Iceberglandia

So, that “war” thing I was telling you about… I got home that night and discovered she had changed the password. I guess she didn’t think her cunning plan all the way through, because all I had to do was tell Myspace I had forgotten my password, and they were kind enough to email it to her me (remember, she gave my email address). So, I logged on and changed the password.
I don’t want to harm her by editing her profile and writing nonsense, or slanderous material. Like I mentioned before, I’m not that much of an asshole. I’m just fucking around, and I’ll let her know soon enough.
That night I just changed her mood to “drunk”. Yesterday morning I hardly even had time to do my stuff, much less take care of that. But last night I guess she was desperate to get her password back, because there, in my hotmail inbox, were five messages reminding me of my password. Hee hee. So, I logged on, and changed her mood to angry, with the message “My password isn’t working “.
I assume she was still trying to log on, because not five minutes afterwards, I got two “personal” messages from her or one of her friends, asking whoever they think the email address belongs to, to please give her the password. I’m getting bored with the whole thing, to tell you the truth.

I had the coolest dream last night. And I mean the coolest dream ever. After last night’s dream, to quote Chris Jericho, I will “never, e-e-e-ever be the same again”. Some imaginary friend came to my house (or the representation of my house according to my dream) with mexican actress Martha Higareda in tow, and soon enough left me with her. Now, the good thing about dreams is that in them, chicks dig me. So soon enough me and her were downstairs, while all around us tornados struck. Now, don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t anything sexual, my sheets and undergarments are still clean, but it was one of those dreams in which you feel… i dunno, happy? Weird shit, man! Now you know why I don’t do drugs.

Speaking of imaginary friends, the only people I’ve talked to on MSN in at least one month are my sisters and a couple of friends. The rest either don’t reply or can’t be bothered with a simple greeting.

My girlfriend is probably going back home for a while, for medical reasons. Fucking doctors here in canada, I tell ya. I know how Canada loves to talk about its socialized health system and whatnot, but seriously, what the fuck!
I called the lab, because we needed a test done. For obvious reasons, I can’t give you details, but let’s say an X-ray. The dumb cunt that answered told me she’d need a note from a doctor who, I kid you not, is a resident of Ontario, not my gf’s actual doctor (who sadly isn’t an Ontario resident, but a mexican citizen). So, since my gf isn’t a canadian citizen (yet), let’s see. 400 bucks to get her to a doctor who IS an Ontario resident. Plus 275 for the X-Ray. Plus, afterwards, who knows how much more for follow-up visits, medication, etc. Sure, I’ll just pick up one of the many thousand dollars I have lying around the house so I can play their bureaucratic bullshit. Or, for that cash, she can go take care of herself, see her friends and family, and bring me mexican goodies!
Fuck, man, in Mexico you can walk into an X-Ray lab and get a shot of your head just because you want it as a poster for your bedroom, and nobody bats an eyelash. Oh, and you pay what, 10 times less for it, too.
So yeah, apparently I’ll be alone for a while. But in the end, it’s for the better.

On the other hand (and in this instance I’m not complaining, because health comes first), I really don’t need to spend. Remember how I mentioned I wanted to save some money this year? I had it in my hands by June. But now it’s gone. So that’s frustrating. And on top of that, it’s kind of putting a dent on my plans for december. Man, I can’t wait for work to start giving overtime again (and I can’t believe I just wrote that).

If I have anything left on this upcoming paycheck, I’ll be getting my driver’s license. And then hope I win a car in some contest, I guess.

So that’s a little bit of what’s going on. I’m still tweaking and fucking around with my website, but at least there’s content coming now.

Oh! I went to the dentist and got my chipped tooth fixed. Now I look like I used to, 2 years ago. Only fatter.

The Iceberg.

Meet Daniela!

Daniela is stupid. She lives somewhere around Bishop, California. She’s mexican, and has a rather tacky Myspace page. The person she’d like to meet the most is the Virgen de Guadalupe. Her favorite color is pink, and even though we haven’t met, I just made her horny.

But Iceberg, how do you know so much about her? And how did you make her horny?

Easy. See, this little idiot made a little mistake over the weekend. A mistake I’m pissed off about, and that has brought out the evil in me.

Yesterday morning I checked my hotmail account, and saw I had 25 or so new mails. Even on a bad day, I’ll get no more than 6 spam messages, so 25 was too much. I noticed all 25 new messages came from Myspace. Apparently, people were adding me as a friend, and leaving me messages, which I found weird, because I do not possess an actual Myspace page.
Upon further inspection, I noticed the very first of these mails came in the form of an activation notice, with my username and password. Hee hee.

