thefurfiles

It happens from time to time – I think to myself, “What is wrong with that person? Why did they do such and such?” It happened to me just the other day, in fact.

My husband and I were at the bank – paying some bills and getting some money because $60 seems to burn through our wallets faster than if our pants were actually on fire. As we went in, we walked past a man standing outside. He looked like he’d seen better days. He had a bottle of something in his hand that he was drinking. It could have been Pepsi in a bag, but from the particular way he tipped it up to take a swig, I didn’t think so. His clothes were rough, his face was scruffy, and he was wearing an extra-large backpack. It was pretty obvious, the guy had either just returned from a a very long trip and he was celebrating outside of Scotiabank, or he was living on the streets. Yeah, probably the latter.

As we entered the bank, the man followed us. Pausing for a moment, he looked at my husband – who was already busy dealing with the machine – and then he looked at me. I gave him the stare – the “don’t fuck with us” stare. I learned that from my psychopath book. You have to be confident, no matter what. Walk confident, stand confident, give off a confident air. You can’t be oblivious, or look scared. You’ll end up a victim.

And either my stare worked, or the man thought better of what he was about to do, or both, and he turned around and walked back outside. Now, he could’ve been just trying to get warm, but that’s not the impression I got. He kind of had that wild look in his eyes. It was the look of desperation and too much alcohol.

Continue reading “Judge Not Lest Ye Also Be Judgethed (Or Something Like That)”

It’s cold outside these days. Damn cold. So cold that walking to the bus or waiting for the train – without gloves or a hat – can be problematic.

But there’s my twenty-year-old son, running out the door with barely a coat on, no boots. To him, winter is only a suggestion. The minus-thirty-degree temperatures are NOT real, until he comes back and says that he nearly froze to death getting to school. “What did I tell you? You should’ve dressed warmer.” I say this hoping that next time he’ll remember. He doesn’t.

It makes me think, does giving advice even work? Most people just do what they feel like doing anyway, doesn’t matter what anyone else says. Sometimes, they get frostbite. For my son, it may take his hands turning black for him to remember to wear gloves.

Of course, as a parent, there are times when I’m going to put my foot down. There are times when I’m going to say my peace goddammit, when I’m going to bloody well tell those rambunctious and sometimes space cadet children to stop throwing the exercise ball around in the living room, that they are going to break something (else).

Continue reading “Nobody Wants Advice”

This is a made-up news story, and no, my children would never do anything like this, I hope. If they did, my husband might have to remove their procreative organs. And he IS a surgeon. Read on…

Nineteen-year-old Chad Johnson of Burlington, Vermont has effectively sued his father for slipping on the black ice outside their house, garnering a payoff of just over five hundred thousand dollars.

“I was heading out to go to school,” Chad was quoted as saying. “It had snowed a little, you know, just enough that you couldn’t see the ground. I thought about shoveling it, but then I was like, nah, my dad will do it. Besides, I had to get to the gym.” Shifting his backpack, Chad then apparently popped a piece of leftover chicken into his mouth – a guy’s gotta get some protein before a workout – and the next thing he knew, he was “on his ass”.

“Why the hell does he need the five hundred thousand dollars, or even five thousand dollars?” asked his father – rather rhetorically – when questioned about the incident. “He lives at home for Christ’s sake. He doesn’t pay rent. He barely goes to school. His mother and I pay for literally everything.”

Chad claims his slightly bruised rear-end will prevent him from almost (but not quite) getting to class. “I’m going to feel bad,” Chad said. “It’s like I should be going to school, and even though I usually skip, I can’t go for sure now.” We hear you, Chad. It sucks when you are barely trying to make something of yourself, and you simply can’t.

Also, Chad says that his injuries prevent him from playing video games effectively because he marginally jarred his thumb in the fall. “What do you want me to do, read a book?” he said near the end of his one minute interview.

Even though Chad didn’t die as a result of the incident, Burlington police services now fear for his life, reporting that Chad’s father is being rather hostile about all of this. “I don’t know what’s wrong with that boy. He should’ve been the one out there shovelling and putting salt on the driveway in the first place. I work hard to pay for every goddamn thing he owns and does. The least he could do is help out more around the house. I woke up at five o’clock that morning – as usual – to get to my job at the airport. It must’ve snowed (covering up the icy spot) sometime after that. Chad doesn’t even get up until noon, like WTF? I swear to God, I’m going to kill that little bastard if he shows his face around here…”

Chad’s mother, on the other hand, seems to understand Chad’s plight, saying, “Don’t listen to my husband. Chad is a good, good boy. And the money’s fair. It WAS sort of our fault. We should’ve been more careful. The justice system just wants the best for all of those involved. Anyway, now I won’t have to go behind my husband’s back to give Chad money, not for a few months at least.” Mrs. Johnson has asked the public NOT to disclose that last statement to her husband, for obvious reasons. He does sound rather violent.

Chad’s father has since been seen shaking his fist wildly out the front door of their house and shouting, “Fuck that shit. In my eyes, you are dead to me now, Chad!” And then apparently, he mumbled to the letter carrier, “Seriously, five hundred thousand dollars? In what fucking universe?”

Lucky for Chad, he is now in Miami, “blowing up bitches” – which is Chad’s way of saying “having sex with them” – since his windfall came in. Friends say he’s not likely to return home anytime soon.