Archive for June, 2012

I remember watching a show on TV when I was kid called, “Kids Say the Darndest Things.”  Bill Cosby was the host and his job was to illustrate one great truth; when kids are asked questions, they will be brutally honest because it is what kids do.  They haven’t been trained through years of socialization that sometimes lying is the lesser of two evils.  Children don’t understand that what they are saying could be misconstrued as inappropriate or hurtful.  And when kids do this, they usually make for some very funny moments, thusly; Bill Cosby would host a show documenting this. 

In my house, I have something similar.  I have a wife with an inability to hold back.  She does not lie, at least to me, and she is really a breath of fresh air.  I have multiple examples that make her look really and sometimes brutally honest.  I am writing this and airing it out not so that people can make broad sweeping assumptions that she is in any way a difficult or an overbearing woman, because she is not.  I actually believe that because Whitney is certified “gifted” that some of the odd things she does are actually because she is operating at a level that I don’t understand.  She is like Sheldon from Big Bang Theory.  Everything she does makes perfect sense to her, but can appear funny to others…..

Here are some examples of my wife’s ability to speak candidly….even when most would just omit or lie.

  1. 1.        Today I called home and was chatting with Whitmaster 5000, aka Whitney.  She was initially very involved in the conversation, but over time she was drifting away.  I thought I might have offended her or something was going wrong at home.  Here is a terrific example of her being overly honest simply for the sake of being honest.

Heath:  Whitney are you okay?  Is something wrong?

Whitney:  Oh, no, I am fine…..I just had a booger in my nose……

                  You can agree that this is a common problem for all of mankind.  I often have things in my nose that I wish weren’t there.  And yes, the object is distracting and inconvenient—especially if the object in your nose is a crayon, which coincidentally is scarier than you think, and I would advise against putting a crayon in your nose.  I am speaking from experience.  Moreover, I have to believe that masses reading this have also dealt with the difficulties involved with boogers.  Yet, in my three decades of existence, never has, in the exact same type of situation, somebody responded to me with, “Oh, no, I am fine…..I just had a booger in my nose…..”  People, I have asked thousands of men and women if they are okay, and if something was wrong—today, June 29, 2012 is the first time someone responded with the truth.  Very refreshing.

  1. 2.        Recently, before going to the mall where I like to spend all of my time, I got dressed into my favorite pair of shorts.  The shorts are “walking awesomeness.”  I have the calves of a four year old girl, but somehow these shorts make up for it.  I walked into the living room, very confident with myself, and Whitney knew it because when I am confident, I swagger, and then I start spontaneously flexing.  I shot the question out, “How does this outfit look?”  Then, I started flexing like I was in the pre-judging for the Mr. Olympia contest.  Here is a terrific example of Whitney being overly honest simply for the sake of being honest.

Heath:   How does this outfit look?

Whitney:  Good, except the shorts and the shirt. 

                Seems harmless, except that all I was wearing was the shorts and the shirt…..Very  refreshing

  1. 3.        Situation:  At the movies preparing to buy some popcorn from the emo dressed teenager working the cash register.  Emo Cash Register Girl has a name tape on that says “manager.”  Emo Manager Cash Register Girl, sounding as if we were the biggest inconvenience ever, says “What do you need?”  Here is a terrific example of Whitney being overly honest simply for the sake of being honest.

Emo Manager Cash Register Girl:  What do you need?

Heath:  (silently thinks to himself, “does this girl have any idea who she just sounded annoyed to?  Firstly, Whitmaster 6k doesn’t take this from anyone at the movies; she used to manage a place like this.  Secondly, Whitmaster 6k is pregnant and honest”).

Whitney:  Have you lost your damn mind, child.  Am I an inconvenience to you?  I don’t even want to know how you earned your way to manager, where is your boss?

Heath:  (at this moment, in an effort to reassert control, I said the following statement)  hmmmh hmmmmh.

                I thought I was going to formulate actual words, but instead I made two long horn sounds…..Emo Manager had no skills dealing with customers and deserved Whitmaster 7k’s honesty.  I have seen Whitney choke down horrible food because she loved the wait staff so much, so this Emo girl had it coming.  Very refreshing.

  1. 4.        A few years ago, my wife The Whitness, met my commanding officer.  He was a pretty high ranking gentleman and I respected him quite a bit.  Whitness had seen him working out before, and I guess she was impressed with what she saw—I’m talking Magic Mike impressed.  Well, as the party progressed, I had the opportunity to introduce Whit to the CO.   Here is a terrific example of her being overly honest simply for the sake of being honest.

Heath:  Sir, this is my wife Whitney; Whitney, this is my Commanding Officer (said in a manner as to indicate that this man can ruin my career).

Commanding Officer:  Whitney, it is a pleasure to meet you.  Wow, Heath must have a good personality because he sure isn’t handsome enough to keep a pretty girl like you around.

Whitney:  It is so nice to meet you too.  I have to tell you, I have seen you running and you have unbelievable calves……

Commanding Officer:  (lifting the bottoms of his pant legs up and flexing).  Phillips, this is a really good woman you have here….

