Archive for December, 2012


On New Year’s Eve, 2011, I made the one and only resolution I have ever made. I have never needed to sell my soul to the devil in trade for a healthier me, as I am pretty devoutly insecure about my body all year round, which drives me to constantly seek another pound of lean muscle—another hard fought session in the gym—another day trying to look more like whatever it is I am chasing in my head.

I do, however, hate seeing all of the resolutionists for the first two weeks of the year in my gym. It is difficult to watch them struggle through the most painful part of getting in shape and then slowly die out and head back to their sedentary life. They carry with them a thousand excuses in disguise as reasons that the fitness lifestyle doesn’t fit into theirs. It is a tragic and unnecessary rationalization. But that is blog for another time.

Last year I spoke aloud, in front of the friends at my house bringing in the New Year that I was going to impregnate my wife with my seed. I would create life in 2012, and I would reign supreme as man. Fourteen days later, I sat on my throne, victorious. I am one for one on resolution completion, and I have no plans to fail. I don’t enter into a resolution with reckless abandon. I research, I research, and I research some more. I had spent the ten years prior to last year researching this whole reproduction thing, and I figured it out and did it…it was actually pretty simple on my part. Whitney had the hard work, mine was mostly a pleasure. I could do it every day if necessary…

This year, my blog will change, but just for thirty days. I am going to walk you through my trek into a Paleolithic diet. I have been reading and researching the benefits of leaving behind all the agricultural revolution brought with it. I am not going to peddle it to you. I am not even sure I will like it at all. I am a victim of the government’s subsidizing of the whole grain market, so this is very new territory. However, I am going to document my feelings on the process as I go through the delirium tremens associated with giving up all processed sugar, whole grains, and complex carbohydrates from other sources like legumes and whatnot. I am not trying to lose weight; on the contrary, I will try to continue gaining slow, lean, beautiful weight while trimming off the result of a holiday season. I knew for the last month that I was going to do this, and I think I ate like it. I ate like tomorrow I would never see sugar cookies again, and I feel horrible today. I am optimistic about the possible changes that may be in store for me. My blog will continue to entertain and I will try and be as honest as I can about my progress. Here is the kicker. My wife is the one who started this whole deal and I will also tell her story. She has been working hard in the gym to get back her pre-baby form, and this is the next logical step in the process.

She bought the book, The Paleo Solution: The Original Human Diet. I read it in two days absolutely riveted by the implications. I want to see where this goes, and so I shall. I am entering the month with no preconceived notions about whether it is a perfect diet or really anything revolutionary. I am just going to do it. We are going to do it together, and I am excited to describe the process. Whitney has given me full on permission to document her issues as we go. This means you will see us fail, and see us succeed. I think it will be kind of cool to watch and maybe this blog will make it more difficult to cheat. I am not going to discredit the Paleo ideology without being as strict with the process as possible. That would not be fair or honest. This is going to be fun. I do not want to call this a resolution, because it is a thirty day process that may or may not lead to something different. I want this to be an experiment with follow on implications for something much greater. I believe in the science of the diet, so here goes.

I will continue to write my blog, and it will tell my life as I know it. I think it will be worth your while—even if it is just so you can be overly critical of my decision making. The cool deal in all of it is that you don’t even have to read the damned thing.

After 30 days, I will stop telling you my story, and write only incoherent rants about teenagers, child rearing, and Whitney. Until then, you are stuck with this.

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

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My blog could have been titled:

Happiness is All Around Us, Except in Me…

I Want to be Happy For You, But I am Having Trouble Making it My First Priority

Please Don’t Be Like Me: A Study in How I Have Trouble Being Overly Critical

Or Finally,

I’m Insecure, So Excuse Me While I Look For Ways to Bring You Down to an Acceptable Level of Average…

I chose, No, I am Happy For You, I’m Serious….Just Not All the Way, because I think this sounds a bit kinder towards the object of the statement. I want to go down in the records as being a kind and welcoming man, but I also want to be painted with honesty, and so should you. I want to think that after reading this, you walk away thinking, “Hey, Heath is just like me, and maybe, we all need a little work,” or most likely, “Sweet, I am not the only one who has trouble with being a human.”

