Dear God's Helpers (a.k.a. the men in dark suits who keep showing up at my front door),

I realize you have a job to do and it's evidently to salvage the itty bitty soul contained in my tired old body. I know you're dressed in your finest Sunday best and you've worn the best Brut cologne in order to just make my acquaintance. And, I entirely appreciate the fact you put Dippity Doo in your hair and polished your shiny leather shoes with the best Windex had to offer. However, prior to us establishing a sincere relationship, I think there are a few things you should know....

As a day sleeper, I find it exceedingly difficult to entice Mr. Sandman into my lonely bedroom for a quick saucy spin into a comatose state. When you decide to pay me weekly visits and knock loudly at my front door, it's just a tad bit upsetting...as this causes my dogs to bark and then Zeke the rooster to crow his disapproval. My critters are obviously party animals and I guess they just don't find your lack of holiday celebrations and birthday acknowledgments acceptable.

Also, I really fear for your safety as your unannounced visits may coincide with our weekly ritualistic animal sacrifices. Once I have my hooded robe on and my hatchet a goin', it's hard to say who will get the brunt of it and I'd hate to lop off an ear or even a hand. Plus, I'd hate to splatter blood on your nice little suitcases. They look so clean and sparkly.

And finally, while I appreciate your earnest demeanor and the way you refuse to leave my front porch even when you see me through my dining room window scowling, wearing my pajamas and yesterday's make-up - you seriously need to reevaluate your visits. I hate using the f-word in such a loud way but your beady little eyes and joker like grin, peering through my window, freaked me out a tad. My bad.

In conclusion, I think it would be best if we ended our faux relationship and you moved onto someone else who might have an open ear to your deep thoughts on religion and life. I just don't think between the blaring 2 Live Crew music that routinely screams outta my stereo and my children who are normally naked and caked in mud, our budding affair is gonna be too successful.

Please, please, please do not make your weekly visit to my home. Don't knock on my door until the rooster crows and the dogs bark. And certainly, do not peak in my windows as I might be waving, but it will more than likely only be with one angry finger. Do not try to save me or worry for my soul - I know where I'm going and I've packed plenty of sunscreen and marshmallows. I might even send you a fireproof postcard.

With no love or affection,

Sandi the Angry Heathen

Posted by Mommazilla at 09:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Now that I've captured your attention, here is a blow by blow of how I spent my exciting Friday night. I've placed it into chronological list fashion, in order to enhance the excitement. I've even added military time to give you a feeling of intrigue.

1830: Finished up at the carnival after watching Taters vomit up greasy, frothy french fries. She had taken a horrific ride on the Gravitron after I told her I didn't think it would suit her tummy. It took me a second to realize it was my kid throwing up - and stop laughing. I told her so!

1900: Dodged crazy drunk men and women on quads, and successfully made it home.

1930: Started editing more wedding photos with the help of Corona Light. She's a helpful gal.

2000: Editing and playing on Facebook.

2030: The editing program is open but so is my Facebook, Myspace, and Pandora.

2031: Caught a drunk guy in my front yard, trying to use my driveway as a short cut to the neighbor's beer. He was greeted by a stern warning and a garden hose. I apologized to Hubby for not allowing him to do some yelling but when you're good at something, it's hard to give up the power.

2033: Drunk guy is back, and hovering by the fenceline bushes. I grab the garden hose and cover him again, threatening to unleash a flurry of unfiltered stinky well water should he choose to cross the threshold of my homestead. He instantly puts his hands up and says he just wanted to apologize. Oops, my bad. I let drunk guy go and released my grip on the garden hose.

2035: Time for Corona Light's sister, Apricot Ale.

2100: Back to editing. And Facebook. But mainly editing.

2100 - 2300: Still editing and entertaining the beer sisters with Facebook.

2301: The drunk neighbors show up on ATV's with 50 of their closest friends. The bon fire is lit and the drunken country karaoke singing ensues.

2330: The singing is continuing and I feel as though Kenny Chesney is my livingroom, screaming at me about some stupid beach. I can feel his breath on my cheek - oh wait, maybe that was just the cat wanting out. The beer sisters made me have a little trouble confirming this fact.

0001 - 0200: The party is in full swing and some jackass is blaring a modified truck horn from his little Toyota. I don't know what is so exciting at this time of morning, but someone is whooping and hollering. I play Gladys Kravitz and peek out my front door, clucking my tongue in disapproval. Or, it could be the dry mouth the beer sisters were giving me. I continue on with my editing. And Facebook.

0230: I'm flippin' exhausted and someone has just turned up the stereo on the truck in the neighbor's yard. I stomp into the bedroom to wake Hubby up and ask if he could hear the music. He informs me he hadn't until I had so kindly woken him up.

0233: I look up neighbor's phone number and in my best friendly, 0230ish voice, ask him to have his party goers turn the music down. He calls me "Sweetie" several times, so I think he still loves me. Afterall, he's normally the word's best neighbor.

0300: I'm finally asleep and the faint sounds of Merle Haggard bounce around in my head. I occasionally hear a yell or two and that damn truck horn, but the beer sisters tell me to shut up and go back to sleep.

0830: Awake! Thanks Gunny. I know Noggin doesn't play on your TV but good lawd, son, Mommy needs her sleep!

How was your Friday night?

Posted by Mommazilla at 08:38 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

...my children currently. I think the skating baby one is just freakin' creepy. And hilarious to hear Gunny imitate Charlie's brother with his own English accent.

Posted by Mommazilla at 02:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Just a few statements to start the week...

1. I need me some AFLAC. You know that commercial with the talking duck that advertises to help us accident prone people out? Yep, that's the one. You'll see why in #2.

