Posts Tagged ‘dating’

Longterm relationships, boyfriends and girlfriends, married, gay, straight, all carry around with them the same types of issues. All couples fight, and the ones that don’t are probably more destructive than the ones that actually have members that say what they are feeling to one another. In these relationships, there is a chance for growth. In the silent, seemingly happy and fight-less couples, one member is, no doubt feeling voiceless and oppressed. I told my wife on a couple of occasions, that there has to be at least one moment occasionally, in a marriage where the man should think he wants to become a monk and run off into some form of solitary lifestyle with just men, who all think the same way they do. I picture it being a little slice of heaven in some far off land. It will have over one hundred taps and all the beers will be my favorite microbrews. There would be a place to smoke cigars and it would be well ventilated. Other men would would show up and we’d all talk about 17th Century Literature, and everyone would agree with me…the problem in the end of all of this is that after the first drink from the bar, I would have think, “man, I wish my wife was here, she’d love this place..”

This is not a blog about fighting, you need to figure that our on your own, but you need to know it happens and to suck it up. Nope, enter this blog into the “How to Continue Dating Your Spouse, Long-term Boy/girlfriend” category. You didn’t ask for the advice, but then again, you didn’t ask for anything else I have written either.

Zombie movies are, in my opinion, the number one way to date your wife. Mine pulls me into her and holds on tight when humans are eating other humans. So, World War Z was going to be the venue of our first date (where we actually hired a babysitter and went out). I love my wife, and I want her to be happy. I want her to look at me and think, “damn, I won the husband lottery.”
In my quest for doing so, I compiled the following list of important behaviors. Some are proven, and some are conjecture. Either way, I would immediately include them in your relationships.

1. Open the door for your significant other.
This is huge, and it shouldn’t be that difficult. I open building doors for her, and generally, I am a man of great manners with an extremely chivalrous nature. So naturally, I chose to forego this necessity. Additionally, I opted to further compound my omission by making a joke. It went like this:

My wife says to me, “Just how I pictured our first date in months starting; my husband jumping in the car and waiting for me to open my own door.” I told her that it was rude of me and I would do better. My coping strategy is always to go to humor in order to move past any moment where I have screwed up. So I say to my wife, “If I have to remember these technicalities involved in car-door opening while dating, you have to remember your obligations for lewd and lascivious behavior once in the car, whose door was graciously opened for you.”

In perfect Whitney timing, she responds, “That’s not a problem, I will just think about Brad Pitt fighting zombies…mmmmmmmm.”

2. If going to a movie at a theater, show your wife how much you value her love by stopping at a Walgreens and buy boxes of candy ahead of time.

Don’t read that as sarcasm. This is actually a huge move in a marriage. One box of candy at the movie costs the same as three gallons of gas. It is like the airport and movie theater have the same owners and they are both dicks. Rich dicks. Anyway, I did this yesterday and this actually made my wife fall more in love with me more than ever. She runs the finances, so it is actually romantic for her to see me being economical.

I went into the store and saw the plethora of options for possible candy enjoyment. Panic ensued. I couldn’t remember the last thing Whitney said she was craving, (we don’t eat a ton of candy, so it has been awhile). So what I did was absolutely genius: I pretty much bought every candy there was. Once in the movies, she reached in her purse (the one that all women have that was purely brought to smuggle large items of “stuff” into areas that do not allow the “stuff” to be brought in from off the premises. One of the boxes was Whoppers. I had struck gold. Whitney breathed in a long content sigh and said in a high pitched voice she whisper yelled, “You remembered!!!! You love me!!!!”
Now, I hope she doesn’t realize that in not remembering the actual candy, subsequently panicking, and following that up with buying everything in reach, I spent more money on candy than we would have at the airport/movie theater.

3. When you leave the movie theater, and you remember to open her car door, also remind her of her obligations once inside again, because that joke never gets old, right?

I didn’t do this, but I really wish I did.

4. Make your wife or significant other laugh.
This is what I do to make up for my lack of “conventional good looks.” Making a woman laugh actually makes you more attractive to them. Make them laugh like it is your sole mission. It will show them that they are worth the effort, and there is nothing better than a wife who is smiling.

5. Don’t belittle your wife when she has non-sensical requests.
I say to Whitney, “Baby, little woman, sweet thing, do you want a Starbucks on the way to the theater.” She replied with, “No, I need a Starbucks, but I would rather have a coffee.”
I know, I know, but just let it go.