I didn’t know how to take this.  I initially was worried my boss would be weirded out, but I quickly realized that had I not been married, Whitney would have chosen his calves over me—and worse still, I am certain that the calf remark had placed Whitney on his list of all time favorite women.  If there is one thing I do not bring to the table in my marriage, it is a surplus of calf muscle.  Naturally, this moment has left a scar on my soul, but I drudge forward, walking on my tip-toes in hopes that I am just a late bloomer when it comes to calves.  On many occasions since, Whitnasty has tried to get me to wear her high heels around the house in an attempt to help me with my self-concept issues.  It is the cross I bear.  I just wanted you to know, because I have been holding it in for years.   


Massages are great but giving massages can be hell.  As one of my haikus alluded to yesterday, I am in a state in my wife’s pregnancy where avoiding handing out quality foot and back rubs is only possible if I am willing to face the prospects of her “befriending” another man as “interested” in pregnant women as I am.  Let’s get it straight for the record.  I do not mind giving a massage to a pregnant lady in distress; I just need to lay down some personal issues that cause massages to become complicated. 

I admit that it is difficult for me to just massage my wife and avoid any of the following issues:

  1. 1.        Turn the massage into something she never intended it to be.  Like some kinky show you can pay to see in a back alley of downtown Albuquerque, NM…  As a matter of fact all you husbands out there.  Be forewarned, massaging a pregnant woman should never be approached as foreplay.  I am not saying it won’t go that way, but, you know.  PS.  Apparently women don’t get as turned on as I do by clumsily rubbing anywhere they will let you touch while saying things like, “this massage can have a happy ending for you, if you play your cards right.”  Funny thing, this actually seems to solicit a reaction more reminiscent of frustration.  I know it’s crazy—it makes zero sense to me either.  However, and on a related but reversed note, imagine how frustrated I must feel when, ON MULTIPLE OCCASSIONS NOW, I have told Whitney that she need NOT see Magic Mike this weekend, because I will do a personalized and choreographed dance session for her and any of her friends, (up to 12 people.  I prefer to keep it intimate) in the comfort of her own house, and yet she still scheduled an all girls outing for this Friday night…..SLAP IN THE FACE, OR NO?  (Michiganders end every sentence with “or no,” trust me I know people there—this is my shout out to them)
  2. 2.       I do this other awesome thing where my massages start out with good intentions, but somewhere in the massaging process I drift off to sleep.  I can understand how this must make the pregnant lady I am massaging feel.  At first, I am motivated and working her over like I am a paid professional, and then suddenly I am just rubbing the same two square centimeter area of her shoulder blades effectively rubbing the skin off her back.  I have no clue this is going on, because I am in the initial stages of a night long coma. 
  3. 3.       Not killing her.  I walk a fine line between injuring the pregnant lady I massage and actually making her relax.  I found last night that she actually gets more stressed out over the anxiety of possible injury, then actual relief from my work.  She is like me when I am at the dentist and he or she is trying to kill me.  Gratuitous Link to a previous blog about my fear of dental exams.

There are some other things you need to know about me before you truly understand what it is I offer the lady I am massaging….in this scenario the lady is my wife (100 percent of massages I hand out to women are usually my wife).

  1. 1.        I cannot stand, and I am talking, it makes me sick to my stomach, to rub fabric.  It started out with specific fabrics, but has spiraled out of control into all fabrics.  Panty Hose, for instance.  I hate touching it in any way, shape, or form.  If I were a bank robber, I would opt out of the panty hose mask, because during the robbery I would out myself when I threw up in my own mask because the feeling of it touching my face was too much to bear.  If I reach to put my hand on a leg, in this scenario it will be my wife’s leg, and she was wearing panty hose, which she wouldn’t do, I immediately convulse—it hurts my soul.  I detest the feeling of it.  Sure, your legs look tan, but in the process of getting a tan look, you inherited scales.  If you wear it, that is okay, I am the freak in all of this, I know and accept this.  PS, if you are a girl and wear panty hose, remember, you are a girl and can do whatever you want, us men will still do whatever it takes to get your attention.  You can do no wrong. 
  2. 2.        That’s pretty much it. 

Last night, Whitney wanted this massage something awful.  I lasted three huffy breaths, two mentions that her back hurt more than usual, and two direct requests before succumbing to her needs.  Unfortunately, she wanted to keep her pregnanty bra thingy on.  So, I started massaging, and as my hands rubbed the bra over and over, I felt like I was going to start on fire.  I tried to stave off any whining, but it happened.  I threw a fit.  I told her to take off the bra, or I walk out—it would be over between us.  She started to remove the garment raising her hands upward insinuating she wanted me to pull the bra over her head, and I obliged her.  This is where things took a tragic turn. 

I over estimated the force necessary to pull the bra over her head.  Instead of a nice, easy fluid motion up, I yanked the thing causing the bra to sling shot into her face temporarily blinding her.  As physics would dictate, the force of the pull upwards slung shot her pregnant sensitive breasts downward causing some form of glitch in the matrix.  She screamed.  She was incensed with hatred for the bringer of this pain.   Without as much as a look backwards, she whipped the bra over her shoulder towards me.  She was like Indiana Jones with the damned bra.  She even got the spandex type fabric to make a snapping sound as the bra whipped into the pupil of my right eye.  When this altercation ended, there was Whitney, like nothing happened, waiting for the completion of massage.  As tears streamed out of my right eye, I reached forward and started over.  Despite being sensitive to light and difficulty blinking, I think I will be okay.  Thanks for the concern.  I just wanted you to know because I have been holding it in since 1145 last night.