2. I want to be a Redwood Roller girl. BAD. If you haven't check out Humboldt Roller Derby, do so now! I think it's part of my 33 year old mid-life, mother of three crisis.

3. We had three funerals over the weekend thanks to Ms. Gracie, the killer kitteh kat. She's developed a thirst for shrews and mice and loves to show them off by leaving them in my house for all to see. I'm running out of little boxes to bury them in. Do you think I could just flush the buggers? Pretend it's a big goldfish and see if my septic tank becomes angry? That's something I may have to ponder.

4. Did I mention that I really want to do roller derby? I think I may have my white skates with the pink wheels and neon pink laces up in the closet.

5. I have my first paid photography gig this weekend and it's a wedding. Let's just say I'm a little more than nervous. I'll probably pack several pairs of underwear next to my favorite lenses. Sorry for the TMI.

6. I realized after traveling to Michaels Craft store that I picked some messed up sizes for my photography fair prints. Hubby will be cussing at me for sure, when he finds out he has a lot of mat board to cut up. I had remedial scissor usage in grammar school and have not gotten any better.

7. I can't believe I'm the proud owner of a fourth grader, a first grader, and a Gunny. I'm getting old.

8. Little Gunny just had his first ever round of antibiotics due to a case of strep throat. Poor little guy is never sick and when he finally is, he does it right.

9. Did I mention my friends also want to do roller derby? Those biotches better not back out on me. I've got three pairs of Spanx and two push-up bras guaranteed to make me look good in a pair of shorty shorts and a tight t-shirt. It would be a waste not to let the public see my assets. *cough*

10. Even though the sun has been hiding from Humboldt County, my tomatoes and squash are doing awesome. I can't wait till they produce some vittles for the family.

11. Evening campfires are the best. I have eaten enough s'mores over the weekend that I truly don't need to go on an actual camping trip. I do need to learn some better scary stores because I've been informed that my stories "suck" and aren't scary at all. Oh well, I thought "When the log rolls over we'll all be dead," was an excellent story. Go figure.

12. Little boys are really hard to photograph - especially on special occasions. They start off pretty good:

And then slowly slip into silliness:

Until all is lost:

13. I'm spending my 11 year wedding anniversary shooting someone else's wedding. I tried to drag Hubby along, promising him we could re-use their alter and perhaps even partake amongst their food, like we were renewing our vows. He didn't go for it. He did let me get a pic of the two of us - one of only three existing since we got married:

I think that's it for my Monday ramblings. How was your weekend?

Posted by Mommazilla at 08:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

I was such a flake this week that I completely forgot to give a shout out to Papa Tom who had a birthday on Monday. Happy birthday Papa Tom!!!

And, the world's best little cousin/babysitter, celebrates her 20th tomorrow. Happy birthday Samantha!

Posted by Mommazilla at 03:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Wow! Can people get any dumber? At least it makes for good blog fodder!

Posted by Mommazilla at 09:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Have you been out to Centerville Beach lately? In the past, it's kinda been iffy on how much beach you actually had to work with and how steep the sand slope was to the waves. Earthquakes and normal natural wear and tear has dramatically changed the way the beach has looked in the past - making it more and less accessible at times.

On the last really warm day we enjoyed, I grabbed the brats and headed out to check it out and I was so happy to be greeted by a gorgeous day and a beautiful beach. The wind was minimal and the beach was so flat and clean, with just a gentle slope down to the water. One scary part were the bluffs bordering the beach. They are really start to erode and come down into big silty piles of red dirt that resemble the Sahara desert. While we were there, we saw several mini land slides. It was a little frightening but ultimately, it was so cool showing the kids the different layers of time the bluffs demonstrate. I really think it was their favorite part as each of the kids ended up having red butts due to sitting in the dirt and scooting along.

If you go out to Centerville, take the time and drive-up past the old Centerville Beach Naval Station. It's just a short little jaunt up above the beach and is really interesting to take a look at behind the high fences. The base looks to be in some disrepair but for the most part, it still looks pretty good. It's such a shame that it's going to waste and they can't find some use for it.

There is a gorgeous lookout above the naval station with a sphincter clenching path down to who knows where. I'm terrified of heights and was perfectly content staying in my car and turning around in the viewpoint parking lot. You can see beautiful shots of the ocean and other Lost Coast ranches that dot the bottom of the valley. My friend told me she recently saw whales traveling by, but again, that would require me actually getting out of the car and being near the edge of the cliff. Just the thought of this makes my hands sweat like a water hose and a I get a nauseas feeling in the pit of my stomach. Not doin' the heights thing.

And certainly last but most definitely not least, if you go out to Centerville Beach, please be ever so careful with the ocean. Never turn your back on it and be very careful if you decide to partake amongst it's wet, salty goodness. The ocean is nondiscriminatory and will take anyone she chooses to - and does so many times a year. My voice was harsh by the time we left - mainly from screaming, "GET BACK!" to the three little monsters who don't fully understand or appreciate the respect you should give to this natural beauty.

I'm always looking for other nice beaches to visit in Humboldt County. Do you have any suggestions?

Posted by Mommazilla at 08:25 AM | Permalink | Comments (10)

I am beyond torked tonight. My friggin' laptop, barely three months out of the shop, crashed again. I hate Dell. Let me tell you that one more time, just in case you couldn't hear me screaming at the top of my lungs inside your head:

I HATE DELL!!!

The laptop is two years old and I paid a pretty penny to make sure it was outfitted well. It is absolutely ridiculous that the piece o' crap melted down on me again. I dunno what I'm going to do with it but a sledgehammer sounds mighty nice.