6. If you see a girl who your wife points out is pretty, always say she is dressed like a slut.
I didn’t do this, but it is always a good move. It is especially important to add a dimension of disgust to your voice. If you say it with excitement, it will not have the desired intent.

These are six important aspects of dating within a relationships that are sure to work.

In the end, I believe all of this is relatively true. We as humans put more time into impressing our bosses, random acquaintances, and just people who don’t matter than we do our spouses or boyfriends, or girlfriends, or whatever. My wife used to teach dance lessons, and she had this strange habit of not letting married people dance together when initially learning steps. Her answer when asked why was startling and true. “Most married people will treat a stranger nicer when they screw up the dance than they would their spouse.”

So find a good zombie movie and go. Buy some cheap candy and make her laugh. You’d be surprised what behavior that could lead to in a car….


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…

It’s Monday, and it’s time to reunite with my loyal readers….although, I know some of you are taking a break from my posts or behind as life has decided to interrupt the most glorious part of your day, which should be reading your daily dose of my wife’s wild and crazy antics.  To my friend, who I will call Shari to protect her identity, Whitney is happy she has found her way into your decision making process.  If she could type my blog for me, she would tell you the following:

When you happen upon a decision of any sort, ask yourself not whether Whitney would think it’s cool, but instead, ask yourself what Heath would think, and then you simply do the opposite.  This has worked for me for 10 years. 

In the sentiment of Whitney’s Wild and Crazy Pregnancy, I offer this submission to LifeasIknowit.

Women in large groups are probably the single scariest thing that can happen.  Women in large groups all feed off of each other and plant these things I call “Ideas” into one another’s heads.  I have mentioned for years that I tried to curb Whitney’s horrible habit of reading, because it seemed to cause her to grow intellectually.  Unfortunately, I was unable to do so, and as fate would have it, she is now smarter than I am.  In an effort to stave off any more growth in her brain housing group, I have made her transition to reading only erotic fiction.  A positive result from this switch is that I am certain that 50 Shades of Grey is a huge player in the fact that my wife is pregnant right now (I never heard more shame ridden giggling than I did those few weeks that she read the series).

Back to the lecture at hand:  Whitness’s baby shower was yesterday; and in all accounts, it was an expertly thrown and conducted evolution.  Whitney was raving about the entire party, and she came home with a cornucopia of awesome gifts.  She also came home with a revelation that I am not as excited about….a decision made solely for her comfort and general happiness, without so much as a second thought to my opinion:  Goodbye Thong, and hello Granny Panties…..As she told me her thoughts, I pictured her and 20 other girls talking about the granny panty switch.  I do not think this scenario really happened, but in my head all of these women were super excited about the prospects of granny panties in Whitney’s life.  This shot down my earlier fantasy that a baby shower was a bunch of scantily clad women having a pillow fight…Nope, instead it was like a modern day quilting bee where all of the quilters attempt to coerce the sexy pregnant quilter it is time to go granny.  (Again, I have no evidence even pointing to the women in attendance at the party having even discussed granny panties; conversely, I have no evidence that the party wasn’t, in fact, scantily clad women all having a massive pillow fight). 

People, granny panties don’t bother me that much; she’ll rock the hell out of some granny panties (hopefully, I can get her some Wonder Woman ones and she can pretend to fly in an invisible plane, and lasso me up).  I should have seen it coming when Whitney came home Friday with what I call either a Pregnatard, or a Pregnancy Straight Jacket.  She has these elastic type bands running all over her body now that are meant to help support her baby belly.  It is like S&M gone tragically wrong.  2012, and this is the best they can do….I told her I wish it restrained her arms more so that it acted more like a straight jacket—that would be awesome.  The best part is the front of the box says, “So comfortable, you’ll forget you’re wearing it!”  Whitney might forget, but I won’t.   The coolest thing about the Pregnatard is that it looks a bit like she is a pregnant mummy who has just unwound most of the wrapping she had on.  It fills my “pregnant mummy” check box on my bucket list of things to do…. 

Everything is happening so fast.  I swear to God, as Whitney stands around in her Pregnatard, I can see the baby moving inside of her.  I worry that Baby Shakes, is going to punch through the thing.   I am certain I created a superhero, because this girl can kick.  I can almost play rock paper scissors with her and see what symbol she is holding up through the belly.   