This morning, as is my usual, I found myself in a war with a high school student, who is probably smarter than I am. To avoid sounding like an internet predator, this high school student is a family friend of ours. Long story short, I found myself going back in forth with her in a war of words. Sounds easy, and more importantly it sounds like I should have won, right? Well, in my head, it sounds like I should have. The great equalizer is we only fought in Haiku form. People, this means that 17 syllables are all I had to desecrate my enemy. Well, I lost, oddly enough; I lost because I miscounted syllables on two occasions. Sometimes six syllables looks a lot like five syllables. I even put my hand under my lower jaw and spoke the haiku, counting every time my mouth opened to monitor syllables. What a failure.

Anyways it got me thinking, I need practice, so I now present to you ten Haikus about my life dealing with a pregnant wife, who I love. Each are works of art that you should print out and put by your bed to wake to every morning. I fully expect that these Haikus will be used in the poetry section of your children’s high school English class, so you might as well read it to them now. The meaning of each can go in so many directions, and moreover, they really speak to my mastery of the English language.

1. Pregnant Morning Rising

 I wake to Whitney.

She wants to be fed right now.

She wants some pickles.

2. What She Said Part One

I peed ten times and

I again feel the need to

Pee. You’re a bastard.

3. Bladder River Dance, What She Said Part Two

Baby is dancing

on my bladder, I think I

just peed a little.

4. What She Said Last Night Part One

We have reached a point

Where I need back and foot rubs.

I’ll find a boyfriend.

5. What She Said Last Night Part Two

I hope our kid is

Psychic, so she can make us

Rich like real housewives. (Real is one syllable).

6. My Husband, the Slumlord (A Haiku from Whitney’s Perspective)

I hate picking up

After you in the kitchen.

You are weak sauce, Heath.

7. Air Conditioning Is Not Free

Pregnant chicks cannot

Ever get comfortable.

House is freezing now.

8. Your Cologne is Disgusting (A Haiku from Whitney’s Perspective)

Although I bought it,

I hate your cologne. It makes

Me throw up in mouth.

9. Pregnancy Fetish (A Haiku from Heath’s Perspective)

Pregnant Girls are the

Sexiest girls in the world.

I want ten babies.

10. Falling Down

Pregnant women seem

To trip on everything.

They are a menace. These took me at least 15 minutes to write, so I expect you will need hours to explicate their individual meanings and how they have impacted you. Your assignment for the evening is to pick your favorite and let me know how it affected you. Its due first thing in the morning. I just wanted you to know, because I have been holding it in for years.

The neighborhood glowed a purplish hue in the early hours of the morning.  A breeze rustled through the knee high wild grass, blowing it to and fro making a chorus of white noise echo throughout the old swampland turned residential area.  But in the little house nestled in the deepest corner of a quaint cul-de-sac, in the Autumn Meadows subdivision, a sleeping, pregnant woman was up to her crazy antics.

An unsuspecting husband, sleeping soundly and innocently, had no clue or forewarning that a ninja was roaming the bedroom on a hunt for whatever spirit she deemed the enemy.  The ninja was a silent killer, highly trained in ancient arts lethal to most ordinary men.  Luckily the unsuspecting and innocent husband is no ordinary man, for he has been fighting the ninja for a decade now.  Admittedly, the husband underestimated the pregnant woman’s abilities.  He has read and heard stories passed down from generation to generation that pregnant women lose their coordination and agility, and to a certain extent, the pregnant ninja roaming the room had lulled the husband into a state of complacency.  When the pregnant woman is in her alter ego day form, she indeed has near zero dexterity.  But at night, when the neighborhood glows a purplish hue, a ninja is reborn and she is on a mission to kill.  Last night was no exception.

The husband rose to a flurry of activity.  The pregnant ninja had raised out of the bed the way I picture demons to have risen off of the lake of fire in Paradise Lost.   There was no bend in her knees or a push off; instead, she swung up, staying stiff as a board into the standing position—it was evident that this pregnant ninja was not a slave to the laws of physics as I understand them; however, I am not sure I understand physics.  The husband had witnessed something similar before during horror movies where the characters are possessed, but never had a pregnant ninja exhibited such a thing.

The bed is four feet off of the ground.  The pregnant ninja now standing in a full on warrior stance ran toward the foot of the bed.  To the husband, she looked like an Amazon Warrior capable of destroying the toughest foe.  The added bed height made the ninja look to be nine feet tall as she expertly maneuvered around a three-legged Chihuahua and a Blue Heeler.  She reached the footboard and perched for a second, examining the terrain around her.  Her eyes scanned the room until they locked on the husband who sat shivering and scared.  The husband lay silently still wondering if he was the spirit the pregnant ninja was looking for.  After what felt like thirty seconds of eye contact, where the husband was sure the pregnant ninja was mentally figuring out a way to disembowel him, the pregnant ninja leaped (not a slow get down from bed you would expect from an average pregnoid, but a leap, like the kind of leap where you are sure it is going to end in a somersault landing). 