Seriously, the month of March has sucked so bad. I sure hope it picks up. I've some how angered Karma and she's been an absolute biotch to me. Geesh.

Posted by Mommazilla at 10:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)

10AM tomorrow starts the second ride of my lifetime. Tickets come on sale for :

Def Leppard

Poison

Cheap Trick

September 3rd, the acid-washed Levis, Aqua Net, and blue eyeshadow are coming back.

Posted by Mommazilla at 04:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

But on this Friday the 13th, it doesn't. Please show support of our local teachers who are receiving their pink slips on March 13th, 2009. The state is facing 11 billion dollars worth of paycuts to public schools, colleges, and universities. This year, the March 13th date was the deadline for school districts to issue their preliminary pink slips to teachers. What a lovely date to pick.

We lost 5,000 teachers last year, after 10,000 were intially issued pink slips. This year looks like it will be much worse and it makes me sick. My daughter's small elementary school is losing nine valued and respected teachers. This means we get to look forward to bigger classes, overworked teachers, and even less available resources.

In case you're interested, here's a link to what we pay our California officials. It's amazing how much we give our "respected" leaders. I know that some of them donate back their salaries in an effort to support our economy but for the most part, we are paying them too much to begin with. Afterall, it was their careful planning and lack of foresight that helped to get us in the craphole. Let's take the money away from the admin and give it back to the teachers who are (1) not paid enough and (2) spend a lot of their own money in their classrooms.

Need more convincing? Jen has 13 reasons why you should wear pink and support our California teachers.

Here are my nine reasons:

Mr. Sanders
Mrs. Carroll
Mrs. Stockwell
Mrs. Croteau
Mrs. Head
Mrs. Betts
Mr. Grimmett
Mrs. Benbow
Mrs. Crosswhite

Posted by Mommazilla at 11:12 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)

If you don't mind a little cursing mixed with some hilarity, check out this site. I was crying...

Posted by Mommazilla at 09:37 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

***** Warning: This posting is about my thoughts on the the good, bad, and ugly of childbirth. Should you be offended by talk of girly parts, orgasms and nudity, you might want to go here instead. *****

A couple of weeks ago, I watched an episode of "The Doctors" where they were talking about a variety of things including the topic of "orgasmic birth." A recent documentary (now on DVD) came out discussing the idea that birth could be many things including:

* Sensual (well, you are naked)
* Stimulating (yeah, it hurts)
* Blissful (once the epidural kicks in)
* Ecstasy (you're super duper happy once it's over)
* I almost can't write this... Orgasmic.

On a side note, the DVD also discusses a variety of ways for a couple to embrace and enjoy the birth of their child - it's not just about orgasms and rainbows.

I can tell you, without any sort of doubt in my mind, that I did not find the process of childbirth to be an orgasmic experience. Not once did I mistake the pain of contractions and the stretching of my nether regions to be equivalent to something I'd want to experience everyday. The elusive "birthgasm" fairy did not enter the L&D room during any of my three births - although most of my family, cousins, friends, and distant neighbors got a good girly parts shot during the birth of Taterbug. It seems that you lose a lot of modesty during the pushing part - or at least I did.

The documentary basically explains that if you relax enough during labor, and allow your body's natural abilities to kick in, you can possibly experience more pleasure than pain during labor. When you take fear out of the equation, women and their partners tend to have a much more satisfying birth. You know what? I totally agree with this concept and think that a relaxed body is much more capable of pushing out a watermelon through a straw. With my third birth I was so much more satisfied (gosh - maybe not the best word to use in this posting) than my first and it was mainly because I knew what was going on with my body and I was so much more relaxed. I knew I wasn't going to die even though I felt like the victim of an "Alien" movie.

The orgasm part is thrown in when the documentary mentions how the baby coming down the birth canal is essentially mimicking what the penis does in the vagina, causing some lucky ladies to have the big "O." After all, your special spots are still up and active even during the birth of a child. I don't know about you, but I can't imagine having sex with an eight pound penis for 12+ hours just to see if I can have elicit an orgasm. There are much easier ways to achieve this but I'll let you figure that one out by yourself.

My question is, can a woman really relax enough to have the big "O" during labor? The DVD showed couples who were kissing, giving massages, and even *gasp* having sex during labor. They were doing this in order to make the situation more comfortable and soothing to all parties involved. Maybe I'm strange, but the last thing on the face of the Earth I wanted during labor was to have my Hubby touch me in an intimate way. It was his fault I was in pain and it was his fault that I would forever be marked by hideous stretch marks that towards the end, began to form sentences across my distended belly.

Personally, the only parts I found relaxing in labor were minimal at best; the one minute gap in between hard contractions when I faked like I was sleeping so the nurses wouldn't make me push - that was kinda relaxing. And when I bobbed around in the labor tub (hugely pregnant woman do not sink in water) feeling like a gigantic blonde porpoise - yeah, that was nice but mostly embarrassing - especially to the lab gal who had to draw my blood in the tub since I refused to get out. I truly hope we never meet again.

Several of these like-minded sites have been calling the "birthgasm" the "best-kept secret" during labor and delivery. I would say that most of these articles are being written by men. Do you truly want to know the "best-kept secret" in L&D? Well, let me tell yah, I have a few and it involves the many magical fairies you'll find in L&D:

* If the Birthgasm Fairy doesn't make an entrance, her distant cousin the Poop Fairy probably will.
* The Poop Fairy normally likes to travel with company so she'll typically bring along her sister, the Hemorrhoid Fairy, to stay post partum.
* While the word "episiotomy" kinda sounds cheery and fun - it's not. Also referred to as the "Emo Fairy" since she tends to be a cutter.
* Occasionally, the Vomit Fairy will make a special visit, just about the time when the really hard labor sets in. She's very brief with her visits but will leave a long lasting impression on all those near her.
* Then you have the B.C. Fairy (otherwise known as the Blood Clot Fairy - she likes to keep it short and simple) who brings you many gifts for weeks after. Definitely one of the most generous out of all the fairies that will visit you.
* And finally, who can forget the mother of all fairies, Post Partum Fairy. She's the one who brings you the saggy, squishy belly, engorged boobs, and the overall feeling of helplessness that a new parent gets holding a squawking newborn.

