September 1, 2008

Deuce

I'm on a driver's course with the military these days and it is interesting. The main vehicle we're learning is the M35 medium-lift transport truck, a venerable beast whose design dates back to 1949. Canada's M35's aren't quite that old -- but most of them are from 1982, so they're antiques just the same and the ones we train on have a museum-piece air about them. That said, our instructors tell us frankly that these trucks are indestructible provided we're not stupid with them, and on the first day, one of our warrant officers hopped up on top of an exposed engine and, to our surprise, planted himself on top of the rather fragile-looking airbox with no problems. We are also learning maintenance of the beast, which the Canadian Forces refer to as the MLVW in English (Medium Logistics Vehicle, Wheeled), and which knowledge our instructors point out to us can often also be applied to our own cars (or motorcycles). The ML, as we call it (or the deuce, short for deuce-and-a-half, which is its normal maximum offroad payload weight in tons) is slated to be retired and replaced in a couple of years, but for now it's still in use so we still learn it. On Tuesday we're off to a nearby base for several days to practice driving it a lot more (so far we've just had 15 minutes in it to practice maneuvers; the airbox warrant was my examiner and gave me all A's and B's), including offroading it. Should be fun -- even though we also have to log at least 500K during the course in order to be qualified and the staff tell us we'll get fed up with driving long before that.

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Speaking of wheels, the Ninja is currently dead. I rode home one night and when I pulled the key out the lights stayed on -- which does not happen in the normal run of things; there is no other way to turn them off. Just as important, she also wouldn't start anymore; the starter motor would go but the engine wouldn't turn over, not even close, which suggests to me that the sparkplugs weren't firing. I haven't taken her apart to have a look but I think (supported by people on a Kawasaki forum) that a fault developed in the ignition switch, the part where you turn the key. I'm getting a new one from my dealership, $130, hopefully that's the solution since if not I don't think I can return it.

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Our summer sublet has now moved out, in preparation for the girl to come back. (Here I suffer the familiar wondering whether I've already given her a nickname -- must check.) It was straight good -- not a bad go at all. When I first moved away from home over 10 years ago I remember thinking "ohh I hope all my roommates will be amazing dudes or cool hot chicks" but pretty quick you learn to just be thankful when they're non-assholes that you can live with. It went well; I'm glad.

That said, I do think that the girl (a sheltered 21-y.o. fundie) is not totally comfortable around me and I give it one chance in three that she'll move out to find another living situation. But if she does we'll find somebody else via Craigslist like we've done the past three times and it'll be fine again.

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A bit more about Lindsay, quite possibly the last:

She wrote me about a week ago to say that she was pissed at me (!) but that I was still on her mind (to wit, that when she crosses the border she still can't help looking for Lucky Strikes and Vat 69). I told Gmail to archive any new messages from her immediately and I haven't looked in the archives so if she's written me again I wouldn't know.

Also: a day or two after that, one of her fanboys called me, which was a surprise since that had never happened. It took a few exchanges before I understood who he was; then he told me that he was taking a trip out west to her town and that he had been asked to get the famous boots from me. I told him that the last I'd seen of them I'd left them outside her old apartment door, with a note, for her past roommate to find and take in again. I actually wrote and rewrote that note several times, on the flight home -- the final iteration said something like "I'm sure you don't want to be saddled with these again, but I promise you I want them even less than you at this point".

But I never left them outside that door with that note, and they are gone daddy gone and not to her.

Posted by Jack Spratt at 12:16 AM | Comments (0)

August 9, 2008

Pretty Good Trip

So the trip did not go as planned. The traveling went as planned and other things went as planned, but the Lindsay part didn't. Some of you are saying, oh, I could see this coming. It didn't take me totally by surprise either, put it that way, but I was the one that needed to find out, and now I know - I really know. I'm also free now, as a friend pointed out, as opposed to if things had gone well with her and I would've been in a de facto long distance relationship like so much quicksand. Plus I got laid in Hometown.

What happened? Basically:

I got to Lindsay's town on the Thursday and she was arriving late that night from her own travels elsewhere, and on the Friday we spoke on the phone about the intimate scotch tasting, 6 or 8 people, that we were going to be having that night. The scotch would be held at the same place where I was staying, with a female buddy that I've known since we were both in highschool, and for days it had already been arranged that Lindsay would sleep over too so that she and I could have an early start at going camping the next day. Here Lindsay announced that she was bringing a guy to the scotch, which threw me somewhat, but I said to myself so be it.