So, my day ended with the Granny Panty Revelation of 2012, and it started equally crazy. 

I walked into the bedroom and found Whitney sitting on the bed.  Here is the conversation that unfolded:

Heath:  Good morning, Whitney

Whitney:  Good morning, Heath.  (In the same breath) You forgot to tell me Happy 17 Days until My Birthday, Happy 26 Weeks, and Happy Baby Shower Day.

Heath:  Wow, I don’t think I have been set up for success here.

Whitney:  All three of these things warrant individual recognition, you know, well apparently you don’t.

This conversation should have forecasted that by the end of the day, Whitney, her mom, and I would be in Wal-Mart in a full on granny panty hunt.  It was like a weird version of Wizard of Oz as we trekked down the aisles. 

So, for those of you who are out shopping, from now on, you should be asking yourself, “Would Whitney think these granny panties are cool?”  First stop this weekend for me is the local Fredericks of Hollywood where I have heard they sell some really sleazy granny panties—this is gonna be awesome.

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

This is now actually part two of three.  If you haven’t read part one click here it will give you some context, plus it will give me more readership on that blog, which in turn, will make me feel better about myself. 

4.       I have been threatened and subsequently nearly killed over one US dollar.  I wanted to keep this on the subject of my father because I can do whatever I want to.  If I wanted to reference Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, I can.  Like, for example, do you remember the song, “I got the golden ticket, I got the golden ticket….” 

      Okay, so my father… I think your initial reaction should be to feel sorry for me for my life spent with such a scary tyrant of a dad.  However, I bet that by the time you’re done reading this, you will wish that you could get in line to help him beat my ass. 

      Long story short.  I had pretty much recovered from the candy bar fiasco and was back to some semblance of normalcy.  It was summertime and around our house, we had this really cool Tupperware container for holding Kool-Aid.  As a matter of fact, I first developed my fondness for Tupperware because of my childhood Tupperware collection, which included this container.  This container was used so much by us that it actually had permanent stained Kool-Aid marks on the sides.  It featured a sliding top that let you pour Kool-Aid through a strainer like opening or a full wide mouth opening.  The top fit snugly down inside the bigger, bottom piece.  As a fourth grader, I was curious about things, but didn’t have the background in physics, nor did I possess the common sense required to avoid the seemingly, easily avoidable.  (Whitney has proposed to me recently, that not only did I never have common sense, but I also failed to ever find any…) 

      So in this situation, I thought that the container top fit so snugly inside of the bottom that it could actually withstand the weight of the Kool-Aid and would remain closed if I tipped it upside down.  Unfortunately, what I hypothesized (that the container lid would stay nestled into the bigger bottom portion even when forced to hold the added liquid’s weight) was incorrect.  However, learning did occur.  This science experiment taught me about potential energy and kinetic energy, one of Newton’s Laws, and about how sugar reacts to linoleum flooring.  To be clear here: The Tupperware container’s lid did not support the weight of Rock-o-dile Red Kool-Aid.  The experiment further illuminated that Rock-o-dile Red Kool-Aid spreads across a kitchen like oil does on water.  To be clear here:  One gallon of Rock-o-dile Red Kool-Aid has the ability to cover at 12 square feet of kitchen surface area.  In full on panic mode (see yesterday’s blog on my father as Satan), I grabbed the roll of paper towels and just started unrolling them onto the mess on the floor, counters, crevices of the stove top, under the fridge, everywhere.  I must have used two rolls just to soak up the Kool-Aid.  I felt like I had averted near disaster, and best of all my dad hadn’t happened upon me during the science experiment.  I was going to walk away from this unscathed.  I threw the soaked towels away, and walked away with satisfaction over my new found knowledge of science. 

      Hours later I heard yelling, and like a dog that had forgotten all about their earlier transgressions that walked right up to his owner when he discovered urine on the carpet, I wandered right to the point of the yelling hoping to see my sisters getting skinned alive.  Instead, what I saw next looked like the scene of a crime.  Red paper towels everywhere; did my dad actually just skin my sisters alive?  Not only that, but everywhere he walked his shoes were making this weird sticking sound like he was walking on glue.  I quickly saw that what was going on in the kitchen was somehow coming back on me.  I tried to slink into the background, but he saw it my eyes……fear. 

