Archive for July, 2013


Have you ever been tortured? I have. I have lived, hell I live, with the constant and agonizing terror of not knowing when my torturer will come back through the door–when the purveyor of pain will return to peddle their product to the innocent man that is me. For years, I have faced the fanatical fiend that found her way under the false pretenses of a fortuitous future into my life. The problem, my friends is that the perpetrator who propagates my plight, is so sweet in the day and evil in the night.

So this alliterative attempt, albeit now with added assonance, is the introduction in another episode of my anguished sleep life.

I have written to you all before of my wife’s nightly antics. I want to record them so badly, but I worry that if I was to show “Awake Whitney,” “Asleep Whitney,” that some tragedy would occur like in Back to the Future with the polaroid and the whole “Marty McFly disappearing while playing Earth Angel” thing.

Lately, its taken a turn for the even more insane. It has become a harrowing experience complete with me waking up to Whitney standing on the bed, looking nine feet tall from my vantage point, head on pillow. In her eyes, resided a look that said, “I am going to stomp your head now.” When I asked her what she was doing up there, Sleeping Whitney scrambled for an excuse, as not to give her true intention of stomping my noggin into flatness. Her answer was simple and logical.

“I was trying to catch the floating baby.”

I am not even sure how to have responded to her statement. Why? Well it’s simple. I am not sure that the floating baby scenario isn’t just about the creepiest thing she could have said at that moment. It’s like interviewing a psychopath using the Rorschach Ink Blot Test. You know how it goes. I hold up a card that looks remarkably like an innocent butterfly and say, “What do you see, Whitney?” To which Sleeping Whitney would respond calmly and like it is obvious, “I see a butterfly…………..with wings made of human skin and the ability to talk, but when the butterfly talks it can only say perverse and vulgar phrases.”

Adding to the drama, once Sleeping Whitney explained her heroic intentions of catching the floating baby, she panicked and dropped in place like she was shot, or worse still, like the demon in her body promptly exited, stage left, and in doing so, her hind end hit the marble top of the bedside table, cracking it, and leaving a triangular shaped purple mass. For two weeks now, when Awake Heath pats Awake Whitney’s butt as an affectionate gesture, Whitney glares at him in pain. For just a moment, a fleeting and brief moment, we remember what lies beneath the seemingly sweet facade that is my wife’s awake body.

And this, my faithful following, was only one event, and it was the most innocent of them all. The following night, I was scared awake by Sleeping Whitney yelling in her sleep. Sadly, this is not too out of the norm in my house, but what ensued was unexpected. After about ten seconds of unintelligible ramblings, Sleeping Whitney somehow propelled herself, without having left the laying down position, three feet out of the bed slamming into the wall. The abrupt meeting with the wall was enough to wake Whitney.

Dazed and confused, she looked at me and said, “See what happens when you steal all of the covers?”

This was horrifying.

“After the “Floating Baby Incident,” and the world record setting “Three Foot Flop,” I quickly realized that crazy had come to town and that it had taken up residence in my bed. Alas, these two were just the labor pains of something much more terrifying.

In the middle of sweet dreams of unicorns, puppies frolicking upon clouds made of marshmallow goodness, and beams of rainbows and Oompa Loompa’s singing rhythmic riddles, I was jerked out of slumber. Sleeping Whitney must have saw my Ooompa induced smiling and felt the necessity to end all happiness. I can only guess as to what led up to it, but I picture a wide eyed beauty, now overcome with evil, panting as she reached across the bed and dug her fingers into my eyes. Grabbing with such violent tenacity, one of her fingers was actually able to get beneath my left eyelid, so that when I jerked away and grabbed her hand, my eyelid actually popped from Sleeping Whitney’s gripping fingers and slapped with elastic fervor back onto my eyeball. It was stretched so far and tight that when it connected with my eye, it created an audible popping sound and sent my head backwards; back and to the left; back and to the left like JFK.

Quickly, I blinked and felt for my eyes, certain I would find a gaping hole where once a deep Sinatra blue orb, capable of wooing myriads of women existed. To my surprise, I still had both eyeballs and my vision seemed only momentarily blurred by the tears resultant from a good quality eye gouging and eyelid popping.