I carried on planning the weekend camping trip that she and I were to have and at some point I realized that the temperature overnight was going to be slightly above freezing, and Lindsay was in the middle of an awful-sounding summer cold, obvious even over the phone. I called her back to say that I thought the camping should be cancelled -- as much as I wanted to have some guaranteed alone time with her -- and she protested at first but then agreed that it was probably for the best and we could still do some hiking or whathaveyou. It was also during this phone call that she remarked that the random dude was also going to be sleeping over, that my hostess had approved it, which threw me again, but as before I said "oh, OK".

When I got off the phone with Lindsay, Hostess emerged from her nap and I commented on Random Dude sleeping over, to which Hostess said "what? No, I didn't say that -- I don't know him and anyway there's nowhere else for anybody to sleep", which was true. I asked whether I should tell Lindsay or whether she would, and Hostess said no, she'd take care of it. She got on the phone and explained to Lindsay that they must've miscommunicated (when they had spoken earlier in the day it's true it was on a payphone on a windy street, and Lindsay's voice was feeble from being sick) and that RD couldn't crash over. From there the conversation wrapped up quickly, and when Hostess hung up she looked at me slightly oddly and said, "well, she says that if that's the case, she's going to arrive with him and leave with him, and she won't be sleeping over".

I know it showed on my face that I wasn't sure what to think but wasn't happy and Hostess asked if I wanted to go for a walk, which I did. I smoked a cigarette while Hostess walked her little dog and we talked about it.

"Do you want to cancel the scotch?" Hostess asked.

"Well, no," I said.

"Do you just want to tell her that it's cancelled?" Hostess asked.

I grunted. "Maybe," I said.

There was a pause.

"I'll tell you this," I said, "I can see it now, she's running interference. I've seen her do it before, I just didn't think it would happen this time."

"Well, is it gonna get... ugly if she's there with this guy?"

"No, no, it's not gonna get ugly," I said.

"What are you gonna do?"

"Just... suck it up, I guess." I took a drag. "Honestly, she's there with that dude, I'll be spending most of the night trying to ignore her really."

"There's no reason you should have to do that," Hostess pointed out, very wisely.

By the end of my smoke I had made up my mind; Hostess said she would go on walking the dog for another 15 minutes, to give me time to get back to the house and make the call. I went back, let myself in, and sat at the kitchen table for five or 10, and when I found myself putting together neat arguments I realized I was overthinking the damn thing and just called her.

"Got a minute?" I asked.

"Sure, do I need a pen and paper?"

"No," I said.

"Kay, just let me step outside... okay."

I wasn't mad -- I didn't even have to fight off being mad -- just disappointed and fed up, but without moaning and without heat. I gave her a chance to explain who RD was, in case it was something exceptional, but it already seemed to me that the truth of it was that no matter who he was or what he meant to her (probably just another fanboy, to be honest, like those I knew so well in Montreal and whose attentions were not being returned), she was bringing him in order to create distance between us. He wasn't exceptional, either, just a former co-worker from seven years ago, and in our long-distance phone calls when she had been listing the few friends she still had in town she had not named him -- she had named women only. I told her that if she was intent on bringing him then I didn't want to see her there that night, and she protested saying that she couldn't drop him now, that she had been telling him about the scotch for the past two weeks. (It didn't occur to me until later that she had only mentioned him to me, to us, that very day -- but in this case nothing hinged on it.) I still said no, although I gave her an out by saying that if she really wanted to come, she could come alone; she said, "forget that noise; if that's the deal then I'll stay home tonight all by myself".

"Okay," I said, and there was a silence on the line, and then "I'll talk to you later -- bye," and she gave a querulous "Bye--?" and I hung up.

The upshot is that she didn't call, email, or anything else for the remainder of the four days that I was in her town -- in town because she had asked me to come see her. I had been thinking that I might reach out, even if she didn't, but by Sunday it had struck me that that would be more of the same old. If she called me then maybe that would indicate some kind of change, and then I would hear her out -- but if I called her again it would be the same pattern repeating itself. So I didn't, and she didn't, and I flew home on the Tuesday and at this point I really do not care to hear from her. Which is not to say that I wasn't disappointed with how things turned out, but like my friend said, so much the better most likely.

And I am not blue about it and one reason is that it was a good trip anyway and another is that I got laid, which was totally within her rights to do too, by the way, what with she and I having been, as I used to say, not only not official but not even unofficial. I was safe about it and I wasn't about to tell her and she could've done the exact same thing, may have, for that matter, although I wouldn't bet on it. And I brought her hiking boots with me to her town because she had forgotten them here and asked me to, and while my visit was ending it occurred to me that I could leave them on her doorstep, but no, I've brought them back here and they're in my room and I'll give them away, because it seems to me she wasn't that interested in them after all. They are pretty damn Gucci, by the way, not a lot of wear, and leather and Gore-Tex and Vibram sole. I'm sure they will make somebody very happy.