      I remember being held against a wall; I remember my dad’s voice; I remember that his index finger bounced off of my nose on every syllable as he repeated the following phrase over and over and over, “DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH A ROLL OF PAPER TOWELS COSTS, THEY COST A DOLLAR!!!!!”   I woke up seven days later with no recollection of the events that ensued after being pressed against the wall.

5.       I was nearly killed by a falling 32 inch television set.  This was in the 80s, so you know that the set weighed at least 70 Lbs.  To be clear here:  The set was probably built in the 70s, so you know that the TV weighed at least 100 Lbs.  More specifically, the TV didn’t even have a remote, so kids were often used as little remote controls.  But, in our house, my dad, who I have mentioned before as being wary of children, would not allow kids to touch anything.  Kids carried “magic sticky” and everything kids touched was contaminated and broken. 

      My dad cherished the television.  It was his baby.  We kids were there because my mom loved us and convinced my dad that we were worth keeping around; I am sure that she pointed out our potential for slave labor when we were older and stronger.   Out of protection for the TV, my dad placed it high atop a set of shelves to keep kids from ruining everything he worked so hard to get.  The problem with shelves, though, is that they form a ladder.  Being left alone to watch TV, I decided that I wanted to watch The Dukes of Hazard and see what trouble Bo and Luke were up to in Hazard County. 

      I began the climb to the top of the shelf.  The shelving, I shit you not, was like 15 feet high, and I expertly negotiated every shelf.  As I reached up for the TV, I made a couple of bad decisions.  As a child, I was curious about things, but didn’t have the background in physics, nor did I possess the common sense required to avoid the seemingly, easily avoidable.  (Whitney has proposed to me recently, that not only did I never have common sense, but I also failed to ever find any…)  I failed to understand gravity’s effect on human beings and televisions.  And I think more importantly than this, I failed to understand the distribution of weight across an object that extends vertically from the ground, more specifically, that the vertical object cannot have its heaviest point be off center and higher than midpoint, or else, said vertical object will tip over in the direction the heaviest point is pulling it.  (See Figure 1.1) 

  Figure 1.1, this photo is my personal property.  I spent hours drawing it 

      Needless to say, I reach for the TV and this movement sets in motion a horrible sequence of events that tells you my entire childhood in a nutshell.  Everything starts to fall.  I cling to the TV and pull it with me.  Halfway down I am now holding the TV pressed firmly against my head, at this point all of the lessons I needed to learn were learned, but unfortunately, there was no stopping this from happening.  I was falling, and this 80s TV was going to smash my skull in, and I looked death in the eye, and I screamed like a bitch.  When I landed, my head cushioned the blow for the TV, but I swear this is what I heard in the surround: 

Mom:  Oh my god, my son, he’s dead…..he’s dead, I know it.


Stay tuned to part three where I will do what I originally said I would do during this blog. I will finish my last two personal tidbits of information and recommend some terrific reading.    

Buying an RV and then utilizing your wife to help in its maneuvering can be a rockin’ good time. Should you do this and then survive the impending doom that will be your marriage for the initial few trips, your marriage will come out stronger and more ready to deal with other issues that life may throw at you.

Buying a Travel Trailer was a big move for us. I already had a mullet, the 250 dollar swimming pool from Wal-Mart in our backyard, and I wanted to complete the redneck trifecta. So, a trailer felt right. I have mentioned before my man skills and that some of them, well most of them aren’t as developed as they should be. One of the traits that I had never even attempted to test was my ability to pull and maneuver a trailer. Because I had never tested my skills in this area, I went and bought the longest damned trailer my truck would pull—33 feet of absolute insanity. My wife was with me on this, the whole time, like a trooper. She may be a pregnant zombie with crazy and irrational pregnant behavior, but she is the most supportive and blindly loyal woman in the world. If her husband had to have this trailer, then for the love of God, he was going to get it.

After the trailer was hooked up and we got an entire days training on how the thing works, what it does, and what not to touch, we got into the truck ready to pull it off into the city. It was at this point when reality hit us. We felt like children in way over our heads. I remember looking at Whitney and saying, “they are going to let us leave with this thing, do they know who I am?”