The pregnant woman dashed to the door into the master bedroom, which she found locked.  As the ninja began the confusing process of unlocking the door, something switched.  Like God reached into the pregnoid’s head and pushed an “off” button.  The ninja was gone.  Whitney was back and as confused as ever.  She looked back to her husband and said following, “I just needed to pee is all…..”

The light in the bedroom glowed in an ominous purple hue as Whitney made her way back to bed and fell asleep.  The husband laid there, heart pounding, but alive.  However, this time, he knew he was alive because pregnant ninja let him live.  The husband is a strong and athletic man, and startlingly handsome……but no match for what he witnessed last night.  Pregnant ninja exhibited a rare display of mercy.  I just wanted you to know, because I have been holding it in since last night.   

Look, I changed my entire blog to be trendier and look like I really want to be more technically proficient with this blog… with it, because change happens…..anyways, for your reading pleasure.

I am a devout Karma-ist.  I found twenty dollars in my yard once and took Whitney to eat with it—I am certain the twenty was my neighbors.  I ate with it anyway, and we both nearly died.  That was when I started worshipping Karma God.  I am a Karma-ist because it is the only part of Buddhism that I pretend to know anything about, and I have no plans to learn anything else about anything in the next few minutes. I will learn some stuff tomorrow, but I am all learned out for today—it is 0800 and I do my best learning between 0715 and 0727.  Plus, karma seems so easy and straight forward.  But, let me lay down my definition of karma for the sake of this thesis anyway.  If you are an ass, you will be screwed in yours, and I hope the screwing is somehow proportional to your level of assness, but I am unsure if there is a governor for karma.…  That’s karma people.  If I am wrong with respect to my interpretation of karma, it really doesn’t matter, because this definition is the one I have been abiding by for three decades.  If I am wrong, and your definition gets me off the hook for any prospective bad karma pay backs, then please, feel free to correct me publicly.  If I am wrong, and you are an expert in karma and all things related, please give me some latitude, I don’t go around correcting you every time you say that the bible actually has the following verse, “God helps those who help themselves.”  Check for yourself, it’s not there.  (I realize I just corrected it, but it was not meant to come across pretentious; additionally, I don’t even know if you actually ever have done this—great now I corrected you and karma is going to screw me).  

I also follow karma categorically.  This means that whatever asshole maneuver I pulled, will come back to me in some weirdly related way.  So, in other words, if you key a car, somebody will vandalize your property.  You won’t key a car and then die sky diving.  Well, you might, but I would be slow to relate this to your keying of a car.  Your death in this scenario either stems from some horrible asshole maneuver entirely separate from the keying incident, or the parachute rigger himself just sowed some horrible karma of his own, and you were just the innocent recipient of an asshole maneuver….it gets complicated.  Either way, I say all that, to say this:  I might be screwed if karma works its way into parenting.

I was the worst kind of kid, the snake in the grass.  I was the kid other parents blindly trusted.  If you wanted to go anywhere, and the little ginger Phillips boy was going, then it would be okay for you to go.  I was this alleged moral compass for a group of otherwise morally bankrupt kids running amuck through adolescence.  The only problem was that I was read all wrong.  I was just as willing to participate in shenanigans as the next guy, if not the impetus for said shenanigans.   Here are some of the transgressions I committed that are certainly going to rear their ugly heads again while I try to be an example for my soon-to-be born daughter. 

  1. 1.        If you know anything about me, you know I got caught shoplifting when I was in 4th grade because I cannot resist the delightful mixture of caramel and chocolate only a Caramello could do right.   So, you know this will come back in some horrible way.  But wait, it gets worse.
  2. 2.       For weeks and weeks during my 2nd Grade year, I went around and meticulously stole the entire neighborhoods mail from their boxes.  Nowadays, stealing mail probably isn’t so bad, because everything important is electronic, but listen-up kids:  Paychecks and bills, and money orders, and mortgage checks, and rent, and everything you can do from your smart phone now, used to have to be done with paper and the postal service.  I, no doubt, ruined the lives of many innocent people.  Can you imagine how Karma God is going to bring this back to me?  What is my daughter going to undertake to set the universe back even?  Why did I do this?  Because free samples of Lucky Charms were being sent around the hood, and my parents only bought a generic version called Magic Jewels or something….I needed the real deal and at any cost.
  3. 3.       I made my sister dial 911 from a bowling alley to see what would happen.  Well let me tell you this:  911 can tell where you called from and they will tell your parents…even if your dad is a very mean man and they may have to respond to a second call after your father rips your face off.  How does Karma God deal with this; I bet Karma God is going to get creative with me. 
  4. 4.       I was hungry once and snuck into the pantry before dinner and stole a big can of Fruit Cocktail.  Who doesn’t love Fruit Cocktail?  Well let me tell you something:  Fruit Cocktail is good for approximately three big spoonfuls and then you still have three quarters of a can left.  What do you do with the rest?  Well it’s simple:  You pour the remainder of the can into the bathroom sink and then do what any self-respecting young boy would do and hope the Fruit Cocktail magically disappears from the drain area.  What really happens is your father, who happens to be a very mean man, decides he needs to use the kids’ bathroom and stumbles upon a tasty collection of fruit cocktail in the bottom of the sink.  What happens next is a perfectly executed example of your siblings abandoning you to face the wrath of Lane Phillips alone.  I died that day.  I am not even sure how Karma God approaches this one, but it is going to suck.  
  5. 5.       When I was a teenager, I threw rocks at cars driving by until I hit one.  What happens next is the car chased me and my friends all over the neighborhood.  We eluded the car, but at what cost?  Karma God already has my punishment ready to go…..I regret this one more than just about anything I have done.  I would steal another Caramello before I did this again. 

