In case you didn't know, I have moved and hung up my Malathionman mask. Yes, it was a mask and not my real face. I have my own domain now. It is turfdad.com. Feel free to stop by and say hello.

Only here at “Malationman's Chemical Shed” will you see the horrors of a family shower posted for the worlds to see! My wife would kill me if she knew I was doing this.   

This is the shower nobody sees, the one in the master bedroom. It’s the one everyone likes to use. If you don’t have company for a while, it could be a month before you clean it.   

As you can see, there is a lot of stuff going on in my shower. Shaving legs, buffing rough skin, shampooing, conditioning, and bailing (I guess that’s what the bucket is for) are all events happening in that little 3x3 cubicle.  

I count 21 bottles or items in my shower. There are no empty bottles. There is at least one application of stuff in each bottle. I asked my wife if we needed everything that belonged to her in the shower. She said yes, like I didn’t know what that answer would be. If I chuck the stuff it will just be replaced with a new bottle, so why bother.  

So I got 21 things in my shower. Can anybody beat that, or do all of you out there in blogland keep a tidy shower? 

Kids are so stupid. They can say the dumbest things. I sometimes wonder why I just can’t take them back to the store and exchange them for a good set of steak knives.  

Last night Sherri, Alissa and I went to the movies. Sherri forced me to go see “Because I Said So”; it won’t make my “Chick Flicks I’ll Admit To Liking” list. While driving there the girls wanted to know what I wanted to do for my birthday. I jokingly responded by saying that I didn’t want to do anything. Sherri told Alissa I was upset that I was getting old. My darling daughter says, “ Daddy don’t be sad, 43 is almost 100 and you are not even dead yet!”

OK, I was thinking about my last entry, and think I have more to say! This time about the one time I was on the receiving end of a comment that I wasn’t too sure about. This happened about a month ago. It came from one of the millions of bloggers that like to incorporate coffee into their screen name.

This is the comment, Okay, very cool name....bitchin' Tagline, too!! Now about the rest...please kick it up a few notches or pull the plug.  

My skin is pretty thick, so the comment itself didn’t really bother me. I was just curious how he would like me to kick it up a notch, so I visited his site. His site had no entries, just the usual intro to a new site, but he did have a few comments. Mostly from people he had pissed off. I wasn’t going to go down that route. I will just wait a few days and see what is so special about his site.  

I just got around to that tonight. This coffee drinking pie hole has gone private. WTF is that? Dude goes around dogging everyone’s site, but doesn’t have the gonads to be open to the same criticism? Not very good bletiquette…blog etiquette.  

Which brings me to some new questions.  

Is it really a cool screen name? Or does the picture and name take a while to get used to?  

Mocha Momma asked me to take off the costume once. I do have a few pictures of me floating around on my sites, so its not like I’m hiding behind the mask, but maybe the mask should disappear.  

I know some bloggers make it a point not to post pictures of themselves. That’s cool, I understand, but I like to put a face on the friends I have made on-line.

 

I have been blogging for almost a year. I intended my blog to be a spot for my baseball buddies to come to and talk a little trash, make trade offers, and keep in touch. That was quickly nuked by MSN because none of my buddies use MSN. I had no idea none of my friends could comment. Doy!  

So I went out and made some friends in the MSN world! MSN Premium was part of my DSL package and I was going to use it, damn it! I have almost gotten over that attitude. I am thinking about just posting on my Blogger page, at least everyone can comment there.

I found the best way to make friends was to comment on the pages that I would visit. I really enjoy leaving comments! I like it as much as I do posting entries.

 I never bag on another person’s blog, but I can be kind of a smart ass or just gross. About a week ago I left a comment on a ladies blog that may have been shocking for someone who doesn’t know me, but I couldn’t stop my fingers from typing. This woman was talking about birthday ideas for her husband and that a Maglite flashlight was a good gift one year. She described it like this, “It's black, heavy, masculine, totally impractical, in short it's perfect." What I really wanted to say was that it sounded like a birthday gift to her, but I toned it down to just, “I won’t comment on "It's black, heavy, masculine, totally impractical, in short it's perfect." I’ll just leave that to people who know you better. I even included a smiley. J No Response. I almost always get a reply. Did I piss her off? I hope not. Doesn’t everyone know that Malathionman is the master of snappy comments?  

So what is good blog etiquette?  If someone leaves you a comment, is leaving a comment on his or her blog the proper thing to do? A lot of people just comment on comments in the comment section. Is that how it is done?

 What about music? If someone has a music player, do you play it? Is it annoying when the music plays automatically? I really like music, am I rude to make you listen to what I like?

 And what about those snappy comments? Is there a comment “courting time” before you can make an indirect adult toy reference?