Some background that I left out: I am certain that I talked Whitney into this trailer, it is not like her to own something like this; it is all me. I had one when I was a kid and felt like this would be a great move. I had fantasies of going on really cool outings and just enjoying a new dimension in our lives. Whitney is a fast car and rims girl. She is into fashion and accessorizing. She is a pretty, party girl, a socialite. She is more royalty than redneck (except when she gets in fights at local Wal-Marts: see Part One), and in one sweeping decision I brought all of it down. The first instant I realized what I had done was on the way home when I made a surprise stop at the Cracker Barrel. After nearly ripping the mirrors off of six or seven cars, I pulled that rig into the Cracker Barrel parking lot and stretched it across like twenty spots. I looked at Whitney and I swear I heard her voice crack when she said, “Oh my God, I am one of those people now….”

The reason I bring up the trailer is because there is nothing more difficult in the world than backing it up through tight places when 1. The driver is an inexperienced man-child with a bad temper, and 2. The wife is gifted, but operates on her own plain. Another really cool thing about my wife is something I call “Professional at Whatever We’re Doing Right Now” Syndrome. It comes out whenever we undertake any do-it-yourself projects around the house.

Two Examples:

I was putting a new chandelier in the dining room once and I was working on it alone. My wife was in the other room doing her own thing. She came into the dining room for one thing or another and started giving me advice on my methodology. Her dispersing of advice is probably warranted because I am man-skill challenged, but that doesn’t mean that her dispersing of advice is going to be met with understanding ears. I am on a ladder, holding a chandelier up that is dangling by the wires from the ceiling by balancing it on my shoulder. If I move too much one way, the chandelier will come crashing to the ground. Sweat is pouring down my face; my fingers are fumbling for two wire nuts that lay just beyond my reach, and I am a step away from Hulk Smashing the entire fixture, and it would have felt great. My wife must have seen the struggle on my face, and she must have recognized the rising anger burning a hole in me, because in what must have been an attempt to soothe my soul, she said, “I don’t think you’re doing something right, the box says install in minutes and it’s been an hour…..” I am so thankful she was there to point out the error of my ways, but before I could look up and exchange pleasantries with her, she had vanished like a thief in the night, a thief who has had practice in witty banter.

This is the same girl who was napping one year when I was hanging Christmas lights outside. Halfway through the project she appeared. I was half dangling off of the roof and attempting to fasten a light to a brittle edge of a roof shingle, while gripping the roof with my inner thigh and groin muscles. IMy wife must have seen the struggle on my face, and she must have recognized the rising anger burning a hole in me, because in what must have been an attempt to soothe my soul she began explaining to me that, if I had began the lights on the opposite side of the house, I wouldn’t have the odd amount of lighting left just suspended over the ledge—and further wouldn’t be in this awkward predicament. God damn it if she wasn’t right. There is nothing worse than when she is right, and god damn it, it happens every time. My reaction at this point is my favorite ever. I released the Hulk. This means that I stood up on the roof, climbed to the highest point and yelled out “Merry F*&%$ng Christmas!!!!” I knew this wouldn’t cause any problems or embarrassment. My wife’s reaction at this point is my favorite ever. She released the She-Hulk. This means that she knocked the ladder over and went inside after shouting back “Merry Christmas to you, Dick!” I stayed on the roof until she felt guilty enough to come fix the ladder.

So, where to store the trailer? We decided spot 38 at a local storage facility was ideal and signed the contract. I brief Whitney on the plan to get the trailer into the storage area and then from there where we will back up the trailer into. She seems to understand and I start the work of getting us there. When we arrive at the storage place, there is a truck, a truck painted in camouflage blocking the entrance. I drive by and cursed his redneck ass. My wife says, “Your father told you never to travel down a road that you don’t know where it leads to.” If there is something I can’t stand it is when my father or any man is used to underline the fact that I am making poor decisions. I say, “c’mon Whitney, like this road is just going to end abruptly without a spot to turn around a 33ft trailer.” No sooner had I said this then we rounded a corner to an abrupt end of the street with no possible way to turn around a 33ft trailer. God damn it if she wasn’t right. There is nothing worse than when Whitney is right, and God damn it, it happens every time. Needless to say, she expertly guided me up a driveway and we conducted a precision turnaround.

Once we entered the storage facility, I get the trailer into the area where we will begin backing it up against a fence. Whitney gets in position and starts hand and arm signals. I learn a lot about Whitney during this evolution. The first thing I learn is that Whitney is not a slave to conventional backing up hand and arms signals. She understands them, and utilizes them, but once her arm is tired, she just switches the motion up. For her this is a great strategy, for me, all it does is confuse the shit out of me. She was making a normal back up motion and suddenly she switches to a motion reminiscent of making some biscuits in the air. I have no clue what biscuits in the air means so I yell at her. She gets frustrated and I get more frustrated, but I just adapt and realize that biscuit making motion means “keep it coming.” I am backing up, she is making biscuits. As I get closer and feel like I am nearing the fence, the following exchange occurs and I learn my second fact about Whitney:

Heath: Whitney, why don’t you do something like count down the feet left , you know like six feet, five feet, steady as you go, four feet, and so on…..