Congratulations, you’re normal. What I am talking about is the same emotion we feel when we see the trashy looking soul that won a zillion dollars in a lottery we played, but lost. It is the same lottery that you had already fantasized how you would spend the money should you had won, and more so, how you were going to impress all around with how respectable and responsible you were in your fiscal prowess. But now, because you lost, you spend the next fifteen minutes of your life wasting it on playing the winning guy’s miserable existence out in your mind. Immediately, you flash forward ten years in this guy’s life and hope that he is desperately addicted to meth or coke; that he took out a million dollars in ones and gave it to a stripper at the local club, only to show up on the news after being beaten by the stripper’s ex-boyfriend; her ex-boyfriend recently learned that the love of his life and baby’s mama, Cinnamon, was seen philandering with that guy who won the millions—he, in an attempt to save his pride that had been stripped away like Cinnamon’s last thong on stage at TD’s Gentlemen’s Club, took his frustrations out on the subject of our fantastical voyage into the future, and, oh by the way, he stole the last bit of his coke, and found the briefcase full of ones that the winner had intended to use to convince Cinnamon to escape with him to a better life; subsequently, her boyfriend leaves the miserable winner in the gutter, face down, mumbling garbled phrases of longing for simpler days when his worst worries consisted of how he was going to afford the next six pack of Natural Light from the 7-11 down the street and still be able to buy another carton of cigarettes…you know, the bare necessities.

You quickly insert into this unfortunately lucky guy’s life an ineptness that is so profound that he will not be able to function as a normal person, because he has never dealt with real responsibility…not the kind you have. Oh. My. God. You could have done so many more responsible things should you have taken home the millions.

That is what I am talking about. We humans spend a lot of time making sure that we are doing okay. To a large extent, this is relatively harmless, at least towards others. It is a thought process we utilize to maintain an operational level of self-esteem and self-concept. Why did that guy deserve millions? It must be because he is going to be a parable for something larger to the world. He is the proverbial example of “be careful what you wish for.” Now that you have denigrated the dude’s existence, you can go on and be successful. This is the average man’s way of not murdering people out of envy or jealousy…we do it mentally and then we move on. Admit it. None of you are happy for the guy. If you say right now that you are, then you are the worst type of person….dishonest—and there is a level of Hell that Dante built especially for you…

And to a much smaller scale, we do this every day in our normal lives. The good news is that the victims of our little murders are generally not people we know and care about.

Girls, it works this way…It is the girl you see at the mall, who is dressed to the 9s and looking good…but maybe, a little too good for a trip to the mall, maybe a bit too revealingly clad, and you can tell this girl is as superficial as can be and that her entire existence is to get attention from men. You should be happy she is confident and pretty, right? Not in my world. She is looking at the same type of clothes you are and moves on to an area you are not interested in, but you kind of meander that way just so you can find the flaws in this little, under-dressed tramp…You examine her from top to bottom, you notice that she holds her bag, a certain way, that her make-up is a bit too thick….oooooohhhh there it is, this girl is hiding her real face from the world. Satisfied that you have deconstructed this girl sufficiently and kept your self esteem levels at functioning levels, you walk by her and say, “Girl, I just love your hair, it frames your face so well….” And then the girl knows you looked at her face…she is effectively neutralized.

It is what we do. Please tell me it is what we do…I want, so bad, to be normal…Personally, my “mental murders” are probably a bit over the top, but that is who I am. I am a man who constantly enters into imaginary fist fights with people and I win all of them. Usually the imaginary fights are the beginning of my mental destruction of whoever deserves it at that moment. Imaginarily, I have fought and won hundreds of battles. They have taken place in gyms, bars, bar restrooms, libraries, walking into work, and on Interstate 95 just outside my truck during a traffic jam. I have beaten many a redneck just for looking weirdly at me when they pass me by at Wal-Mart—all in my imagination.

The best part about my imaginary beatings is that they are all imaginary. No one ever gets hurt except the imaginary victim, and let me tell you, none of the imaginary victims were even close to imaginarily beating me. In the end, these imaginary conquests are just as much a part of me as the personality that you all see and hear. I cannot help what goes on in my insecure little brain. The imaginary fight is an unbelievable stress reliever for me, and an absolutely great way to boost my self-actualization levels. Have there been innocent victims on my imaginary battlefield? Sure, but such is life in my imaginary landscape. I have no time to get caught up in the “guilt game.” And guess what, I am a well functioning member of society. Imagine people who don’t function well and their inner thought life. I bet it is a scary, scary place. I contend they, too, have imaginary fights, but unfortunately, they cannot separate the two existences. Also, let’s be honest. I am undefeated in my imaginary world. My real world fighting experiences don’t always pan out as successfully….

To be completely honest, this is the part of me I hate the most. It is the part of me that reminds me that I am insecure about being among other humans. Worse still, it is the part of me that gives power to others over my existence. I hear other people say great and nice things to others, and I cannot help but harbor some skepticism towards what is being said simultaneously in their inner monologue. So, you can see, I project my inadequacies on others, again in hopes that it makes me more normal.