So, logic dictates that this idiot here signed up for a Myspace page, and misspelled her fucking email address and gave mine. No big deal, right?

This morning, I had another 25 or so messages from Myspace. I decided to be a prick about it, and since I have the password to the account, I’m going to fuck with it. In a way, I already have, although I just changed her “mood” from happy to horny. I’ll see what else I can do for her. But that’ll have to wait, as I have shit to do.

The Iceberg.

The Iceberg.

Fucking people. And just to shake things up a bit, in this instance it wasn’t a telecommunications company.

A few months ago, an offer came to my workplace from Sam’s Club, that Walmart-owned wholesale place. For 15 bucks (as opposed to the 40 or 45 it costs regularly), all employees could sign up for a card that gave us the right to buy shit at their stupid establishment.
Being that I used to live by myself, and now my household is occupied by all of two people, I really don’t have the need to puechase 100 of anything. But somebody mentioned you could get good prices on other kinds of shit, such as electronics, video games, etc. So, I signed up.

The problem is, there’s no Sam’s Club here in Guelph. The nearest one is in Cambridge, a mere 20 minute drive. As I have nothing to drive there (yet), I hadn’t been able to go.

A few weeks ago, My sister, my bro-in-law, my girlfriend and myself went to Cambridge, just to goof around at the mall. But being that we were in the vicinity of said Sam’s Club, I asked my brother-in-law if we could stop so I could get my picture taken for my card.
I took care of that and we browsed around the store for a while.
First of all, I wasn’t at all surprised with the prices. I mean, sure, for example at the supermarket a can of coffee runs you 8 bucks, but at Sam’s you could buy 10 cans for $75… a mere 50 cent savings on each can.
The video game/DVD selection they carry was not in the least impressive. I’ve seen larger displays in those illegal stands you are bound to find all over the place in Mexico.

Soon enough, I wanted out. But as long as everybody else was looking at stuff, I was fucked out of my plan to leave. Then I caught the girlfriend looking at one of those body pillows, so I got it for her. The fact that she prefers to sleep with that pillow than with myself speaks volumes, but that’s another story.
As the group got together to leave, we stumbled upon a stack of t-shirts. Priced at 8 bucks, I saw no harm in picking up a black one for myself.

We got to the cashier, and I placed an 8 dollar shirt and a 13 dollar pillow on the conveyor. 21 plus tax, an easy 24 dollars. I gave the girl my debit card, walked out with my stuff. As the decrepit imbecile at the exit checked my receipt to make sure I hadn’t stolen 10 cans of coffee, or whatever that practice consists of, I mentioned to my girlfriend, actually showing her the receipt, that we had made a good purchase. I smoked a cigarette in the parking lot, and we left for the mall.

Today I got my bank statement. I was looking through it, and sure enough in it appeared all the purchases I had made that day. The food we ate at the food court, the Beavis & Butt-Head DVD, the clothes (girlfriends + clearance sales = bad news), and the 104 dollars I spent at Sam’s. Wait, WHAT?

So, yeah, somebody either at Sam’s or at the bank decided to add 80 bucks to my total, and screw me over. And the worst part is that I quite possibly threw out the receipt. Who the fuck keeps a receipt for a fucking pillow? So I can’t prove anything.
And while 80 bucks isn’t the greatest amount of money in the world, as it stands they’d be really helpful right about now.

Lessons learned:
1. Cash, cash, cash.
2. Even if it’s a fucking coffee at Tim Horton’s, keep the fucking receipts.
3. Never go to a cashier because she looks like a relative of your girlfriend. Always go for the hottie I had to pretend to ignore.

The Iceberg.

Ah, telemarketing. One of the few careers wherein you are guaranteed to be hated by everyone. Why people consider telemarketing a career option, is beyond me.
Now, I consider myself to be somewhat of a benevolent entity, I wish no harm upon anybody (at least most of the time), and I am, in all fairness, a pretty decent guy. That is, until you intrude my home.

Especially, if you intrude my home and be rude about it at the same time, like, say, over the phone. Here I’ll be doing whatever, and the phone’ll ring. 8:00 AM, 10:30 PM… they don’t give a shit. I could be eating, paying attention to a movie or TV show, or engaging in a wonderful, meaningful conversation, and the phone’ll ring. And they’ll ask for either “Mr. or Mrs. Iceberg”, just as it appears in the phone book (the fun thing about having two last names is that I’m listed as my given name and my first last name as initials only, so I know it’s not a personal or a business call).
Fuck, they’re even rude when you ask who is calling. For example:
“Hello, could I speak to Mr. or Mrs. Ice Berg, please?”
“May I inquire as to who is speaking?”
“Is he or she there?”
Fucking idiots. The least they could do, if they want you to listen to their poorly planned sales pitch is identify themselves. But they’re onto us, the non-believers.