In conclusion... You gotta gotta do whatcha gotta do when you're in labor. If it's drugs you want? So be it, back up the epidural wagon and load that syringe up. Natural birth in the middle of a cow pasture with several Holsteins in attendance? More power to you. I totally agree and embrace the idea that the mother and father should try and control the birthing experience as much as safely possible. I just don't equate sexual pleasure with labor and the idea of an orgasm during the most painful (albeit AWESOME) experience of my life, as something plausible. My births hurt like hell but I wouldn't trade them for the world!

Here's the trailer to the DVD if you're interested in taking a closer look:

Posted by Mommazilla at 02:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (15)

My daughter is a huge fan of Power 96.3 and listens every morning to the legendary Pete Meyer and ever funny JB Mathers. It's our daily ritual to match our wits and try to come up with an answer to Menial Mind Trivia prior to Taterbug getting dropped off for school. She loves the music they play and I do too. So much more than Kidz Bop or the Wiggles.

The other morning I heard that Power 96.3 was going to be broadcasting from a local hardware store and they were taking in-person requests for songs. As Taterbug cleaned the sleep out of her little eyeballs, I mentioned where they were at and told her I'd be happy to take a quick detour to let her request a song...IN PERSON! Her little eyeballs immediately lit up and she flew through her morning rituals of teeth brushing and hair untangling.

As we left and began discussing which song she might request, it was decided that a little "Pocket Full of Sunshine" by Natasha Beddingfield would suit her just fine. As we pulled into the parking lot, she started telling me about the butterflies that were quickly forming in her belly. She told me she thought she might blow chunks but that she could more than likely hold it in until she got done requesting her song. She didn't want to blow her big chance at becoming famous.

When I parked in the lot, I could hear Guns-n-Roses blaring from their mobile studio. Taterbug looked at me with a gleam in her eye and quickly spotted the two DJ's sitting under the awning of the business. I gave her a quick pep and we quickly walked over to the table as it was beginning to rain and I didn't want our naturally frizzy hair to go totally afro on us. Again, she considered this to be her first chance at stardom so we needed to do things right.

We found both Pete and JB to be some of the nicest guys we'd ever met. They interviewed her for a coupla minutes on the radio, let her request a song, and then they gave her the earphones so she could hear herself when it broadcast. To top it all off, they let her pick a prize and offered her a free breakfast. It was great!

By the time we left, Taterbug was floating on air. Two days later, she's still buzzing about it. When she did get to school that morning, she told her whole class and pretty much anyone who would sit still long enough to listen. She truly felt like she was the hero and spokeswoman for the 3rd grade class. I just hope she wasn't passing out autographs to the kindergartners.

A HUGE thanks to Power 96.3 and the handsome and awesome DJ's Pete Meyer and JB Mathers. You totally rocked my daughter's world and have created a forever fan. For one morning, you were way cooler than Hannah Montana or Lady Gaga - combined!!!

Posted by Mommazilla at 10:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Guess what? In just about a week, the State of California will no longer have the funds necessary to refund California tax payers who have overpaid throughout the year of 2008. Instead, they will be passing out handy dandy "Registered Warrants" which is just fancy talk for IOU's. In 1992, they did the same thing and the banks honored these (like checks) after the government promised to give them an extra 5% for their troubles. This time around, our banks are sucking just as bad so who knows what they'll do. Ridiculous.

This is probably old news for many of you, but I just watched a news blip online that reminded me that I needed to be pissed off. What the hell happened to us? Why did this happen? Why was I such an idiot to claim single and zero all year long, giving Arnold a bunch of my money that I now won't see for who knows how long! Grrrrr....!

All I can say is, BITE ME State of California. Arnold, you need to pull your troops together over a fat stogie, and figure this schat out.

Posted by Mommazilla at 11:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Go see it. More than worth the one hour and fifty-seven minutes you'll spend seeing it. Have your hanky ready.

Posted by Mommazilla at 11:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Starbucks finally listed to my whiny plea of reinstating the mocha peppermint coffee that I love so much. To show my gratitude, I ordered myself up a 20 oz. cup of nonfat, hold the whip, false happiness and ethereal feeling drink. While waiting for my freshly brewed cup of dew of the Gods, the gal at the window offered me a free sample of their new Gingerbread Chai drink. I'm not really a chai type of gal but when faced with a bargain or a freebie, a girl's gotta do what a girls gotta do.

I casually sipped my freebie, enjoying the initial burst of whipped cream and sprinkles. Not so bad. What was it about chai I didn't like? Was it to spicy taste? Different texture on my tongue? I couldn't remember at that point because I was thinking I might be an actual convert and decide to switch over to the dark side (or would that be the light side) of chai. I continued to sip away, thinking about how sophisticated I looked drinking up that yummy chai.

As I drank through the frothy layer of love I suddenly realized I was sucking down a hellish liquid that demonstrated to me what the floor of a lumber mill would probably taste like; turpentine, dirt, redwood shavings, and some man sweat. It was a total assault to my taste buds. I knew I didn't like chai - Hell, I don't even like gingerbread but still, I took that dang drink. I drank the whole mini-cup thinking that maybe, just maybe, the bottom of the drink might hold a secret taste of deliciousness. No such luck, it was pure ickiness the whole way down and surprisingly, back up due to the heinous heartburn it caused.