These are five things I was willing to tell you.  Imagine what I am holding back; it is not pretty.  The good news is this:  My wife should have a bunch of good Karma coming her way, so I should stick close to my Pregnant Wife and just do my best to do what is right, because God helps those who help themselves, trust me it’s in the Bible….

I feel better already, but I just wanted you to know, because I have been holding it in for years.     


Intermingled along Interstate 10 running through Florida from Pensacola to Jacksonville are some of the greatest Waffle Houses known to man.  I didn’t go to any of them, because my father made me go 14 days in a row last summer and I developed a rash.   I am not complaining, he paid, and that made the rash and pestering need for cholesterol meds all worth it.  The road trip took me away from blogging and I knew that this could be disasterous.  Just as I thought, I checked my WordPress account and had received a total of zero messages begging me to get back to the keyboard.   This caused me to feel guilt because so many people depend on my words to get through the day, and I was letting them down.  They were so distraught; they were probably seeking any help they could just to bear the day, and were just too embarassed to send me a desparate message of longing for my sage wisdom.  Here are some facts about my blogging.

Fact:  When I don’t write a blog, it actually induces labor.  My wife’s best friend, who claims to be an avid reader of my blog, noticed I took two days off and went straight into labor.  For two months straight, I wrote nearly a blog a day, and I kept that baby in there.  Take two sudden days off and she has a son now…..Lukas, welcome to the world, may you be an avid reader of my nonsensical ramblings.  And maybe just as important, I hope you know how awesome your parents are.

Fact:  My sisters make up the other two-thirds of my readership, so in the end, them being around me was enough to keep them from having babies.  Of course, this coupled with the fact that they are not pregnant helped keep spontaneous birthing at bay.

Unrelated Fact:  My car’s navigation system led us to the middle of Lake City, Florida, and then decided we were at the destination we were looking for, which happened to be straddling a set of railroad tracks.  My car is trying to kill us, or my car is racist, and somehow the eminent death that we faced from a train at this moment could be called a Cracker Barrel—all I wanted was biscuits, and instead I got death.

Fact:  The road trip with my wife was a fruitful venture.  I got to meet my niece who is beautiful.  I go to see my ginger nephew, who is already a young Adonis.   Dude is gonna be a lady killer.  I got to see my sisters, which was okay….and I got to spend hours on the road with multiple people.  I spent most of the trip making my wife laugh while I described her many different forms.  I will outline a few for you below.

  1.  Pregnopolis:  this version of her gets really emotional when I take her into a very small backwoods town to eat or get gas.  She has seen Deliverance once, and it has affected her more than any other movie in her life.  Pregnopolis is a city dweller pregnant girl who wants nothing to do with the diner you’re trying to force on her.   
  2. Pregnosaurus Rex:  This is her most prevalent form as of late; her most dominant personality if you will.  Pregnosaurus Rex has lost all connection with the length of her extremities and is a walking disaster.  No piece of furniture is safe from the Pregnosaurus Rex.  I contemplated Pregzilla, but that sounded overly harsh, but picture the wrath Godzilla had on the cities he walked through, and you have Pregnosaurus Rex.  To be fair, Whitney has never really grasped the length of her arms and legs.  Showering together has never led where I wanted it to, because Whitney usually elbows me in the eye socket twice, which coincidentally ruins my vision causing temporary blindness and migraines and thusly lowering my longing to pursue lasciviously natured behavior until completion of the shower. 
  3. Pregnarcoleptic:  This version of Whitney falls asleep in mid-sentence on road trips, during conversation.  Pregnarcoleptic will be talking to you one minute, and in mid sentence, involuntarily reach down, adjust her seat back, and pass out.  Even conversations Pregnarcoleptic starts fall victim to spontaneous nap.  Pregnarcoleptic has been a steady visitor in my house since conception.
  4. Pregnoptimus Prime:  This woman is a terrific leader and masterfully guides the driver through stressful driving sequences.  Pregnoptimus Prime is a naturally motivating person that gives her driver unbelievable confidence aiding him through tough parallel parking and other driving maneuvers.  Pregnoptimus Prime makes me feel handsome and sexy while simultaneously making me feel like I can conquer the world. 
  5. Prenoptimus Prime has an evil twin, Pregnotron.  Pregnotron cannot handle the inept driving of the person operating the vehicle.  In our situation, I botched a U-Turn……Last U-Turn I will ever botch.  The verbal berating Pregnotron gave me was a “no-holds-barred” barrage of words that I pray my unborn baby will never use.  Pregnotron is caused by the driver ignoring Pregnoptimus Prime.  Don’t ignore Pregnoptimus Prime.
  6.  Pregniagra:  Pregniagra cries during sad commercials.  Pregniagra often tells her partner he is the sweetest man on earth and that God made them especially for her.  You can see tears welling up in the eyes of Pregniagra.  Pregniagra is a nice girl, but she cannot be trusted.  Pregniagra can easily snowball into something worse—something much more emotional.  Just try to switch subjects and stave off any possibility of emotional collapse.

