The Jacket.

A few weeks back, I found the most perfect jacket I’ve ever seen on the trustworthy ASOS website, but it had sold out.

So I used Google Image to see if I could find it elsewhere, but it seemed that only ASOS had sold it.

Then I came across another site, it had the jacket, and I wanted it, I wanted it so badly that the following took place.

The calm, rathional part of me was looking at the site going “This is wrong”, but the crazy “Fuck everything, let’s do this!!!” part of me took over.

They had the jacket, further more they had all sizes of the jacket in stock, or so the page said.

Chrome wouldn’t fill in my credit card number, the second hint, nor would they accept PayPal, but I typed my number in anyway.

Pressed send.

The next concern was no e-mail came with a receipt nor advice on when my package might arrive.

Tonight I googled info on the site and found it to be high risk.

http://www.scamadviser.com/is-nichropulse.com-a-fake-site.html
I really don’t know why I did this, desperation for a badly wanted item? I rarely ever want something so badly that I go crazy for it.

I could have checked, but I *believed* everything would be ok.

And belief is never any replacement for facts.

Stung yes, but it’s only money, I’m still alive and still here!

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It’s not a mid-life crisis, Mildred!

So I got to 52 and I finally started buying clothes which are a lot fancier than usual, I suppose it’s fine for people to think that I’m having a crisis.

I’ve not been terribly worried about what I put on, some trackie dacks or a pair of jeans, something warm on top.

People aren’t going to see me, I’m rarely seen out, I stay home with the dog and cats, I tap stories into my tablet.

So wearing Target or Big W is about as fancy as I get.

It’s not that I wouldn’t have minded fancier clothes in my youth, I loved the clothing my favourite bands wore, but I had no idea where to get stuff like that, and doubt I could have afforded it if I had known.

But recently I wanted a jacket, a good jacket, something fancy which said “I’m Wolfie, How do you do?” So I took a taxi to the local shopping centre which is packed with clothing shops of all kinds.

The jackets I found said “Ex Millitary” or “Farmer Brown” in shades of black, brown, navy or dark green… Colours which don’t excite my retinas much and certainly don’t say “Wolfie”.

Then a friend told me about Asos, based in England, which has an app whereby we can browse through a huge catalogue of clothing.

“Dorothy was skeptical at first…”

While I didn’t find the exact sort of jacket I wanted, I did find some lovely items which were a damn sight better looking than the claptrap I saw in person at the local shops.

And they took only five days to get to Australia… or less in some cases, which was astonishing. 

So, suddenly I have a wardrobe.

Jackets, jumpers, a shirt, several beanies, a baseball cap and a few other bits and pieces.

I bought the most outrageous pair of pants, black with roses down the legs, I’ve never had anything like that before in my life!

I just missed out on a beautiful hoodie too, but the one I settled for is wonderful, and should be as warm as toast in winter as it has borg lining, which means it’s fluffy inside. I only knew The Borg from Star Trek.

I don’t want this to sound like an ad for Asos, but if something works, it works.
So now, finally, I get to strut my stuff in much fancier gear than I’ve ever had. It’s taken far too many years to get here, but I finally made it.

Who?

I’m not the only one being followed by weirdos, surely?

From a Bunny’s Bum

There have been imbeciles blubbering about the loss of the word Easter on Cadbury chocolate eggs, which is a lot of nonsense in so many ways.

Easter is religious and religion, whichever flavour is adopted, is the biggest barrow of bullshit there is.

Racism, it’s a boorish way to call out those of another faith, when yours is just as stupid. Men in the fucking sky, give me a break.

Chocolate eggs are mostly made of air, the shell is thin and the chocolate barely has any flavour in it as it lacks cocoa, you’re basically eating fat.  Buy yourself a proper bar of chocolate, something that makes your hair stand on end and makes you realise that life is worth living.

Lastly, an adult crying over a chocolate egg is utterly pathetic, I seldom use this phrase but please, grow the fuck up.

Small act of rebellion.

School and I were like oil and water, I despised the experience. 

Although I agree that education is important, I felt it turned students into topiary rather than allow natural talents to bubble up.

And I never liked sports.

It is said that Australians live for sport, to me, nothing could be further from the truth, and the attempt made of forcing it down my throat only made me hate it more.

I would have rather sat comfortably somewhere and read an interesting book, non fiction, something about nature, or how things work.

I never bought my uniform to PE, and so, couldn’t join in.

Good!

But for some reason I had Sneakers in my bag a few times, I’m not really sure why, we called them Runners back then, when we sounded more Australian.

Australian High School Students wear a uniform, ours was a grey shirts, slate grey pants and a navy blue jumper… And black shoes.

One day in a Maths class, for some strange reason, I wanted to put my Runners on. Many of the People I liked on TV wore them, a lot of pop stars did, and some of the students at the school wore them instead of the ones that they should be wearing.

So, I quietly changed my shoes.

It felt as though one of my bonds had been broken, it felt wonderful.

And I have never worn black leather shoes since.

Wolfie Rankin.

Life goes on.