I'm finished with doing right by people who don't know what to do with it.

There's already enough of that in my recent past that I haven't quite forgiven myself for.

And it was a good trip -- I rode the train for free for days, I saw my Mom, I saw a lot of friends and made a couple. I saw the West and the Rockies again. It hardly rained. I had home cooking. Hostess put me up for five days and saved me tons of cash and I took her out a lot. The flight home was as cheap as they come. And the girl in Hometown, by the way, wasn't some bar slut but a girl that I knew back in highschool and who I always had a thing for.

Posted by Jack Spratt at 01:38 AM | Comments (0)

July 11, 2008

Going Out West

So here is a lot to cover in one entry but I'll try to keep it short. Lindsay and I sort of got back together during the last week that she was here, and it was really good -- and then, clean clear and sober, I told her that I love her, and things got even better. When I said it she was shocked but seemed really happy about it, and stayed happy; I'd thought that her female intuition would've pointed her in that direction before, but apparently not. I didn't say it for the purpose of her saying it back to me and I didn't say it to stop her leaving Montreal, neither of which happened. But it felt right saying it and it's kept feeling right.

She wasn't going to stay, either -- it's true that once I told her that she was leaving because she had feelings for me and was scared of them, and I think that's true, or was true, to some extent. But as she reminded me then, much as she doesn't care for her hometown, she needs to go back there to help out -- her father is very likely terminally ill and her mother was a wreck being alone with him. I spoke to her on the phone two or three nights ago, on my shiny new cell as I sat on the roof of the building that she still lived in 10 days ago, and we talked about how rough things were with her dying dad and her broken mom and of course she had the same chipper demeanour as always, now with a touch of bravery to it, but I could tell it was taking its toll already -- and soon he, they, will be enduring another round of chemo, which she frankly said will be hell. She asked with a chuckle when would I come out to see her. We talked about it for a bit as if it were really something that might happen in the near future and it wasn't until we'd hung up that I realized it absolutely could be.

To their eternal credit, Via Rail is offering unlimited free travel to Canadian military personnel for the entire month of July, and I called them and learned that as booked up as things are I could get a lift almost to her town for nothing right at the end of the month. I called her the next day and she was surprised and happy all over again and said yes, definitely, do it. I talked to my bosses at the regiment and I got their blessings to go away for 12-odd days, and I booked my return flight about an hour ago this early Friday morning. I will take the train west through Toronto and through Hometown (a three day stopover to see the folks and friends and take a break from the damn train) and then on to Edmonton and from there a bus to her town.

I am not staying at her place; I am not expecting to see her all the time, nor even every day out of the five I'll be there if she can't swing it; I'm not expecting big things to happen during this trip. This is no booty call, no visit where I'll wait for her to say I love you too. I'm going because I want to see her, and because I think she could really use a friendly familiar face, and because she asked me. I'm going because it feels right and because it feels like it would be a bad idea to pass this up. I'm going because I want her to keep realizing how much she matters to me.

I'm going, and she's already said that she might be back in Montreal for a week in September, and I've already said that I might be out west for Christmas again like last year. I don't know what's going to happen later; God knows; all I know is that, for now, going and seeing her sounds like exactly what I should do, and we'll go from there.

Posted by Jack Spratt at 02:20 AM | Comments (0)

June 10, 2008

Dispatches, 10 Jun 08

Just checking in with a few bullet points in the midst of this hot summer heat. Montreal is beginning to swelter as it does every summer, and wide-open windows with lots of fans can't stop the apartment from being sweaty -- and it's going to get worse, so I'm finally fishing for an air conditioner to jam in the kitchen window. Other stuff:

* I'm getting Lasik soon, laser eye surgery -- in 10 days to be exact. I don't want to go back to glasses, and contacts cost me a good $300 a year anyway, so this should pay for itself. Also, the Canadian Forces have finally overturned their ban on laser-eyed people applying to become pilot officers. I'm not saying I'll apply necessarily (nor will I assume I'll be accepted if I do) but this news tipped the balance.

* Recruiting work is still fine, I'm not on a short leash by any means -- at least not so far. Late last week I spent a couple of half-days working at a CF kiosk on Crescent Street during the Grand Prix street fair; we weren't there to be actively recruiting, and we just handed out lots of free CF swag -- lanyards and carabiners for keys, stuff like that. We were braced for protesters or at least the odd person to come up to us with some kind of beef, but none really materialized; instead we had lots of people come pose for photos with us, and lots who came by to shake our hands and say thank you and that they support us and what we do. Pretty sweet. Canadians have finally reawakened to the fact that they have a military and that their military is at war.

