do you wear your seatbelt?
I pretty much have to, even if the vehicle I’m in travels at a speed at which I have no danger of flying through the windshield. It’s the law, a stupid law, a law so dumb it’s only obscured by the stupidity of not being allowed to smoke 9 feet in the proximity of a public building.

52. What do you wear to sleep?
socks. can’t slep without’em. sexy, huh?

53. Anything big ever happen in your hometown?
Tesla came to play on my birthday in 2005, and I couldn’t go… Lamb of God was sold out… other than that, it snowed a lot this winter.

54. How many meals do you eat in a day?
Ideally, one. But left to my own devices, being that I lack discipline, I’m always eating.

55. Is your tongue pierced?
No.

56. Do you always read MySpace bulletins?
No. I might not have a myriad of things with which to challenge my brain, but I’d rather watch flies fuck than associate myself with such a concept as MySpace.

WHERE THE HELL IS #57?
Um, past #56, right before #58??

58. Do you like funny or serious people better?
Both, if they’re not full of shit. I know idiots that make up the dumbest things imaginable just to act funny, and imbeciles who perform as really serious people, whose acts I can see through, and they suck.

59. Ever been to L.A.?
No. Wanted to, last year, but… wet cardboard.

60. Did you eat a cookie today?
No.

61. Do you use cuss words in other languages?
you mean like, “chingada madre”, “satan ocksa”, “manger la merde”, “sacrebleu”, “fitta” and “vuestra madre se regocija entre pijas”? No, never, why?

62. Do you steal or pay for your music downloads?
It’s not stealing, dammit! It’s like jerking off instead of going to a prostitute.

63. Do you hate chocolate?
No.

64. What do you and your parents fight about the most?
Perspectives.

65. Are you a gullible person?
Was, never again.

66. Do you need a boyfriend/girlfriend to be happy?
Not “need”, but having someone to share your life helps a lot.

67. If you could have any job (assuming you have the skills) what would it be?
WWE’s Ron Simmons’ job. All he does is walk up to other people and say “DAMN!”. Either that, or a porn star. Getting paid to do what I’d do for free… with hot chicks who know what they’re doing? Who wouldn’t?

68. Are you easy to get along with?
Once you get past the rough exterior, yeah, I’m cake. Too bad nobody cares enough.

69. What is your favourite time of day?
When I punch out of work, when I hit the sleep button on my remote, when I trick myself into believing that potentially, I’m not alone.

Well, there you have it. I know, technically it’s not 69 questions… someone along the way decided to skip a couple. Tough titty, said the kitty. Anyway, thanks to my friend/coworker for the inspiration, and hopefully I’ll write again soon.

 The Iceberg.

Shit. Much like the ‘Die Hard’ franchise, and the Star Wars thing, I can now say “well, so much for trilogies”.

One of the hardest things in writing is, at least for me, but I’m sure anyone who has a leaning towards the written word can attest to this, coming up with a fucking title for what you write. I mean, sure, there’s proofreading, and editing, and rewriting and all that crap I avoid, but at some point I have to face the inevitable: Giving my offspring a name.
Had I known this would turn out to be a fucking saga, I would have pulled a better name out of my asshole. Of course, at the time, I thought I was dealing with a prestigious company, but now I am reduced to quoting a Beastie Boys lyric, which says “Ma Bell, I got the Ill Communication”.

See, in part 3 of this ongoing story, I finally found someone whose brain wasn’t completely taken over by worms, and she promised me all my internet and phone problems were solved. Fuck, she even connected my internet again!

But then, I had the nerve to move. Oh holy fuck, how I shook the very foundations of a company so proud of itself that it chooses as spokespeople a couple of fucking beavers. Hell, they even throw in a couple of “shaved beaver” innuendo. Good for them.