Whitney: I am not good with feet, can we come up with some more familiar benchmark?

Heath: What do you mean, you’re not good with feet? You’re thirty years old and a teacher.

Whitney: I just don’t judge feet well. Can we use something more familiar?

Heath: (still backing up slowly) Okay Whitney, whatever benchmark you can work with.

Whitney: Okay, you have approximately one of me left when I am not wearing high heels.

Heath: Are you serious? We are using you without high heels as the benchmark?

Whitney: Yes, I am very familiar with my height, with or without high heels….

These are the times that try men’s souls….

I just wanted you to know, because I have been holding it in since the day she used herself as a benchmark….

1. I am a loud clapper. I can clap louder than any person on earth, but not loud enough to produce a sound wave of destruction.  According to my wife, my clap is only loud enough to be really damn annoying. Last night, outside, at a baseball game amongst thousands of screaming fans, I clapped.  In doing so, I solicited the Whitney Phillips Look of Death, which does happen to produce a wave of destruction…Of note, Whitney’s Death Eyes Power trumps my Loud Clapping Power.

2. I have a high palette, in other words, the inside of my mouth extends higher up into my dome than the average Joe—probably because I sucked my thumb until August of last year.  Sound from my closed-mouth chewing reverberates through the empty catacombs of my head.  I don’t think it is loud enough to produce a devastating sound wave of destruction, but I lose myself in eating sometimes and go internal, just chomping away at whatever it is I am shoving into my mouth.  I use this power to annoy my wife. It is one hundred percent effective.  Of note, Whitney’s Death Eyes trump High Palette Power.

3. I accidentally ruin things a lot. My intentions are good, but this power only works for evil.  Let it be written that I have borrowed my wife’s expensive IPOD to help motivate me through yard work.  I write the following in the short legal statement I made to my wife after her IPOD seemed to have been broken by someone.  Said Named Husband (SNH) was working hard out in the sun laboring out of love.  SNH became distracted.  SNH took off the IPOD.  SNH put it on his truck’s tailgate. It stayed there for two days through two rain storms.  Due to no fault of anyone, the IPOD failed to work properly.  SNH wishes to make no further statement at this time.   Accidentally Ruining Things Power almost always causes Whitney Death Eyes.

4. If water is deeper than I am tall, and you force me to be in it, given only a few seconds, I will start my version of swimming, which I call fighting drowning. To onlookers, this looks like a full on panic attack.  I think what really sells it is the water-filled whimpers and muffled screams.  This power has led to one real life rescue. A man actually had to jump off of his boat and swim to me.  When he got to me, he threw swimming noodles at me and yelled, “Here’s some noodles, stop acting like a bitch….” I was 30 years old at the time….noodles never felt so good.  Aversion to Water Power caused Whitney’s Eyes of Embarrassment, which in turn caused Heath’s Power of Personal Inadequacy.  I am still not allowed in our pool when no one else is home.

5. I am a Whistle Talker. More often than I want to admit, I say my “s’s” with a whistle sound, no doubt due to my High Palette Power.  Whistle Talking causes my wife to immediately stop paying attention to me regardless of the gravity of the conversation. Another instance which breaks my wife’s attention span is if I accidently group two “do’s” in a row. For instance. One thing that we do, do around here is speak correctly.” Two Do Power causes my wife to act like a third grader who just heard someone fart…

If you have learned anything from my list of super powers, it should be that my wife’s super powers trump all of mine. She is like what DC comics did by creating Superman. Superman is so perfect that they had to introduce all of these outlandish characters to compete with him. Her powers are so great that I cannot win, and because of this I use my powers only to annoy. I just wanted you to know this, because I have been holding it in for years…

I haven’t been single in years, and I am happy about that.  My wife is cool and we got this thing down.  I remember dating being generally weird.  We, and maybe this is mostly men, make dating extremely awkward.  Case in point, if a date is going horrible, and even if we sense that the other person is loathing every second, we will still try to initiate physical contact.    I think it is our, “no matter how obvious it is that she is not interested, I might as well try and get something out of it” attitude, but it is what we do; and will do.  We actually take this with us into marriage and use it at the most inappropriate times, like, “oh, my wife is vacuuming; she must also want me to attempt to have sex with her.”  (It took me years to listen to one fact my father conveyed to me years ago:  Never stop your wife from vacuuming……..just saying.)   