These are a few of the people I spent the weekend with.  Don’t get me wrong, I loved it, and so did Whitney, but I thought you should know what is going on with me since you were all breaking down the door for another blog.  I will keep you informed of my wife’s personalities; we have another road trip coming up and I am excited for new personalities as we trek through the incubation period of my baby girl. 


I just wanted you to know, because I have been holding it in for two days.

By definition, I am a Day Walker.  I can go outside during the day, but I meet most other prerequisites of the Ginger—except I have smaller toes than they do.  True Gingers have longer toes and fingers than the average human—for reals, I am a Ginger, I know this to be true—I would love to tell you it translates to larger than average other things, but I have yet to conduct any conclusive research—but for the sake of bravado, it does translate.  That isn’t to say I have normal toes and are somehow better than Gingers; to the contrary, my feet look like they were mangled in an accident.  My feet are the exact mix of my mother’s, who has Flintstone style feet, and my father’s, whose are dainty and horse hooves.  His feet actually look like they were bound as a child.

My hair has like glittering red to it, but can come across brown, which gives me my Day Walker status, but make no mistake about it, I have no soul.  If I were to grow out a goatee, my gingerality would become very evident.  I just invented “gingerality.” 

Gingers are amazing individuals.  I implore you to befriend one and see what it is I am talking about.  Gingers’ awesomeness is in all actuality a product of the rough life we lead, especially in our early years.  Blondes, brunettes, and all other hair tones have great examples of heroes to look to in times of self doubt.  Little boys with blue black hair have superman and a myriad of other super folks to admire.  Gingers have Howdy Doody, which coincidentally, my mother dressed me up as for my first ten Halloweens of my life.  Hey everybody, its Howdy Doody time.  I actually had to say this at every door for candy, because the people just thought I was a loser ginger kid looking for somebody’s pity candy.  I remember after I said it, they would have this horrible look of sadness for me, tears would well up in the bottom of their eyes and they would close the doors after giving me a package of Smarties and turn and say, “poor kid, he had no other options.”  See Figure 1 for a graphic depiction. 

 Figure 1.1  This is an actual photograph from my early Halloweens.


Now, of course, Gingers are becoming cool thanks to Horatio Cane from NCIS Miami, but I think it got cancelled…..

Gingers have well developed personalities.  Our senses of humor are above average because we are forced to use these attributes to convince ladies we are not alien, and furthermore that we are worth their time.  Now, all men have to come up with some gimmick to get the ladies’ attention, but for us gingers, it takes a little extra effort.    What hurts us are gingers like Carrot Top.  Even if I was Brad Pitt, but had red hair, we are still overcoming the Carrot Top stigma.   I am not saying gingers are ugly, we are not, we are a handsome and beautiful species, but we are different.  Because we are different, sometimes we are viewed as a novelty.  I think, people think about being with gingers the same way they would checking off the “mile high” notch on their list of things to do before marrying.  Also driving our personalities is our inability to tan.  I have a good body, but no one will ever see it because when I take my shirt off, you have to close your eyes.  The only way to appreciate my body is like reading Braille—close your eyes and start touching the contours of my body with your fingertips……just saying.  Every now and then when Whitney is being extra special nice to me, she will say, “Heath, I think you are a little bit tan!”  Sometimes its the little things that mean the most. 

Take some time off from what you are doing today and say hello to the ginger working down the hall from you.  You will find in them the most loyal friend you’ve ever had.  They will make you look tanner in the very least.  We may not have souls, but we have feelings.  You’d be surprised how cool a ginger kid is. 

I just wanted you to know, because I have been holding it in for years. 


1. Anything that reminds me I may be lazy. For example, looking down at my odometer and realizing that I am still very delinquent in getting an oil change for my car. I always rationalize my procrastination by blaming the Jiffy Lube for recommending oil changes more often than required so that customers come back and not because your car actually needs oil. How important is lubrication for an engine anyway? The sticker that Jiffy Lube puts on the corner of my windshield is a constant reminder of my pathetic inability to complete required man-tasks. Of note, I utilize the procrastination method on all of the following things:

a. water filters for purifications systems,

b. air filters replacements for anything requiring air filters,

c. tire rotations,

d. contact lenses and their recommended life spans,

e. going to the doctor for anything, dentist visits,

f. Anything with a due date, besides bills, but Whitney is too smart to test me on this and runs all of my finances.

2. Losing my wallet and keys every morning. Like clockwork, I come home from work, and put my keys somewhere. I don’t know where I put them, but I know I try to put them somewhere I won’t forget. Needless to say, they elude me every day. I actually start stressing out about their location in the wee early hours of the morning and wake up terrified I will not be able to find them. My father initially, and subsequently my wife have attempted to fix the problem by setting up a habitual place for the keys to go, but I didn’t want any more habits, so I choose not to participate in their feeble attempt at an intervention. Now when Whitney sees that I have placed my keys in a weird area, she says the following, “I know a place where your keys are that you’ll never be able to find them in.”