* I now have a cell phone, glory be. I was always waiting for the price to be comparable to a landline and now Rogers has this government plan which is exactly that -- and plenty of extras too. Most of their agents don't know about this -- seems it's not on the books -- but if you get a knowledgeable agent he'll set you up. Mine is $23 / mo. for just about everything I could want, plus $7 for network access and 911 fee, and I imagine plus tax too for something around $35 monthly. Not bad at all and a sweet phone as well. If you think you'd be eligible and want to know more, just drop me a line -- stationchief at gee mayul.

* I had the starter clutch on the Ninja changed out at the reputable motorcycle shop on St-Michel and now the bike doesn't have any major issues any more. Gas, of course, is up, with "low-test" going for 151.4 at the Petro Canada next to my place today; that means the high-test (94 octane) that the Ninja demands must be up above $1.80 per litre after tax. Still, gas really ought to be expensive -- it's precious stuff, we're running out of it, and high prices encourage conservation and maybe innovation in other ways of making things move (no, I'm not touting biofuel). Somebody let their dog piss on the Ninja while she was parked out back, incidentally, apparently, since today as I was undoing the fitted tarp that covers her (and which I religiously use, ever since that damn kid graffitoed her windshield) a tiny flood of yellow liquid drained out of one of the exterior folds in the fabric and got all over my fingers. Great. There's no question in my mind that it was piss, too -- it did occur to me that it might be human rather than canine but probably not.

* This is off topic, but do any of my fellow semi-youngish people -- except the aggressively clueless, which admittedly is most young people -- expect that life is going to be great? I used to think that it would be, but it's been a few years already since that's begun to slip away. I think that extraordinarily hard times are coming up for this world and, unrelated, I've lost a lot of faith in people. I'm not sure who one should treat well anymore, apart from family (for most of us) and complete strangers, since I've had rotten experiences with people I thought were solid friends. I used to think that girls were better, gentler creatures than guys and that they deserved to be on at least a short pedestal; I used to think that women would eventually realize they wanted a decent man. I used to want to be in a relationship rather than just fuck, but that is starting to slip -- hard.

Posted by Jack Spratt at 01:23 AM | Comments (0)

May 9, 2008

Spina Bifida

It seems I've got my summer employment: there's plenty of workdays for me specifically at the unit, enough for a good four days a week, maybe more, until September. No need to go anywhere, like Ottawa. That's good, really good.

Lindsay says she's definitely leaving for Calgary, mid-June or start of July. I found out about it when I was sitting on the front steps having a smoke with Tallboy there and she came walking up. We talked, or rather they talked and I mostly sat there listening in. They still have a really good rapport. I thought again about telling her that he cheated on her for a month in summer '05 -- not thought about it as in considered doing it, just thought about it, sucked on it like a hard candy, as Paul Theroux wrote.

For all I know they were in an open relationship. I doubt it, but there's less and less that surprises me about people the longer I live.

I think I'll be glad when she's gone.

Tallboy went to visit Chiclets in New Brunswick, where he is raising two kids: one that's not his, one that is. This is with the girl that he met on his course in late spring '06, the one with whom he was having an LDR for about six months and who he really seemed to like until he decided that he hated her. He still fucked her, though, just before deploying overseas, and that was the time that she got pregnant, and now he's there with her apparently helping raise both of the little ones. Tallboy reported that Chiclets is desperate, hence the need to go see him immediately, even though Tallboy will be in the province two or three weeks from now anyway for training and would / will see him then too.

I'm inclined to think it's karma for Chiclets. He was the biggest bastard I ever met -- even though he wasn't one naturally; he knew better; he's a regular guy who used to be an altar boy and who did the 30-Hour Famine when he was in high school (literally). He's a regular joe who decided to work as hard as possible at being an asshole, apparently after a girlfriend dumped him and left him heartbroken while they were traveling Europe together several years ago. He's highly intelligent and well-read, not ignorant or naturally brutal, but he chose to act like a fucker, and the fact is the way we act is who we are. He always used to brag about the shitty things he'd pull: about trying to fuck a girl with spina bifida just so he could say he fucked a girl in a wheelchair, about going to the strippers and then insulting and swearing at the girls until he'd get kicked out. And now, as far as he's concerned, his life sucks and he's losing his shit. I'm not saying this has happened because Chiclets was such a colossal, intentional prick -- if anything it probably happened because of Chiclets's famous habit of not using condoms, another bragging point of his -- but it's a comeuppance. It may as well be karma. The only unfortunate thing is that there's a young child involved, or children, rather.

Would Tallboy be his old friendly self towards me now if Chiclets were still around, living the carefree Montreal life, for Tallboy to hang out with? I keep that kind of question in mind.

Posted by Jack Spratt at 01:55 AM | Comments (0)

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