Further, I think that what should happen across the board for dating is something similar to what happens with online dating, except in my method, there will be pure honesty.  You should develop a profile that you just hand to a girl you want to ask out.  When writing the profile, you should have to be tied up to some kind of electrocution device that shocks the hell out of you when you mislead the general public.   My personal profile that my wife answered years ago is added here for your perusal.

Heath Phillips

Height: 73 inches

Weight: 220 Lbs of fun

I can pick heavy things up and move them from one place to another place.  I am somewhat handy, except with cars and other overly complex mechanical machines or instruments.  I don’t get nervous, nor do I have to be drunk when I karaoke.  I have no problem standing in front of a big group and speaking.  I am not scared of zombies.  I will try most foods.  I fear nothing, except falling from any height backwards and being impaled upon another object.  I am not addicted to methamphetamines.  I have been in fights where I have won.  I have been beaten up pretty badly in fights I have started.  I can tell when a guitar is out of tune, but cannot tune it.  I understand the game of baseball.   I have issues with people and their behavior, specifically in bathrooms and other public arenas.  For instance, I hold my breath when people walk past me until their wake of air is done wafting against me; I don’t like breathing in people’s smells.  I am also a firm believer in courtesy flushes.  I am a ginger with an aversion to the sun; as such, I shy away from scenes where I am forced to remove my shirt, as it will badly injure those around me who aren’t wearing eye protection.  There was a small stint in my life where I dabbled in role playing games, specifically Dungeons and Dragons; I swear it was just experimentation.  I am a lot sexier when not compared to conventionally sexy people.  I get hotter the longer you know me because I have a decent personality.  So, if we dated for three months, by the end of the third month, I would be at a conventional sexy level equal to movie stars like Philip Seymour Hoffman or Paul Giamatti.  I enjoy self deprecating humor.

Beyond the initial profile you set up, there should be ground rules, or some sort of pre-date contract that sets out exactly what is going to happen on the first date—defines the limits, sets out clear, concise guidance that a man cannot confuse. 

The process would begin with the male; he would drum up a list of events that he believes will be a sufficient first date.  It would look like this:

1730:  Pre-date phone call to confirm timeliness of my arrival.

1745:  I depart my house (see attached route).

1800:  Arrive at your house (I will put a stick of gum in my mouth, and check mirror for nose issues).   I will come/not come to your door (female circle appropriate answer).

1900:  Female will receive a gift to confirm that I am willing to impress her with the fact that I can afford flowers that I bought on way to pick you up at Walgreens (see attached route).

1900-1930:  In car conversation:

List off limit topics here:

Anything related to public restrooms (see There’s a Bathroom on the Right)

Relationships with moms

Bad habits to include farting and/or diarrhea

Your workout routine

1930:  Arrive at destination; eat.

2000-2030:  In car conversation (see list of off limit topics).

2030:  Arrival at home: 

Male requests:  End of night kiss; hand on butt; expected call back in three days.

**If at any point in the date, the female wishes to revise the physical contact portion of the date, which would for the betterment of the male, this contract is null and void.

The contract is then sent to the woman who then either makes her changes and returns it, or sends it to an anonymous third party to sign into law.  It should be like how congress would work if they actually did stuff. 

There are those among you, most likely women folk, who are thinking that this would take the excitement of the first date away.  You are absolutely wrong, and this is why the contract does not start with you.  There is nothing exciting about wondering whether this woman you are thinking of kissing is going to destroy your entire self-concept when she puts her palm on your sternum, stopping your forward momentum and politely giggles and says, “I had a good time, call me” which, actually means, “I would kiss you, but you are the most disgusting little creature I have ever seen. I hope we never see each other in public; please don’t call.” 

These simple changes to the dating world ease the pressure on all involved.  I just wanted you all to know, because I have been holding it in for years..

and is also reading this can end badly for me, I know.  I discussed with her this morning that I was going to do this, and she seemed okay.  By okay, I mean she didn’t stop what she was doing and have the baby right there in the kitchen. 