Many of you know how big a skeptic I am.

I’m not one for conspiracy theories, dick lengthening pills, or nutty right wing theories.

I have no time for religion.

But in the 90s I was a new age, crystal wearing hippy, who was into meridians and C’hi maaan.

I did shiatsu massage and I’m a Reiki level II.

Peace, love and mung beans, baby!

But I got over most of that, at least in whether it could heal, leave that to doctors. It can however give a person half an hour of sleep, and frankly I don’t see anything wrong with a person who needs sleep, getting some.

So while I’m learning, there was this flakey story about how spirit guides come to assist, yeah well, gnomes and unicorns might appear too, who knows?

So I’m massaging my Dad who didn’t have long to live sadly enough, on the floor of our loungeroom, he was laying on a futon and I’m getting these weird ideas.

I tell Dad that Billy is here, A friend of his who I barely knew. I went to his house once, he was an old chap who collected trains.

No explanation of why, tgat I can remember.

Billy had died years earlier.

So I looked up after finishing with Dad and here’s this human form sitting on the couch, now it was about four or five in the evening, maybe a bit later, but it was still light outside, this isn’t some creepy old ghost story that took place at the stroke of midnight.

Nor was I freaked out.

You’re probably imagining a see through person with floating hair, but no, nothing like that.

Imagine a four foot version of the Men’s toilet graphic, ball for a head, simple arms and shoulders, in fact I’m not sure if I could distinguish arms from the torso.

Now imagine you’re using photoshop, applied a white shape to your image and cranked transparency almost all the way up until you have a watermark you can barely see.

That was it, it didn’t move, and I sat beside it and examined it. 

The little being was in 3D like anyone else would be.

Dad said he could see it, but when Mum came to the door clutching her dressing gown to her throat, she said she couldn’t, but the idea seemed to frighten her.

Dad and I were pleased with our visitor though, there was nothing frightening about it at all.

After a while I went into my parents room to watch whatever was on telly with them, occasionally checking on our little guest.

It sat there for about twenty minutes.

Then I checked later and it was gone.

No, I didn’t take a photo, it was the 90s, digital cameras were new and I didn’t own one. I may have had film in my camera but never thought about it.

I don’t really know what it was to be honest, But I still wonder about it now and then. 

Billy? He was a lot taller than that the last time I saw him.

Wolfie Rankin.

Community Wolf

Over the summer I had the sense that something was wrong, of course things were wrong, my health, my home, the state of the Planet, Politics…

I suppose I didn’t count the possible loss of a best friend.

Marko wasn’t a pushy person, he didn’t grab my by the collar and drag me into whatever he was into, but now and then there was gentle encouragement, Marko would have made a good counselor now that I think of it.

I’ve been here so long, on my own, because of my wonky health, because I’m an introvert. But there is also a sense of rotting away like my rotting house.

I know this is awful, but I’m almost envious of Marko, He’s gone, He doesn’t have to put up with any bullshit anymore, and I’ve been so entirely over the bullshit for years.

But perhaps I’m over the rotting too, this clandestine hope that I might simply wake up dead one morning and think it’s Christmas, Though I’d be worried sick about my dog, who’d take care of her?

Sick and dead, at the same time, worries too, shaking in a hessian bag, six foot under my garden. (not murdered, just cheap)

Well sitting around and rotting isn’t working too well for me, and it’s as dull as fuck, what a strange saying, fuck is anything but dull.

And without Marko’s support, what am I to do?

I have denied that I am a Furry, but the Furry umbrella is huge and doesn’t mind keeping the rain off poor fifty two year old lycanthropes.

I am alone in this World, at least it feels that way, I wish I had been closer to Marko, Why couldn’t I have just moved away from here and leave the ghosts of the past, to the past?

My life is as blocked up as my non working sewer, I’m drowning in a past life which turned up its toes years ago.

I need a community, I need to be involved.

Marko taught me that, I’m just so damn annoyed with myself that I only recognise that now.

But yes, I was sick, I still am, and yes I am an introvert, I have panic attacks when I’m in a crowd… but then don’t other Furries feel that too? Isn’t it bought out by the internal knowledge that we are different, and despite what the World says, We will never be Normal?

Who needs to be Normal? That’s a damn cowardly thing to be, isn’t it?

I have been content to lead a virtual life online, I am well known, and loved from a distance, but I need to be in the thick of things like Marko was.

I need compassion, I need people to look out for me, To check on me and see if I’m ok.

Should I continue on this current course, I will die on a toilet seat at home and won’t be found for days, the idea frightens me, being sick, dead and alone too.

Marko took me to the Melbourne Furry Convention twice and I was a fish out of water, while for him it was his life blood, I’ve been trying to work out why that was, and now I know.

Marko knew everyone, while I only knew two people, I probably knew a lot more but they didn’t look like their Twitter avatars.

I don’t want to die on my toilet seat, I want to die on a toilet seat in some strange place, after doing something that would give a religious freak a heart attack.

Will you take in this old Wolf and help him get around?

Wolfie Rankin