 

 

 

 

This weekend is the AT&T Pebble Beach National ProAm. If you asked 100 golfers to name 3 courses they wanted to play most, I bet Pebble Beach shows up on 90% of those lists.  I have played there twice. That’s one of the great things about Pebble Beach; it’s a public course.  

Television doesn’t do justice to the true toughness of the course. T.V. tends to flatten a golf course. As a viewer, you can’t tell just how hilly a course is. Another toughness factor at Pebble Beach is the weather. I was lucky; the weather was perfect both times I played there.  

I think the toughest hole for me was a par 4, hole #8. You cannot imagine just how tough it is unless you play it. The tee shot is completely blind. It is a shot that is up a hill and you cannot see the other side. When I played there, there was a sign on the tee box that said 200 yards to the ravine. Look at the picture, that ravine is a freaking canyon! Your second shot will have to be over that canyon, it will be about another 200 yards, and the green is the size of a postage stamp. So in short, you want to hit it as far as possible off the tee, but not too far, or you will go in the “ravine.” Then if you want to go for the green, you need to hit your best long iron or metal wood to a tiny little green.  

If you are not a golfer you may not truly appreciate this post, but if you are a golfer, Pebble Beach is a “do-able” thing. The Monterey Peninsula is a beautiful place and there are lots of things to do for non-golfers.

I am off work every other Monday, today I am off work. The kids are at school and my wife is at work. Sounds like I should be golfing! Wrong, too much to do around the house! Obviously my wife has not been keeping up with her wifely duties! Just kidding, just kidding.  

One of the things I have to try and get caught up on is the laundry. Laundry in my house is never ending. We have burned out two washers and one dryer since we adopted the kids 6 years ago.  

I hate doing laundry. I catch a break on it a little because Sherri forbids anyone to touch her laundry. She says we have ruined too many things of hers and that it has cost us more than $1000.00 to replace the stuff that has been lost. Good thing she does the bills because I always wonder how we manage to replace those things.  

Actually I don’t mind doing my laundry, its doing Austin’s (11 year old son) laundry. I sometimes think I would rather clean up dog puke. You have to go through all the pockets, or who knows what you are going to wash. Rocks, crayons, coupons, flowers, a tampon, these are all things I have found in his pockets or have washed. Then there is the nasty underwear that I always have to pull apart from his pants because he can’t seem to be able to take off the pants first, then his underwear. Maybe he does this because whenever he does get the underwear off it ends up on the floor, where the dogs get them. They like to eat the skid marks; I guess it’s like a dog delicacy, better than the regular crap that they eat in the backyard.    

Have a nice day, and if you don’t already do this, think of me next time you are cleaning up dog puke, dirty underwear, or watching your pouch eat that last steamy morsel in the yard. 

… nothing to talk about but puke. I was not selected for a jury toady. My civic duty has been served this year. So my post today is about dog vomit. 

 Last night as I was finishing off another one of my bitchin blog entries, Mia my female dachshund, walks up to the desk and leaves a barf deposit at my feet. Why she thought I needed to partake in its steamy hot goodness I don’t know. There is nothing like that warm feeling in your hand as you clean up fresh dog puke, unless of course your are cleaning up fresh dog diarrhea. That would be later in the night.  

Apparently the trouble making brother and sister team of Splinter and Mia had been up to no good earlier in the day. Sherri had informed me that the two of them had some how eaten an entire lemon cake. I would guess Mia had eaten most of it by the size of her belly. Splinter must have knocked it off of the kitchen table, while Mia eagerly waited below. I know this because we have seen Splinter on the kitchen table before. If you leave a chair pulled out just a little, he will be on the tabletop checking things out.

When Sherri had got home from picking up Alissa from school, all that was left of the cake was an empty container on the floor.  

It reminds me of the dachshunds in The Ugly Dachshund. I have always had these dogs as pets, and they have always been little troublemakers. That’s probably why I like them so much.

The county of Riverside has my number! I get a summons for jury service every year. This year is no exception, and this is my week to call that 1-800 number everyday this week until they need me. It is incredible how they think you can drop everything and leave work at the drop of a hat. You would think there was a better way to find jurors.  

I have been called in 4 times. I only had to sit in a jury once. I hung the jury, but not how you would normally associate a hung jury. I thought the guy was guilty. I actually got one person to see it my way, so the final tally was 10 not guilty, 2 guilty.  

Sitting through the trial I thought this was going to be a no brainer. It was just this simple.  

The guy on trial was a convicted drug dealer. He was serving his second sentence for dealing drugs. $5000.00 worth of black tar heroin was found in his locker at the local penitentiary. The drugs were hidden in his deodorant bars. The drugs were found during a routine search by the prison guards.  

The guy’s only explanation was that –

A) The guards didn’t like him and must have planted it in his locker. And….

B) He never locked his locker! Anyone could have put it in there!  

