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Category: Phat Life

Isn’t she a doll

My mother told me that when she was very, very little she had a doll. It was one of those very-large, stand-up and walk dolls which quickly became her favorite. She took that doll everywhere with her and everywhere with her went it. I do not recall if her sister, my Aunt made mention of it for sure–but I want to say that anytime the doll is mentioned her sister would tease my mother about it. I’ve searched everywhere to try and find the doll that  my mother gave to me–a huge stuffed doll in very old fashioned dress with…

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An Orange and a Needle

Afternoon sunlight angled in through a glass door at the end of the hallway, spilling light across a spotless black and white tiled floor. It was so clean; not a single tread mark or smudge, not a smidgeon of dust along the molding or under any of the black plastic chairs that littered it. The walls were nothing but white with tastefully non offensive photos or photos of paintings that were scenery: fields and flowers and faceless children near the ocean. There was a distinct smell. It’s the sort of scent that, if you spend a lot of time in…

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$800 later.

You didn’t take my mother to a casino unless you had money. A lot of money. Alot of money that you might not want to see again. In Alberta, there seemed to be a Casino tucked away in just about any corner. Some of them were discreet, windowless buildings with parking lots that went on forever. Others were bright-lights, Las Vegas style squat monsters of flashing colors and bright signs. Couldn’t miss them unless you were blind really. My mother could had a list of favorite ones that she “had good feelings,” about. She often liked to roam around them and I suspected that…

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If the sun refused to shine, I would still be loving you.

I love music, and that’s not such a strange thing to say. Many people do–music helps you get through the day, work harder, work smarter, work out harder or relax. I love a weird, wide range of music that spans everything from a song just released a week ago, to Mongolian throat singing. A lot of my music choices are simply sounds that move me to respond to them. I would like to think that my father and mother were especially responsible for my broad love of music. My mother was music. She was constantly humming, if she wasn’t humming, she…

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Maybe she’s born with it. Maybe it’s her mom.

Being a military kid can generally go one of two ways: you’re lucky and your parents end up stationed in one place for a long enough time they c an get a house, settle down and you grow up near base with the same people and same families you were born around, and retire there, too. Or, you get stationed everywhere frequently. You uproot everything and leave friends and new people behind. You hope you’ll keep up but time and distance often keeps that from happening. There are several smaller degrees of severity: sometimes your parents get stations a metric…

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Love Notes

Hello 2phatgeeks readers! This week has been an up and down sort of week. Shawn’s father (Shawn is 1phatgeek of the 2phatgeeks writing nuts here at the blog) was re-admitted to the hospital on Monday with breathing issues. During the week his health grew progressively worse due to this and experienced kidney issues. Last night, Shawn’s Pop was moved from a normal hospital room to Cardiac Intensive care due to growing fluid around the lungs, heart, and growing loss of kidney function. Today, the doctors have chosen intubation (a tube placed down the throat hooked up to a machine to…

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The beautiful, calming sounds of a crazy fat man. Now for your phone!

I slept in on Thursday. Like, slept in a lot. Every once in a while I get hit with the sleepy bug, especially when Shawn is home. I just…sleep better. A lot better. Lots and lots better. Sometimes it borders on it being a coma. Imagine my surprise however, when I woke up to plug in my phone and noticed that when I did it didn’t make the normal noises my phone should make. Oh no. No, see–my phone emitted my husbands voice. My phone went, in Shawn’s voice, “boopBeep!” In my stunned silence as I stared at my phone my husband began chortling like…

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Ask Drunk Mel Sh*t

You know what’s a good idea? Drinking. And you know what’s an even better idea? Drinking and answering questions from my facebook and Google+ friends. Hells yeah. 

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I can’t imagine

I can’t imagine loving me. I am a difficult woman to understand. For the longest time in my life I was nothing more than a ball of smothering love and sulfurous self-hate, mingling together until neither side could determine who would win and one moment I was loving the world and the next minute I was sobbing over broken incense burners. How do you love someone like that? How do you dedicate—willingly—your life and spending it with someone who’s apparently emotional maturity is that of a confused and angry seven year old? I don’t know. For the longest time, I…

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A little crazy is okay.

I read the other day a post about crazy people making the best bloggers. And I thought they so do. And then I thought but I’m not crazy, in my head in one of those tones.  I heard myself say it in my head (I did, yes, stop staring at me like that) sort of self-assured. Like the notes you would hear from ladies with silver-blue in their hair, bent over afternoon tea on their front porch on a sunny summer day. The two of them politely dance around one another in barely polite conversation–making hints about each others obvious superiority…

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