Did I learn my lesson? Did I learn that even a bargain costs something (like repeated memories of lumber mills caused by unrelenting burps)? Sure, maybe just a little - but the bargain high was sorta good while it lasted.

Posted by Mommazilla at 09:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

It's been quite awhile since I took the kids to the movies so I finally bit the bullet and loaded them all up last night for a little treat. Let me begin by saying that I normally do not go to the movies without another adult, preferably Hubby. The reason being is that I have two children with varying bladder capacities and one that thinks he needs to explore and play usher. The combination of peeing and wandering problems normally nip our fun time in the bud. I felt strangely brave (must have been the caffeine), and thought I'd perform a little family experiment to see how things would go on my own. Plus, at $8.25 for an adult (not counting stale popcorn, watered down soda, and hard licorice), it was nice to save a little bit of money.

After a brief argument over what movie to see, "Madagascar 2" won out by a few animal hairs over "High School Musicial 3." I breathed a sight of relief that the monsters settled on the latter because I just couldn't make myself sit through two hours of Zac Efron and Vanessa Hudgens ogling each other over cheesy songs. I really liked the first "Madagascar" so I had high hopes for the second.

When we got to the theater, I bought our tickets ($19.75 - ouch!) and then asked the kids to corral Gunny in the little arcade while I purchased their treats. Gunny was so excited to be at the "moobies" that he ran back and forth yelling to other moviegoers, "Hi guys! I Gunnah!" I urged the concession stand gal to move at hyper speed with a look of angst and she quickly got my order together. Meanwhile, I ordered Taters and C-dub to hold Gunny down in the arcade until I had a free hand that could grab him by the scruff of his neck. Yes, a little barbaric, but with two blankies, two movie packs, a small soda, a small popcorn and a handful of napkins ($15.25 - ouch again!) it was the best I could do. The other parents in line were sympathetic to my plight and held in their nasty comments until we were out of ear range.

When we finally got into the auditorium, I selected a seat that was as far away from other patrons as possible. This corner seat also allowed me to trap the kiddos in, allowing Gunny just a small area to navigate around since one and a half hours can be an eternity for a little person to sit. I arranged movie trays, spread out the blankies and opened straws, until everyone was content with their arrangements. I then settled back in and waited for the movie to start.

The movie was cute and had a little adult humor thrown in for the parents, hence my posting title, "Tune In Tokyo!". If you're not familiar with that saying, I strongly suggest you see the movie, "Girls Just Want To Have Fun" with a very young Sarah Jessica Parker and Helen Hunt. It will reconnect you with your 1985 roots and give you some great fodder for the upcoming office holiday parties. I just suggest you refrain from using "Tune In Tokyo" on your boss - or anyone who might want a successful sexual harassment suit lodged against you.

Overall, I would say that this would be a great movie for a DVD rental rather than forking over the big bucks at a movie theater. It definitely had some funny scenes and I have to admit that the hippo, Moto Moto, did bring sexy back in the flavor of a full-figured critter, but overall, it just didn't have the zingers the original movie had. If you can hit a cheap matinée and sneak in your own popcorn, it would probably be worth it. I remember as a kid going to see the movie "Popeye." My mom was able to smuggle in four sodas, candy, and a big brown grocery bag filled with homemade popcorn, so I know it can be done :-). Whatever you choose to do, have a wonderful time and enjoy the experience.

Posted by Mommazilla at 09:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

You just can't beat a preggo gal rappin' about Caribou Barbie. Priceless!

Posted by Mommazilla at 07:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

When Saturday morning hit, Sandruh and I attempted to hide from the light as best we could due to the major headache and nausea we were both sporting. Aunt D and her BFF Tif (who had flown in on a separate flight) had booked a morning of pampering at a spa, so they quietly crept out of the room, leaving us a note where they knew we'd find it (in the bathroom). Neither Sandruh nor I are much into the spa scene because we knew it would be really hard to bet at a Craps Table while getting a massage. Not sure if that would work.

When 11AM hit, we both decided it was time to slap on some more make-up and chew some gum. Once we were somewhat prettified, I decided to take Sandruh out and show her Vegas. This was my fourth time visiting so I felt pretty confident in knowing what sights I thought she'd like to see.

We started our adventure at the south end of the strip, beginning at to the Excalibur, New York New York, and MGM Grand. We caught the monorail at the rear of the MGM ($12 for an all day pass) and rode it to Bally's and then hit the Bellagio, Caesar's Palace and the Paris Hotel. It was a lot of walking but we had a plan due to awakening taste buds and a growling tummy.

It was buffet or "buttfet" time. Sandruh heard that the Paris Hotel was ranked as one of the top buffets so we made it our mission to get there. After walking about 50 miles, we made it to the buffet, starving and cranky. The line to get in wrapped around about three miles and there was a guaranteed 45 minute wait. Thankfully enough, like an oasis in the Sahara, there was a scrumptious little man selling $5 Bloody Mary's across from the buffet. Since Sandruh looked sort of faint, I promptly walked over and bought her one, complete with the egg-sized green olive and celery. We devoured our cocktails in line and encouraged a man, whom was in Vegas for a banking conference, to also partake amongst the adult beverages. He told us that he wasn't even a drinker (yeah right) but I can tell you that it didn't take much convincing to get him drinking.