OK, I am a firm believer in if it looks like shit, and it smells like shit, it probably is shit.  

One other thing, the judge instructed us that we could use the defendant's history of dealing drugs against him in this trial.  

To me it sounded like we would deliberate for about 30 minutes, give the guy his third strike, and be home before lunch. Wrong! I guess I could have just gone with the consensus and that would have happened, but I was not having any of that. The defense had given me nothing more than what I stated above as a defense, common since told me this was shit.  

Basically the rest of the jurors believed the convict and thought the prison guards lied. Why the guards had a reason to lie I don’t know. Why they would use $5000.00 worth of drugs to frame this guy I don’t know. $100.00 would have worked just as well. What I do know is that 4 jurors had relatives in jail and said they could make an unbiased judgment in this case. Every single one of them was leading the argument against the guards. Why the idiot D.A. let them be on the jury I don’t know. One of them actually called me a Nazi because I would not see her point of view. At that point one other juror change his vote to guilty.  

After the trial, the lawyers wanted the jury to hang out and talk to them about how they could possibly do things different, or if they should even bother. The jury was never polled, but the assistant D.A. knew exactly who voted guilty. She asked me flat out, “What the hell happened?” I told her how the guards were scrutinized more than the convict, and that they should have never let family of convicts sit in this kind of trial.  

Oh man, I just checked the county web site. My group reports at 7:30 tomorrow morning. Who knows, maybe I’ll have a juicy entry tomorrow. If not, I’ll have to write about why I have to stop now and clean up the puke my dog just spewed on the carpet.

 

 

 

 

What the hell is my kid watching? The Naked Brothers Band? What is a parent supposed to think with a name like that? Oh, I know, its something you can see on Showtime at two in the morning. WRONG! It’s a new show on Nickelodeon, and Alissa (my 6 year old) loves it. Here is a conversation her Aunt Val had with her while watching TV.  

Alissa- Ooo look it’s the Naked Brothers Band.

Val- What’s The Naked Brothers Band? Are they naked?

Alissa- No silly, they try to dress all hot so the girls will like them! And you know what, it works. I really like Ned!  

My life is gonna suck in about 6 years. 

 

About 1:30 Saturday afternoon I was driving to my in-law's house, with tears in my eyes. I had got a call from Sherri telling me that her mother no longer wanted to be left alone with John because she didn’t think he had that much time left. This had come on real quick, I was there last week watching football with him and he seemed ok, we had a good time. He was sitting up, talking, and things weren’t that much different than the last 3 months.

I had a good idea what I was going to see when I got there because of my father’s death from cancer. This would be no different for me now. I consider John my father just as much as my birth father. He has always treated me like his son, and I believe he loves me like his son. I love John like my father. This was visit was going to be tough. 

Just immediate family was there, Mary (wife), Sherri and Shelly (daughters), and Phil and myself (son-in-laws). No kids were there.

Seeing John was like seeing my father a few weeks before his death. Up until now you could talk to John and he could talk back. He no longer has the strength to do so. He will fade in and out of consciousness and occasionally whisper a word or two. This was very hard to see, I had to leave the room a couple of times to recompose myself. 

We decided that Sherri would spend the night with Mary. I would go and pick up the kids from the babysitter’s, then take them home. We would then come back in the morning to see how things were. 

I now have to pull it all together and try to say good night to John. I stood over him with tears in my eyes, but couldn’t speak. I bent over and hugged him and kissed him on the forehead. As I started back up I could hear him softly say, “good-bye buddy.” I smiled and squeezed his hand, and went home to pick up the kids. 

Sunday morning I got the call from Sherri. It was over; John had passed away in his sleep. 

Everyone seems to be doing ok. Even though we knew this day was coming, it still hurts when it actually happens. John touch the lives of many people, he was a father to more than just me and his immediate family. My meager attempts at writing can’t truly describe how much John will be missed.

Looking at the past can be tough. 

I got my copy of Bleak Future out the other night. I really hadn’t seen it since it was reedited and put out on DVD. The DVD had extras like most DVDs these days. I had more fun listening to the comments and watching the outtakes than watching the movie. I was invited to go to the recording of the comments and be included in that part of the DVD, but stuff going on with Sarah kept me from making the trip to the studio that night. It would have been nice to touch base with the young adults that made up the cast of Bleak Future. I was the old guy in the cast. I think I was 33. I will be 43 next month. Everyone else was a teenager or in their early twenties. 

When I clicked to the comment section there was a picture of all the actors that attended the recording. They had all grown up! They all looked like parents. Most of them were parents! It made me feel old. Did I always look like a parent to those kids? I spent a lot of time with them, I felt like one of the gang! When I clicked to the rehearsal clips and saw myself, not in make up, reading lines with the other actors, I realized the big difference between early twenties and early thirties…ugh!