So, how do I deal with them? At first, I was naïve, and upon their asking if “Mr or Mrs Ice Berg” was here, I’d tell them he in fact was, and try to dissuade them from selling me anything. They kept offering and offering their sales pitches, and never shut up, and I, like an idiot, was forced to listen to them.

Then one day I had an Idea. I would act irate. I’d give them a piece of my mind, intrerrupting their pre-planned discourse, and hang up. But that would only deter them for a day or two, and they’d soon be back at it.

It was time to go back to the drawing board. How to deal with these pests?
EUREKA! I learned, through the internet, that nothing pisses a telemarketer off more than you making him/her waste his/her time!
So, I’d just answer the phone in my typical “YO!”, and remain silent. It was funny listening to the poor idiot on the other side repeat “hello? hello?” for 30 seconds, and hang up frustrated. Or, in the case of one particular caller, hear her despair as she told a co-worker “he hung up on me!”. Then I’d hang up and giggle like a school girl.

But time passes by, and not by chance I have become wiser. When I receive a telemarketing call, and they ask for “Mr. or Mrs. Ice Berg”, I’ll inform them that they’re speaking to him. And then they’ll begin their endless monologue. By the time they reach the third sentence or so, my phone is conveniently resting beside my keyboard, or tossed aside onto the couch, or somewhere in the kitchen. Or, if I’m really bored, I’ll just listen to him/her talk, and talk, and talk, until his/her first question comes along, responded by my silence, followed by their frustrated “hello? hello? *click*”

And now I get fewer and fewer calls. Hee hee.

The Iceberg.

I love weekends like these, and I wish they’d last longer. But they don’t, so I’m fucked. Anyway, among other things I did (like drinking rum, drinking beer, finally getting my “website project” running, smoking outside in the rain…) I watched 3 movies. Did I like them?

Wanted
As over-the-top as it was, I actually enjoyed it. I mean, I’m not one of those fuckers who complain about how “unreal” movies are. In fact, I am more than willing to suspend my disbelief when it comes to Hollywood movies (unless they try to pass it off as serious).
Is Morgan Freeman in fucking EVERYTHING? I think he’s been in at least half the movies I’ve watched all year.
The movie itself is cool, has some great visual effects, and a decent plot. And on top of that, Angelina Jolie. And her ass.

Hancock
Another cheesy, over-the-top comedy/action flick which I liked, although there were things that, to my appreciation, didn’t fit into the whole concept. But seeing Will Smith as an alcoholic superhero was fun. Plus, the special effects were cool.

The Happening
You know when you really want to see a movie, and you build up hopes that it’ll be the best damn movie in the world, and you get all excited when it finally comes out and you start watching it and leave the theatre disappointed? And you promise yourself never to trust a movie trailer again?
Well, in the case of The Happening, the opposite happened. I had read a shitload of bad reviews, and had near zero expectations for this movie, and ended up enjoying it, even if the plot is stupider than fuck. I’d say something else about the movie, comparing it to another one I saw recently, but I’ll spare you the spoilers.

So there you go. By some fluke, I watched and managed to enjoy three (THREE!) movies in one weekend. Either my standards are slipping, or I was lucky. You choose.

The Iceberg.

If you want to read my new opinions on the new Metallica album, please click this link:

A Very Cold Place

The Iceberg.

Judging by what I’ve listened to, the new Metallica album, “Death Magnetic”, sounds like a really great album…

The Iceberg.

It has been said that dreams are windows to our soul. It has also been said that through dreams you express your innermost desires and fears.

Which makes no sense to me, because I’m always dreaming up stupid shit, like I’m talking to a friend and he suddenly turns into a cat, and then he returns himself to his human form, but the size of the cat, and then he’s no longer my friend, but my sister… all of this while at work at a place that really isn’t my workplace. Or, I’ll go to the store and buy things that don’t exist, or have no purpose existing (dumb things like animal-shaped pop bottles, among others), and I’ll wake up thinking that is the greatest idea ever, and then my serendipity becomes nothing when I realize it was stupid.

But last night I had a very weird dream. I dreamt my girlfriend started acting exactly like me… Doing all the things I do in real life, like buying booze and getting drunk, or stepping out for smokes, or spending her waking life in front of the computer, or speaking in a monotone voice, or listening to metal all day… and I couldn’t stand her.
Of course, when I mentioned the dream to her this morning, she said she doesn’t hate me because I do all those things. But I’m secretly glad, I found out, that she’s nothing like me.

Or something.

The Iceberg.