3. Abused Animal commercials. If it were solely up to me, I would own seventy dogs. I cannot even go to the Humane Society; I am not allowed there because I will adopt a pet or two. I love pets more than humans.

4. Drinking excessive beer and forgetting an entire night’s events. I recommend reading yesterday’s blog.

5. The little ball things inside of Okra.

6. People who write checks still.

7. People who don’t return their cart to the cart receptacle. I think we should be allowed to shoot them. I want vigilante justice on laziness, except when the laziness I mentioned in the aforementioned list on my laziness.

8. People who talk on their phones in public, but worse yet, people who use the ear thing to talk on their phones in public. I am sorry if you do this. You need to fix yourself at the earliest opportunity. When you do this, it makes me think of how vulnerable to attack you are. You need to practice making yourself into a harder target. In the military we call this Anti-terrorism Force Protection (ATFP). Start thinking like I do. Like every day, someone is trying to sneak up on you and bludgeon you to death. I will admit that this makes you react weird when someone runs by you or approaches you in any manner, friendly or unfriendly, but you are safer, trust me. I haven’t been bludgeoned to death yet, so I am a great example of my plan’s effectiveness.

9. Long Eye Closers. People who say something to you, but condescendingly close their eyes while they say it. I am not talking blinking; I am talking a prolonged closure of the eyelids. Their statements usually start with, “Well, when I do…..” and the statements are usually covering the “long eye closer’s” ability to do anything you do, but do it better.

10. People who go to the gym during peak hours and take up more than one machine. I would like to shoot these people. It should be acceptable and hold up in a court of law. On the same subject: I don’t like people doing any workout that could be done outside, inside. I don’t trust people who actually stop to gauge their heart rate during gym activity. People who don’t re-rack their weights are also shootable.

11. People who are naturally good swimmers. These are the worst type of people. But we all agree on this, so I won’t elaborate.

12. The feeling of chafing and it is only 0800 in the morning. You know this is going to be a long day.

13. The fact that Katy Perry is making a movie documenting her hardships…..

I just wanted you to know because I have been holding it in for years.

Saturday night, a night that will forever live in infamy.  Two words:  Party Bus.  Party Busses are the devil, especially when you are a naturally competitive person like me.  Now, couple that with a frugal mindset, and you have a recipe for destruction.  Why?  Well it’s simple.  When the bus doors close and the music starts blaring, I made my first bad decision.  I started thinking in a fiscal mindset.  I thought that the beers on the bus are paid for; the beers in the bar are not.  So, I needed to drink as fast and furiously as possible the free beers and that way I would not drink at all in the bar.  This is a sound philosophy on paper only—like communism.  This philosophy would work if a drunken man had self discipline.  All that really happens is I drink fast and furiously in the bus all the free beers I can, and then in the bar, I drink fast and furiously all the not free drinks I can.  Add those two together and you have a tall, stumbling, fumbling, ginger man that should not be allowed out. 

My saving grace is all owed to a woman who was attending a Male Review two hours away.  At around eleven o’clock, I placed a call to Whitney and she began distance babysitting.  Because I don’t drink to this extent, we were in uncharted territory.  She called me a cab, but apparently I went military on the cab driver and evaded capture by the first one she sent.  I was too good to be caught.  See Figure 1.

 Figure 1.  Once again, my own property. 

The second one was better prepared and Whitney talked me into his van from her cell phone.  Once safely on the cab, I remember clips and phrases of the ride home.  I know this:  I live ten minutes from home and the bill was 50 dollars—better than a DUI, but still expensive.  I remember waking up from a quick nod off and seeing the meter.  I was on the phone with Whitney again.  I started belittling the cab driver about the prices.  He was an unbelievable sport and deserves an apology from me.  My wife talked me in the house and I thought I went to bed.  At some point during my slumber a poltergeist must have visited our home, because when I woke up hours later, all of the furniture was moved in the living and dining room seven inches to the left. 

These are the words of a horrible drunk.  This is a weekend where I swear off the devil’s water for good.

Here are some questions to which I fear the answers are all in the affirmative:

  1. 1.        Heath, did you pee in public?
  2. 2.        Heath, did you cry on the phone to your wife that she wasn’t getting the cab there fast enough and then elude the cab she sent, and then call her again and tell her she wasn’t working hard enough to get you home?
  3. 3.        Heath, did you wake up naked, but not go to bed naked?
  4. 4.        Heath, did you murder anyone on Saturday?
  5. 5.        Heath, did you wake up with a horrible feeling of guilt like you murdered someone on Saturday?
  6. 6.       Heath, when you went back to get your car, did it feel like you were returning to scene of a crime?
  7. 7.       Heath, did you pee twice in public?
  8. 8.       Heath, did you knowingly try to drink more than all the other riders on the bus combined.
  9. 9.       Heath, do you still feel like a bucket of smashed assholes?
  10. 10.   Heath, would you be dead today if Whitney didn’t kick ass and take names?