Lunch was all that and a bag of chips. There were about a dozen different stations of different food items: steak, salads, crab, shrimp, pasta, breakfast items (it was brunch time), pastries, cakes, cookies, veggies, breads, soups, and the list goes on and on. Unlike Hometown Buffet, everything tasted different and delicious. We ate and ate and ate some more. We ate like the old days at King's Table. It was gluttonous and divine. My stomach and lower intestines ached with the expectation of - oh, I won't even go there. I think you get my point of how friggin' good it all was.

After rolling out the door of the buffet, we then decided it was time to wander and gamble. We also discovered the lovely little adult slushy stops so it made our sightseeing a little more interesting to say the least. It also made toy buying at FAO Schwartz a ton of fun. I've never had to put a daiquiri down so I could closer inspect a Barbie doll. What a trip. This store even had the huge floor piano like the movie "Big." Sandruh refused to re-enact the scene from the movie and I couldn't convince the four year old playing on it to get off and let the big girls have a turn.

Here's what we did do:

Sandruh felt up Cleopatra:

We saw the Eiffel Tower:

Donnie and Marie waved:

I saw my picture on a moving van several times. Talk about unnerving:

Met a Caesar who enjoyed talking about himself in the third person. But good Lord, those yummy thighs made up for his enlarged ego:

We ended up wandering around through Caesar's Palace for about two hours because our sense of direction just wasn't where it should have been. The alcohol on board certainly did not help either. Aunt D kept texting and calling us because she was worried we had been kidnapped by porn producers or recruited into some sort of nudey show. But no such luck. We were just intoxicated tourists who couldn't find their way out of a paper bag.

We eventually made it back to the Luxor, just in time to get ready for the NKOTB concert. It was a long, fun day, but there was so much more to come...

Stay tuned. I have so much to tell you about the concert it deserved it's own posting!

Posted by Mommazilla at 10:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Well, I'm back and I already want to go back, so I guess that's the sign of a great trip, right? Hell yes! We had a FABULOUS time - I can't even begin to tell you how much fun we had. My liver does hurt a little bit (I guess that's natural when it's regenerating) and my head is a little foggy still - but memories and bits and pieces of the weekend are coming back to me. It was truly the perfect way to refresh our motherly bodies and we're already planning our next girlfriend weekend.

In order to keep my thoughts straight and my memories accurate, I've decided to break my original long and rambling post into days, so here is my version of a our Friday in Vegas, strictly for your viewing pleasure and enjoyment:

My BFF Sandruh and I drove down early to meet Aunt D at the Santa Rosa airport. It's a great airport to fly out of if you're heading to Vegas because the rates are decent and the airport is tiny. For us hick girls, it was much more comfortable than SFO or LAX.

When we got to the airport, Sandruh and I were a teeny bit nervous about the flight so Aunt D convinced us we needed these to ease our nerves:

Sandruh was a little apprehensive about drinking before noon but Aunt D assured her that due to the veggies and fruit in the drink, that she was actually having the equivalent of a salad. So she drank it and ate the celery for extra nourishment.

We also tried to eat a little lunch while we waited for our plane. I ordered a Caesar salad and got this:

Yes, a head of lettuce, cheese, dressing, and croutons complete with a little Nemo thrown on top. It still makes me want to barf just looking at the picture.

When our plane was ready to depart, Aunt D was quick to point out that we hadn't finished our drinks because she wanted us to stay hydrated - with liquor.

When we finally got on the plane, all was well and the flight was smooth to Vegas. We were able to quickly find our luggage and in the process, we think we saw the singer, Mary J. Blige. She looked a little skinny, had super big glasses on, and dressed a little skanky, so we're pretty sure it was her. We were starstruck and forgot to take a picture but she looked a little pissed off so she may have punched us. We played it safe and just ogled.

After we left the airport, we took a taxi to our hotel, the Luxor. That's the hotel shaped like a huge pyramid.

Here's a pic of the cool interior:

And here's where our room was up on the 15th floor:

The hotel used "inclinators" rather than "elevators" to get you to your room. You rode it just like you would an elevator but this thing moved you like the glass elevator on Charlie and The Chocolate Factory - sideways and at weird angles. Every time I rode it, I seriously felt like Gene Wilder looked in that movie. It was a bizarre feeling that made you feel hungover even if you hadn't been drinking. At least that's what the sober Aunt D told us.

Our room was awesome. Everyone tells you to skimp on the room because you never spend any time in it, but I just don't agree. We spent the extra moolah and got a room with a spa. It was shaped like a four-leaf clover and was the perfect size to hang out with your friends in, even if you happened to forget your swimsuit and had to wear things not meant to necessarily swim or bathe in. Sorry, no pics on that one.

After we got cleaned up, it was time for some fun. Aunt D had the great idea that we eat at a place called "Dick's Last Resort." This funky little restaurant is in the Excalibur. The food was good and the service was well, interesting. The waiters and waitresses acted like a bunch of smart asses and gave us a ton of crap for just about anything they could think of. The good thing was that they expected it in return so we gave our waitress a proper dose back. They'll also make you special little hats if get a little tipsy enough to make an ass out of yourself. We didn't get a hat (not that I would have wore one) but a couple next to us did:

They also like to collect bras for the bar. And Spanx. Yes, I thought that was a little weird also:

We offered to make a donation but they didn't except Playtex Cross Your Heart bras. Haters.

Dinner was tasty but the drinks were the hit. I guess they're all about cutting back on doing dishes because the waitress made us drink our beer with a straw, straight out of the pitcher. What an eco-friendly gal she was.