 

 

Today I signed my son up for little league. It will be his first experience with organized sports. He is starting kind of late; he will be 11 in March. I am hoping that he will enjoy the experience of being successful on the field. It is hard to beat the feeling of hitting a grand slam after the opposing team intentionally walked the guy in front of you. The only grand slam I ever hit happened just that way. They even brought in their closer to pitch to me, which made it even sweeter, first pitch fastball, GONE! 

I grew up playing soccer, baseball, and tennis. I was pretty good. I was never the best guy out there, but I did have the skills to play at a high level of competition. It was my interest in sports that kept me out of trouble as a teenager. I am hoping that this works for my son too. 

I am not sure how Austin will do. He is an athletic little guy, but his hand-eye coordination is well…..lousy. His memory is a little sketchy too. I think he may have a hard time knowing what to do in some game situations. There’s a man on first, nobody out and Austin is playing second base. The ball is hit on the ground to him. Where should Austin throw the ball?  

One thing that is really cool about my job is that I will be available in the afternoons and evenings for baseball practices and games. My father wasn’t. He worked the night shift for the police department. My mom would come to some of the games, but I wanted my dad to be there. I am hoping that I can do that for Austin. I want to be there when he hits that grand slam, or to offer him a lifesaver when he fails. Who remembers that commercial?

In previous entries (here, and here) I have referred to my wife as the “glue”.  This weekend would be another great example of that very thing. 

Friday was my oldest daughter’s birthday. She is now 15. If you don’t know me or haven’t read my site that much, Sarah is in a residential school in Utah. I live in California. Sherri had planned a trip to see her on her birthday a couple of months ago, but with the condition of her father being so bad, things had to change. 

Sherri wanted to take Sarah home to see her dad. The students at this school are not usually allowed to leave the property. They can leave campus with their parents, only if they have been good. Sarah has not been good.  She would have to do all her visiting on campus. Sherri had different plans. 

Sherri explained the condition her father to the school and requested to take Sarah to her father’s for the day. This really wasn’t a problem for the school. We just didn’t want Sarah to know. We also didn’t want her younger brother and sister to know.  Austin and Alissa would just think that mommy had to take care of grandpa for the weekend. I would stay home with the younger ones. 

Sherri was going to drive to Utah Friday, and pick up Sarah Saturday morning (early). Then she would drive back to California, where Sarah would get to visit Saturday afternoon and some of Sunday morning. Finally, Sherri would drive Sarah back to Utah Sunday afternoon, where she had to be on campus by 7:30pm. 

Sherri was willing to do all this because she thought a visit to she her father alive would be better than going to the funeral, and she is just a great mom. 

Well the trip went down without any problems. John was having a bad weekend, but was able to visit and comfort Sarah. Sarah was on her best behavior and genuinely grateful for the visit. Sherri said it was one of the most enjoyable times she has ever spent with Sarah. We are hoping the chance to enjoy some of the little freedoms that Sarah has not had for almost year now, will get her to straighten up her act and get her home. 

So now it’s Monday afternoon and Sherri is still not home. Did I mention her sister went with her on the trip back? Instead of staying in Utah last night, they went to Las Vegas. So hopefully she is not having one of those “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.” days. 

 

I bet many of you were wondering that very thing. How is Malathionman like a Dreamgirl? Does he sing show tunes? Only in the shower. Does he like to dance? When ever there is a pole in the room. Does he like to wear high heals? Maybe if they came from Mocha Mama’s closet. The other day at work I was compared to a “Dreamgirl.”

Nelson is the guy my boss hired to fill my old position. He is a former golf course superintendent from Canada. He is a great guy, and very over-qualified for his current position. He is also very Canadian. He talks just like Bob McKenzie. He does own a copy of “Strange Brew” , and can probably quote the whole thing to you. He even keeps me updated on junior hockey scores, like anyone in the desert gives a rip about junior ice hockey.

While I was out with my surgery, Nelson was in charge of my crew. He did just fine, but it was a bit of culture shock for Nelson and my entire Hispanic crew. They are used to THIS white boy, and apparently missed me very much. I bring donuts every Friday. In fact they all showed up at my house the Saturday before Christmas to see how I was doing. Unfortunately I was at the post office and Sherri was in the shower when they showed up.

I get this call from Sherri, “Where the hell are you?”

Me, “You know where I’m at, I’m at the post office.”

“Get your ass home now.”

“Why? What did I do?”

“Your entire crew is here, and I just stepped out of the shower.”

“ Oh man (chuckle, chuckle, chuckle), that sucks for you.”

“Your dead.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Anyways, Nelson told me the story about how the crew was planning the trip to my house and how the girls were going to bring me flowers and tamales. He was very impressed.

Nelson, “Dude they love you here, you are like………..Beyonce!”

Me, “Thanks.”