The Good News:

I know I do it. I know that I am probably going to continue to do it. However, I want you to know that many of the people I am closest to now started out as a person I tried to marginalize through my mental processes. This means that the feelings I have are not really affecting my ability to relate to them once meaningful discourse occurs. So, I am Happy for You, Just Not All the Way.

I am a work in progress. I will keep moving towards perfection, and along the way, I will probably mentally murder thousands, but I will be fine. I will write about it and be open with you people.

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


  1. Surviving an airplane crash, but being forced to swim for an extended amount of time (anything over 10 minutes). It would be an awkward period of celebration coupled with a horrible, sinking feeling of my impending drowning. I can only hope debris would be everywhere and that I wasn’t on fire. Swimming could only be made worse by somehow making me have to swim while covered in burning petroleum oil. In the military we train to be proficient in the survival strokes and also to survive when the water is on fire due to gas and oil slicks burning; I have somehow fooled the military into thinking I am proficient, but let’s be honest, would a proficient swimmer panic when water goes into his or her ears? I can say, with almost one hundred percent certainty, that the answer to that question is, no.
  2. Being on a ship that has been sunk and having to swim for an extended period of time (anything longer than 10 minutes). Sharks would actually simplify the problem for me.
  3. Swimming in front of others or swimming alone.
  4. Getting into a full on brawl, caught off guard, and naked… this is why I actually do not sleep naked, not because I don’t want to, because I do and as often as possible, but because I cannot let myself be that vulnerable to an unexpected onslaught of violence. It is a necessary give and take to protect my best interests.
  5. Leading a group of rebel Scotsmen against a larger force, losing, but kinda winning, subsequently being drawn and quartered, and then subsequently having my body parts being buried in four separate locations throughout the country as a warning to any other groups of rebel Scotsmen.
  6. Being bullied by a group of high school kids who are all varying levels of awesome in the art of karate, subsequently befriending an old Japanese man who teaches me random movements, convinces the bullies’ karate instructor into staving off all fights until the All-Valley tournament, steals a black belt, and then relying on a martial art technique that is completely dependent upon the enemy to attack straight into a jump kick that is seemingly the only thing I could have done from the crane position….
  7. Being invited to a jungle island for a really cool getaway only to find out the person who has invited you has also been spending an inordinate amount of time cloning dinosaurs, and simultaneously, the person who invited you did not invest in back-up generators for the super-critical electric fence, which separates you from said dinosaurs and a storm hits causing the island to lose power and cancel all departures…
  8. Getting impregnated by a man who says he is from the future and subsequently having to rely on your unborn son to eventually get his criminal ass together, send back his best friend to impregnate you with said son, so that he can grow up, become a criminal high school student who steals money from people, and eventually become the key to the success of humankind while maintaining enough wherewithal to send back his best friend to impregnate you, and eventually grow up to become a criminal high school student…..repeat
  9. Being a cop who gets killed in the line of duty, whose remains are used in a secret squirrel program that combines humans and robots to form a “super cop,” who subsequently has weird and incomplete memories of his past life, and worse yet, has no visible means of relieving himself, and moreover, is blamed for the murder of a huge number of civilians he did not have any part in, black listed, and subsequently forced to kill a bunch or rogue corporate and government officials hell bent on killing him and his partner who still sees the humanity left inside his robot exterior….
  10. Going to the past in a sports car that fails miserably to sell in the real world that is powered by 1.21 gigawatts of electricity from a fusion reactor (unshielded), accidentally happening upon your father peeping on your mother from a tree in her front yard, being hit by a car, and eventually having an inappropriate exchange of saliva with your mother while your brothers and sisters systematically disappear from a photograph you are carrying in your pocket.
  11. Becoming a member of a special forces team that can kill any human element sent to destroy them, who is sent to Central America to rescue another team of operators who have been skinned alive by an apparent alien who seems to be longing to do the same to you…Along the way you run into Apollo Creed, who now works for the CIA and seems to want to kill you as well.
  12. Being born a midget in a fantastical world of supernatural powers and wicked evil where you are stuck with a human baby that needs to get back to normal humans, and along the way you run into Val Kilmer who consistently calls you a “peck” and eventually serves to help you on your way, but you are not sure you can ever trust him.
  13. Becoming a bouncer at a bar that is located in a corrupt town run by a rich man who is also a douche and is not happy with anyone not willing to be bought and serve his diabolical goals, subsequently, you finding yourself in the middle of an epic battle between the oppressor and the oppressed where you must rip a man’s trachea from his body, but along the way, you get to make it with the same woman who screwed over the bartender from Cocktail, but she is now a medical doctor with the key to your heart.
  14. Waking up and realize you are a Naval Flight Officer navigator, flying in the back seat of an F-14 Tomcat, with a reckless, and somewhat arrogant pilot, with boyish good looks, but suffers from feelings of inadequacy stemming from not knowing whether his father is a hero or an idiot.
  15. Being told you were born to balance the force and realizing quickly that there are far less people supporting the dark side…
  16. Falling and impaling myself upon a sharp object.
  17. Additionally, being buried alive.