My wife is understanding and supportive, she is always there and she likes me even when I am utterly unlikable (sometimes liking someone is harder than loving someone).  I won the wife lottery.  We hang around with each other, argue over how my hatred of Christina Aguilera is probably causing me more stress than it’s worth; we talk about important things like which animals are mammals and which ones don’t make the cut.  We go on walks and she talks about her day and I interject with random sounds illustrating my profound interest.  We go to movies together and get a large popcorn with lightly layered butter, and we split a soda-so romantic.  She doesn’t even force me to see dramas in the theater-I hear horrible stories of wives who force their man to see dramas in theaters.  Do people realize that a drama in a theater offers no improvement from a drama in your living room?  I am not implying dramas aren’t worth watching, o contraire, there are great movies, which also happen to be dramas.  Here are three:   A Few Good Men, Casa Blanca, and Dude, Where is my Car.  I just don’t see them in theaters.  A movie date costs about one human soul in dollars now, a drama, is not costing me one human soul in dollars.  Avengers is worth my soul / The Lucky One, not so much. 

Being married is good, it is comfortable and we like our routine.  We know each other and most importantly, we can be who we are. 

And then, on an unassuming Super Bowl Sunday, everything is suddenly different.  This Super Bowl Sunday was the outcome of some Martin Luther King Jr. Holiday fun.  The moral of the story:  Long weekends = pregnancy.  Now before you get all cray-cray, I wanted this little miracle, she is my little screaming mimi, she is going to make me lots of money one day as a professional baseball player.  So go back and re-read from “And then….” on with a better tone in your mind.

However, nobody has quite captured what it’s like being with a pregnant lady.  There is a movie where J-Lo is pregnant-this movie is way too soft on the truth.  The truth is simple.  Being married to a pregnant woman, who is also your wife and carrying your child, is a roller coaster ride of irrationality and whirl wind changes that can break the best of men.  You will be a hero, a handsome knight that strolled into your pregnant wife’s life and made it perfect.  You are more handsome than you have ever been.  You are the sweetest person she has ever meant and she will break into tears, start crying, right there tears, saliva, snot, the whole deal just to convey to you these emotions. 

Moments later and linked to the same emotions with which she just guaranteed you a spot in heaven, she will remind you, “who is the smart one in the relationship;” she will tell you that you don’t touch without the longing for sex; she will explain to you that this relationship is drifting apart, and then in mid-sentence, she will fall asleep.  She will wake up six days later and not even know who you are or what you are doing in her house. 

She will hold the entity growing in her belly against you (she may even call it a thing), this thing that has poisoned her and is pushing her to a young death.  She will wake up at 0430 (and she has never been awake at 0430-ever) and go make fried shrimp, but none are for you.  She will want you to take her to a nice restaurant for a lunch date and you will spend a lot of money, and then, she will want to rid her body of the disgusting food you forced upon her.  And so you, in a moment of support, although you are a visual puker, hand her a bag.  Her convulsions stop, only momentarily, so that she can point out to you that the bag you handed her smells of potatoes.  The bag will be held against you for the rest of the day.  She will then vomit relentlessly and make the sounds you would hear in the catacombs of hell, and best of all she will turn the radio down so she can concentrate on this action; she will also turn the radio down so you can concentrate on this action and think about what you did……

She will remind you of how your life hasn’t changed and how easy this must be for you-how simple things have been for you since the “incident.”  And you are guilty.  She is absolutely right.  Are you getting what I am saying here?

I tell my wife, that husbands of pregnant wives live for the moments when we are awesome.  It is like this sadistic longing to be valued by the person who we know in moments is going to grab us by the ears and try to rip the skin from our skulls with a verbal barrage unparalleled by any battle of any war. 

She will remind you that you forgot to tell her, “happy 18 weeks!”  And then you realize that there are like 38 weeks of this to make it through.  

The moment I saw an ultrasound.  This singular most life changing instance I have ever lived through.   I was the first to see my girl, I was the first to watch this octopus looking creature navigate its way through a play area it made in my wife’s beautiful body, and I deserved it.  I realized all of the craziness and chaos was worth it, and maybe more importantly, all this brought us closer.   

My wife cried that day, and it was the first moment since conception she and I had the same emotion at the same time.

So, to my pregnant wife, who is also carrying my child, I just wanted to tell you this because I have been holding it in for 18 weeks, I love you.