Whitney, I owe you more in return for taking care of me than I give you, but I make this promise, when that baby comes a walloping out of your stomach, you can go out and get piss drunk, evade a cab, pee in public (which you’re already good at), come home, move the furniture, and wake up oblivious to it all.  I will be here for you and like the last time, I will put on the Tina Turner story movie and let you stay in bed all day.  You’re my hero.  I just wanted you to know, because I have been holding it in for years….

I have spent the last few blogs documenting some of my father’s abilities. I am not going to come back to you now and tell you that those things were not necessarily the truth about the big guy, because they are absolutes. Actually, if he were to come here and tell you, he would admit that the things I am writing about him are points of pride for him. Not only this, but I also think he is surprised I came out of my childhood able to put together groupings of words that form readable sentences. Somewhere in Albuquerque, NM, the man is sitting at the table remembering the days when I was right there to torture, and on his face is that little smirking smile of nostalgic satisfaction.

He is everything I have described from the earliest blog where I talk about his driving issues, to the last blog where I, to your horror, at least the 15 of you who read it, exposed the “television to my cranium” incident of 1984ish where my dad let it slip that on the level of importance list, his son falls somewhere below a 1970s television. Of note, the television still sits on Lane Andrew Phillips’ shelf at home as a constant reminder of an unfinished job.

Born in 1950, and the son of a Sailor, my dad is as old school as they come. Some things he does deviate from a complete stereotype, but they speak more to his reckless disregard for society’s expectations. For instance, the man cannot stop wearing socks with sandals. I think worse still, the man wears ugly sandals that no one wears. Even the company that makes the sandals hates them; they feel guilty about selling them. If you bring up to him his cheesiness, he will remind you that the problem is not him, the problem is people caring about what other people think about them. The problem is that people get so caught up in nonsense that sandals have somehow become an issue that says more about a person than the fact that the person has a 9 to 5 job and can pay all of his bills. Lane Phillips would look you in the eye and tell you that you are petty and weak. He would tell you that the second you can shed your desire to be accepted by the cool people, you’ll be free. On Father’s Day, I offer up to you ten facts about my dad.

1. Not a huge hugger. On the rare occasion we do hug, I have seen him sneak away to wash the hug off of him.

2. He has used his pinky finger and spit to clean my face off before a family picture. During this occasion, I got the distinct feeling he cleaned my face off quickly, but was actually trying to rub the skin off of my face.

3. He lives by a code, and one of the points of his code is never to trust a child. I have seen him break this rule once and it cost him dearly. He asked his son, me, to put a truck into neutral so he could use his motorcycle to pull the truck up a driveway. He said to his son, “Do you know what neutral is? Son, this is a very important question, because the truck will not move if it is in gear, and then I risk the possibility of causing damage to the motorcycle. . You do! Great, when I tell you to, put the truck in neutral and let me know when it is ready.” 500 dollars later and a new clutch for his motorcycle, and the cat was out of the bag; I had no clue what neutral was. I just got in the truck and jiggled some stuff, but definitely did not put it into neutral. Ooops, my bad.

4. He has weak thumbs and cannot hear out of one of his ears. That being said, he could still kick my ass in a fight.

5. Very involved in his son’s high school extracurricular activities. On one occasion, Lane Phillips came home from work and asked his son how track practice was. When his son brought up the fact that he did not participate in, nor would he ever run track, Lane Phillips mumbled something like, “that’s because you are weak and walked out of the kitchen.” It was the thought that counts.

6. My father actively hates, has hated, or will soon hate everyone he comes into contact with.

7. Unforgivable sins to my father in order from most unforgiveable down:

a. Wearing a baseball cap backwards. If his son were to come home after breaking curfew, escorted by the police and in cuffs, and had his hat on backwards, he would be yelled at for the hat being on backwards. In his mind, catchers are the only human beings allowed to wear their hat backwards, and oddly enough, if you played catcher, you could wear your hat backwards when dressed in everyday clothing. I think he does this so that if he is ever throwing together a pick-up game of baseball, he doesn’t have to ask a lot of questions. He can just grab the first guy who wanders by with a backwards cap on. It is much simpler this way.

b. Communism

c. Crying over physical pain.

d. Disagreeing with him regardless of topic, issue, or actual correctness

8. Lane Phillips will only stop on road trips at Denny’s. If he is ever forced to eat outside of his comfort zone, he will order fried shrimp. If he had a chance to give one and only one piece of advice to the world, it would be, “stick with fried shrimp, you can’t go wrong there.”

9. Lane Phillips does not like to be in places where there is even a small probability that he will have to be around other people. People annoy my dad. People are the worst invention ever.

10. Lane Phillips believes that all kids are inherently evil and should be treated as such. All kids want to ruin your life; they are plotting to right now. . If he had a chance to give one and only one piece of advice to the world, it would be, “Kids are great to have around as long as you remember they are trying to destroy you inside and out. Economically, spiritually, physically.”

All of these facts aren’t saying that he isn’t a great father, because the dude is amazeballs. I love him, but it makes me feel icky to tell him, but that’s his fault, right? So instead of calling him and saying something mushy, that would make him continue to question his decision not to finish the job the television started, I wrote these facts. I wrote these facts because I love him…and I’ve said it before, I am definitely my father’s son.

I just wanted you to know because I have been holding it in for years.