On the Bell.Ca website, there is this feature wherein you can notify the company of your moving to a different address. Stupid fuck that I am, I notified them that way. If I’m to blame myself for anything, it’s the fact that I didn’t give them enough time before my moving took place. I did this the week before I moved out, and not in 2002, when I should have.
Anyhoo, here I am, moving to my new apartment, enjoying the experience of having my own stuff, when I unpack my phone. I plug the fucker in, and of course there’s no tone. It does, after all, take a couple of days to process notifications. I didn’t sweat it, I wasn’t expecting miracles or anything, I promised myself to wait a week.
Fortunately for me, my cell phone was working at the time (I felt really grateful to Rogers, but that ended in a tale I will relate soon enough), so I boldly dialed 310-BELL after a week of being phoneless.
I was helped by a young-sounding woman, who in all honesty, did her job quite well (except for the fact that she asked me if I wanted to cancel my service at the other address immediately – “No, toots, leave it on for them, they might need something (SHEESH!)”).
She told me some numbskull would show up on thursday, to hook me up. She also tried to sell me a whole bunch of shit, but I readily declined.
Thursday rolled by, and you have to remember, I’ve been working night shifts for a while. At approximately 11.30 AM, just as I was falling asleep, a roar of thunder woke me up. Well, not actual thunder, it was just numbnuts here, a-knockin’ heavily on my door. Well, ‘knocking’ isn’t quite accurate, banging is more like it. So, half drowsy, half excited, I drag myself to the door, and he just asks me to sign something, and takes off. With anticipation, I get back downstairs and pick up the phone. Oh sweet jesus, yes! a dial tone!
But fuck the phone, nobody ever calls me anyway, I decided to see if I had internet access.
Lo and behold, indeed I did, and I thought everything was fine with the world. For a day and a half.

I’d love to tell you the story of how I’ve left my computer on a couple of nights, only to arrive the next morning to find a message that says my internet was disconnected and can’t connect again. But I’ll focus on the better part of the story.

A couple of lines ago, I mentioned that nobody calls me. And it’s true. But see, that week, at work, I befriended a guy who invited me to his house on the weekend. I called him up on saturday, and he came to pick me up. The weird thing is, he told me he had called me as soon as he was outside, and he didn’t get an answer. I just shrugged it off, until monday when I called my sister and she told me the same thing. Then my other sister, my dad, people in Mexico… they all had the same testimony: They’d call, hear one ring, and then nothing.
Now, I’m not into the habit of calling myself on the phone, I do enough talking to myself as it is, but I did want to see if this was true. When I called my number from work, I found the same thing. One ring, and then silence. Funny thing, when I called myself from my cell phone, I did manage to get to my answering service.
So, here I was again, faced with the loathesome task of having to call Bell. Giving my information to at least 3 people, istening to shitty music, yadda yadda yadda, finally I was able to tell the nincompoop on the other side of the line that I wasn’t receiving any calls. He set up an appointment for thursday, between (get this) 12:00 noon and 10:00 PM. Great! I can cancel my life out for thursday, because the phone company is coming to fix something they shouldn’t have to fix in the first place! What joy!
Lucky me, some dumbass showed up at 12:30. He said he’d check the line from outside the house, even when I told him I had already tried that. When he found out it didn’t work, he went a little further. When THAT didn’t work, he went to the main avenue, and when even that failed, he just told me he’d have to go downtown and fix the damn glitch.
I just fucking went to bed, not expecting anything. When I woke up, well, guess what? I had a message on my answering thingie. A telemarketer, sure, but at least a message, which meant everything was working.

Now, I’d love to tell you that this is the end of the tale, but oh, no. Bell is like a box of chocolates.

In part 3, I mentioned “Mike”, who apparently solved my One Bill Account thing. I knew there was a balance of 300 odd dollars on my internet account, so I was expecting that, plus the phone bill.
Well, guess what?
One day, I come back from work, and find a Bell bill waiting for me. Now, usually, I find disgruntlement upon finding bills in my mailbox, but this time, I felt glee. I could officially put this thing behind me.

When I saw the balance for 31 dollars, my jaw dropped to the floor. No, not because I had received a 90% discount, but because they were only charging me for my phone. The funny thing is, I walked to the bank, told them I wanted to pay the 400 or whatever I owed Bell, and they came up with this interesting nugget: My One Bill Account number wasn’t enough. They needed another code, which had nothing to so with the code on my phone bill.
I mean, it’s like they don’t want me to pay them. But I’m a sucker for having internet, so I insisted.
I came back home, looked up my profile on Bell.Ca, and what do you know? My e-bill was ready. The balance? 368.07. For past internet dues, for the current month, and somehow they decided to charge me for two things: for not disconnecting my service (cough, fucking cough), and for some antivirus software I apparently signed up for (which, of course, I don’t recall doing). But, wanting to get this over and done with, I just paid the balance.

I now sit upon my castle, waiting for their next move. Will there be a part five? I, for one, hope not. But you never know.

Oh, and I know since part 1 I’ve mentioned how I’m cancelling my service and switching to Rogers. But, as you’ll soon find out, I’ve learned that would be a really bad idea.

Fucking communications companies in Canada.

The Iceberg