And another pretty one that belonged to Sandruh:

After dinner, we did a bit of sight seeing. We saw Elvis:

Sandruh and I became severely dehydrated and had to hit the Daiquiri Bar at the MGM Grand. What a lifesaver those things were for Sandruh. She was so thankful that she held both drinks to her heart:

Sandruh found a show she wanted to go to and it wasn't involving a comedian or tournament:

Sandruh also learned that if your seat is covered in water at the "Thunder From Down Under" show, it's probably not for a good reason. Sandruh also learned that the Aussie fireman does not care who he gets wet during his performance or if he's ruining a hairdo and make-up that took hours to perfect. Nor does he care if the women sitting underneath him are thoroughly disgusted with the combination of baby oil and warm water being poured on them, staining their pretty clothes. Sandruh will not be returning to such a nonsense show in the future - at least not without her umbrella. Methinks she'll leave these types of shows to the solo 60+ year old gals with long fake fingernails, beehive hairdo and a raspy cigarette smoker's voice. Not sayin' that she was exposed to any of the above. Nor was I.

Sometime during the night, we may have seen the guitarist "Flea" from the Red Hot Chili Peppers. But that was after a few drinks so we're not quite sure. It was right about the time we were pricing tattoos at the "Starlite Tattoo Parlor." Thank God we realized $550 for a NKOTB tattoo on the butt wasn't such a good deal.

Here's a couple more gratuitous shots of our sightseeing adventure:

We finally made it back to our room around 2:30 AM. I think. Check back in for installment number II, where I'll talk about my new husband, Donnie Wahlberg. Aunt D took a scrumptious shot of my new man you definitely don't want to miss.

Posted by Mommazilla at 08:44 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

I'll be back Sunday night with lots of stories, photos, and probably a killer hangover. At this age, I don't hang so tough.

Posted by Mommazilla at 09:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

There was a horrific traffic accident yesterday on HWY 299. A little girl was killed as a result. She was only eight years old - the same age as my baby girl. When I first heard about this tragedy it hurt me to the core and I was instantly saddened. I don't even know the family but as a mom, I cried for her family and friends as they all lost a beautiful little person. I can't fathom the idea of losing any one of my kids like this.

I hesitate to even call this act of murder an accident, as two selfish drivers chose to race each other on this dangerous piece of highway. One of the bastards, driving a newer model silver Ford mustang with a black top, then "clipped" the little girl's vehicle, causing it to wreck and killing her. One of the selfish jerks crashed but the other coward, in the NEWER MODEL SILVER FORD MUSTANG WITH A BLACK TOP, fled from the scene presumably to go crawl back into the hole he or she originally came from.

The California Highway Patrol (707-268-2000) is asking for your help. They need to find this driver and vehicle. We all need to find it because this little girl needs justice. She could have been your daughter or mine. Give this family a start on closure by bringing this jerk to justice.

Again, they are looking for the following car:

NEWER MODEL SILVER FORD MUSTANG WITH A BLACK TOP. IT WILL POSSIBLY HAVE COLLISION DAMAGE.

Please help.

Posted by Mommazilla at 09:41 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Ok, now this is funny. If you missed it, take a look now because it's well worth your time. Gotta love a boner shrinker.

Posted by Mommazilla at 02:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Here's a neat site to discover new blogs and have yours reviewed:

Posted by Mommazilla at 07:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I think I'm missing my girl gene. You know, the little gene scientifically proven to make women love chick flicks. The one that causes appropriate tears during movies like the "Titanic" or "Steel Magnolias." I evidently was born without this estrogen rich gene causing me much grief in the girlfriend arena.

The other night was "Girlfriend Night" and a bunch of us met up and decided to go see "Mama Mia." You know, the movie with all the ABBA songs? All million or so of them? Not that I was counting after the 25th song. Everyone loved this movie. The people in the theater were laughing hysterically. One woman behind us sounded like a frickin' hyena everytime a middle-aged actress donned a spandex suit and broke into an ABBA song (which was practically every scene). I knew I was in trouble as soon as the opening scene hit and we were instantly thrown into a flurry of songs that I had once loved as a pre-teen. The cheesy acting and over the top dancing placed me firmly on the edge of insanity.

As I sat in my seat, slowly curling into the fetal position, I thought about crawling into my popcorn bucket and hiding under the stale styrofoam kernels. I even contemplated kicking my own ass for paying $8.50 and wasting away two hours of my life that I'll never get back. I was horrified that after only five minutes, my teeth were screaming from the amount of sugary sweetness being vomitted onto the audience. I wanted to go home. I needed to clean my psyche up with the Die Hard series or better yet, a couple of Rambo movies. I just needed something to balance me out and talk me off the ledge.

I won't bore you with the details of the movie and if I complain anymore I might actually develop internet stalkers from the vast amount of people who actually loved this movie; Such as the six or so girlfriends who looked at me with pure hatred when I quietly proclaimed my disgust of the movie. Talk about peer pressure...I thought they were going to hold me down and paint me pink in the parking lot.

I realize I'm totally in the minority and many people really enjoyed this flick. Good for you. But if your like me, and just didn't enjoy it, show some support. Us female lacking gene ladies (or I guess even men) need to stick together. On a side note, do you want to see a good movie? Check out Alpha Dog. Very intense but a good flick nonetheless. Just a warning, it may boost your testerone levels. For the guys out there subject to "Mama Mia," this maybe a good thing for you.

** Edited to add: I do love some musicals and I'm not a total un-cultured redneck momma. I'm a huge fan of Phantom of the Opera but my all time favorite musicial is "The Pirate Movie" with Kristy McNichol. Here's a couple of my favorite scenes and songs:

Best. Movie. Ever.