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


Things I have written down in my phone notepad that haven’t really got enough legs to make it into a blog as of yet, but are still worth reading.

On Reading in the Military….Or more aptly: My Work Makes Me Read Things I’d Rather Not…..

I have been reading. I read a lot. I read mostly things I am forced to read and little that I’m not. I read a lot of books and such about tanks and bombs and guns; I read a little Shakespeare, but mostly, I read none. I often wonder how reading would be if I could choose the book, but I don’t chase the dream too long, because of where I work.

Things That Are Cooler in Idea than in Practice

This Blog.

Running marathons

Cross Fit

Eating an entire can of frosting

Remaking Karate Kid with Will Smith’s kid and making it based around a twelve year old kid. Subsequently, I went and saw the movie with another gung ho fan of Karate Kid the day it opened and looked like a child molester….Not to mention the awkward romance between two twelve year olds. Ali with an “I” was hot and every man wanted her….and here I am watching some Chinese child and whatever Will Smith’s son’s name is and trying to connect with the characters. When I was twelve, I was scared shitless of girls, and just wanted to play. Whatever.

More than two spoonfuls of fruit cocktail

I bet people who have showers with multiple heads that come at you from all angles and levels mostly use the normal shower setting.

My wife has a car with a camera that displays on the center console when you are going in reverse. It shows you everything, and to a certain extent, even looks around the corner. My truck does not have this feature. My truck has a normal stereo in the center console. I have now backed out of multiple areas while staring at my stereo console and never even looked to see who I was about to kill…..

A Notice of the Things I Want Upon My Death:

When I die I want a band that plays a song like Puff the Magic Dragon or Gloria Estefan’s “Christmas Through Your Eyes” in my honor, and then I hope that song is stuck in all of your heads, perpetually.

Since I will die old, I want all of my children and grandchildren brought into a room and told of a vast inheritance they are due. I want the lawyer to leave the room for fifteen minutes while my kids and grandkids grow giddy with excitement. I then want the lawyer to return and explain that the inheritance is all debt. I am not even sure people can inherit debt, but I would still like this done, because I am dead and I deserve my wishes be granted.

When I die, I hope all those who have angered me or betrayed me get stuck waiting while my vast train of a funeral procession drives by, and I hope those waiting, who deserve their fate, have to pee. (In some states, when a funeral procession goes by all traffic going in either direction must stop out of respect for the dead. I like this the most of all ceremonial traditions, because in this ceremony, the person who died finally gets to do to others what others have done to him or her his entire life—screw them over on his or her way somewhere. It is the one moment where the world stops for the person being transported to their final resting place has complete power—they are like the president for a day. Plus, they get those motorcycle cops, which remind me of CHIPS, and CHIPS was a great television show.)

I actually want Officer Frank “Ponch” Poncherello (Eric Estrada) as an escort for my funeral procession. This may seem impossible due to age differences, but that is not my problem; you people need to make this happen—have some respect. (I do not under any circumstances want his partner involved in any way, shape, or form.)

When I die, I hope that people throw a party, but not because I am gone. I hope the party is like I was still there and we all just partied on.

I want a casket with explicit instructions on 1) who I am, 2) who are my relatives, 3) relevant addresses 4) a list of my enemies. I will use this information to help me determine whose entrails I will eat first, after I turn to a zombie. I will eat my enemy’s entrails first and all others who are not on my “relatives list” second. Of note: I will sell spots on the “relatives list” to people who are not actually my relatives. The money will go to the band that will play at my death party. (No guarantee I will not kill you; there is little research into how much of the brain a zombie utilizes; therefore, I cannot, with any level of certainty, commit to not eating your entrails).

I want a breakaway lid to the casket and I want a shovel with me to help me get to the surface faster after I turn zombie, as well. The shovel should have a short handle, no more than 12 inches as I will not be able to utilize a shovel of regulation size. Picture, in your head, the difficulties involved in negotiating the shovel handle when with only a foot and a half of depth, plus the pressure of six feet of dirt pushing downwards on me and all you have left me is a regulation shovel? I need to preserve my zombie energy.

Additionally, I want a fresh pair of corduroys and Doc Martins in the casket because I want to be a zombie with grunge era fashion sense.

It is important that you all pay attention to my desires, because If I come back as a ghost, I will haunt the living hell out of anyone who denies me what I want.

I just wanted you to know, because I have been writing these little things on my iPhone for weeks, but didn’t know what to do….