I pushed Sleeping Whitney back onto her side of the bed. Sitting still, breathing heavily, I watched Sleeping Whitney. She appeared to be back to normal sleep. Curiously, I leaned in closely and tried to see through blurry tears. Too dark to get a really good look, I leaned in even closer. Silently breathing, eyes closed and resting, she looked as if nothing had happened. I kept close.

The following is not an exaggeration. I would not joke of such things. As I stared, Whitney’s eyes popped open glaring into my face, a small grin appeared on her face as I jumped back and recoiled under the covers. For the next three hours, I felt that lifeless, wide-eyed grin watching me as I feigned sleep. It was the longest night of my life.

So, let me retract my earlier contestation that crazy was now residing in my house, or in the least, let me revise the statement. Crazy just doesn’t do it, for Sleeping Whitney is far more sinister.

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

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Before you cast judgement on me and my opinion on this case, I just want you to read and to understand where I am coming from.

The Trayvon Martin case is absolutely riddled with land mines that can be a pitfall to any person writing about it. Now, add to the fact that a white dude, who usually writes comical stories about his wife’s antics and life that are generally agreeable topics, is chiming in and lets see how this goes…

Lets look at what is good and bad about the whole story and the subsequent ruling, which I believe is not surprising and, wait for it, I believe it was the right ruling. There I said it, but that being said, I also believe that Zimmerman is a stooge, a moron, and the kind of neighbor that nobody wants living in their hood. He is the kind of guy that needs to be incarcerated, because he is guilty; he is just not guilty of what the prosecution tried and failed to prove.

The media, the people being interviewed, and the commentators and legal analysts ruined this case before it even started. The lies and distortions on both sides of the case, even in the moments just following the tragic and untimely death of this young man were so grotesque that it created an alleged clear line down the middle of this case that never existed. Even more unfortunately, all of the aforementioned left the death of a human being as a pawn in a polarizing issue.

In the end, the prosecution fell into the hype. The hype was so loud and it reverberated through the streets and social media. It yelled and shouted and it wore a hoodie and it tugged at the heartstrings of every mother. A voice, millions strong, echoing across a nation exemplifying how things have changed and how small the world has become. The hype caused friends to “unfriend” those who in other circumstances were well functioning friendships. The hype led people to believe that they actually understood the intricacies of this case, when they absolutely did not. The hype led the prosecution to believe that they didn’t have to present a case, because, well, it is obvious, right?

This is where Americans should find some form of solace in the ruling. The murder charge. The murder charge sounded so easy to get and the greatest thing about the case is that it wasn’t. The prosecution failed to get the jury to believe, beyond a reasonable doubt that murder in the 2nd degree occurred that fateful night. This is not a flaw in the system. Conversely, it is a victory for the system; however, it is a flaw in the lawyership of the prosecution. Concentrating solely on the murder charge, the prosecution lost sight of what they needed to be paying attention to…justice. Zimmerman broke the law. Zimmerman committed manslaughter, wrongful manslaughter and should be in prison.

I was a teenager once. I used to walk through neighborhoods. I ate skittles and drank and engaged in riotous partying. I vandalized property. I broke laws. I was for all intents and purposes, a criminal. I won’t pass judgement on Trayvon. I won’t stand here and defend him as a virtuous teen either.

The case sheds light on a law that needs to be readdressed.
The case illustrates that there are racial tensions in America that are so deeply rooted in everything that occurs here that it is almost impossible to move-on. I cannot even write this blog illustrating that I support the ruling, laying down the reasons why I believe it–all separate from the color and creed of the victim, without having some say I am being racist. That is wrong, but it is where America currently resides.

Let there be no doubt about it. Zimmerman is guilty. Zimmerman should be in prison, and life has a funny way of making sure that he will pay. These cases conjure up images of OJ and Casey Anthony walking hand-in-hand down the road together

The good news is that there is no such thing as an open and closed case even if the media wants it, or the masses scream for it. Nobody likes cases that seem so obviously wrong or right ending in a less than desirable verdict until they are the ones being charged.

The sad news is that, because of mis-steps in the prosecution, the dead and the family of the victim will go without receiving justice, and the guilty and his egregious behavior will be misinterpreted as being acceptable.

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