Posted by Mommazilla at 10:09 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

I saw you today - you're the lady in the red mini-van loaded up with kids. I watched you at the traffic light, stopped and waiting to turn into the grammar school. You used your blinker and were wearing your seatbelt. Awesome. You waited until it was safe to proceed and then slowly pulled into the parking lot. Good job. I also saw that nasty cigarette hanging out of your wrinkly mouth, with all the windows in your van rolled up. Not so good.

In January of this year, the Governator passed a bill outlawing smoking in vehicles where children are present. It seems sad that the state would need to step in and act as common sense for parents. But sometimes, you must protect children from the stupid - even if the stupid is their parent.

I have nothing against smokers; suck on that coffin nail, puff on on that cancer stick, lick that lung dart - just don't make your child participate in your nasty habit by exposing their virginal lung cavities to second hand smoke.

Posted by Mommazilla at 08:55 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Dear Neighbor,

Rather than go over and chew your frickin' head off, I thought I'd draft you a cheery little note to let you know how I feel about your current days' worth of celebrations. I know today was beautiful and sunny and there was a huge beer drinking event at the park that you and your fifty best redneck friends participated in. I can only imagine you wore your best jeans and pressed button down shirt and hell, you probably even showered and slathered on some Brut. But for chriminy's sake, let me slap you with a bucketful of sobriety for just a moment 'cuz there's some things we need to talk about:

Issue #1:

Yes, I would have liked, no probably loved, to have participated in the festival of beer lovin' but some of us have to work (and sleep) on weekends. So tell the little schat, who keeps honking his insanely loud horn that doesn't even match up with his rinky dink pick-up, that he's going to be eating the steering column the next time he honks. There is no need to honk to the tunes blasting out your single wide, most people just sing along and that works fine for me.

Issue #2:

No, I don't really like your music, especially when I can hear and feel it in my own house. And no, I really don't think you're that good of a singer even though you're belting out Hank Williams Jr. tunes at the top of your lungs. You're friends are lying to you. They think you suck too. The guy with the free beer is always king of the party.

Issue #3:

No, parking four-wheelers at the back of the beer drinkin' event rather than taking your hopped up 4X4 is not considered to be utilizing a designated driver. A drunk is a drunk and a vehicle is a vehicle. This manner of drunk driving does not make sense but again, I'm sober and my views maybe skewed. And thanks for not wearing a helmet as your flying down the street at 30+ miles an hour. I award you and your friends a Darwin award to share.

Issue #4:

If you place a tent in your yard, it is not considered to be an addition to your house. Therefore, you may take it down rather than leaving it up all year with a tarp as a snow roof. I fear if it stays up another year, the county of Humboldt may start charging you extra property taxes.

Issue #5:

Is it really that good of an idea to have a large bonfire with that many redneck drunks breathing on it and stumbling around? Any why must they sing until 4AM? Just remember, with a flick of a porch light, I will have my serenading roosters begin their morning choir practice as soon as I hear your drunken snores.

My sweet, dear neigbor, thank you for listening to my concerns. I truly love you and your buddies for just about 350 days out of the year but the other 15 days consist of me contemplating pushing your home (which still has wheels) into the creek to be washed away to another neighborhood. Take care.

Sincerely,

Mommazilla

Posted by Mommazilla at 04:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

Well, I had originally called bunk, hoping secretly I was wrong. Here's the link. Bigfoot is still safe after all these years.

Posted by Mommazilla at 07:53 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Here is your song...

Posted by Mommazilla at 06:12 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

As a mom of three, I was apalled and yet unable to stop reading this article. It's not for the weak of heart but it's well worth the heartache to read. I also found it a very strong reminder of why some people should not have children. Get your kleenexes and have your child handy because you'll want to hug them afterwards.

Posted by Mommazilla at 12:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I admit that I'm not a huge fan of the Olympics - probably because couch surfing and speed diaper changing have not been admitted as recognized Olympic events. I've casually watched the events from afar not really getting into any one event. However, some of the side stories have proven to be quite interesting and sometimes horrific:

* A maniac stabbed a US citizen and then killed himself.

* One of the US Beach Volleyball stars lost her wedding ring during an opening match. The sucker flew right off. Don't worry, they found it.

* Some of the fireworks were faked for TV viewers.

* Evidently, no matter how talented you are, if you just don't pass the cuteness test then tough luck. But don't worry, you can be lip synched with a person deemed cuter than you are. Gosh, and to think we were all so worried about this. Get a clue.

Here's a link to our current medal count. We're kicking ass and taking names. I look forward to the many more stories that will be coming out of this event and just hope they're on the positive side rather than the negative.

Posted by Mommazilla at 10:41 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I hate reading blogs that tend to run on the negative side and I've really struggled whether or not to let this blog have emotional explosions of negative verbal diarrhea. But, I’ve come to the conclusion that if you’re a regular reader of this blog, you’re more than likely armor coated and emotionally strong enough to handle any sort of runny crap I throw at you. Kind of like when you visit the monkeys at the zoo – just not so cute and noisy.

The doctor informed us that my dad has Stage 4 cancer. Evidently she knew this last time but failed to mention it. While we were drifting along on cotton candy clouds with gumdrops and butterflies, my dad's condition was severely understated to our family. Sure, the doc told us that there is still a 1% chance that this may be some sort of weird infection, but at least the elephant in the closet finally has a first name.

The whole appointment (with his doc) was premised by the office staff giving him a new order to get an additional lung biopsy. What?! (Insert major gasp here and a small bout of cussing I unleashed in the front office much to the dismay of Hubby). Evidently, the person who did the procedure did not get enough of the right cancerous tissue in order for the doctor to come to a final conclusion of what particular cancer dad is battling. As a visual aid to explain this, think of an egg frying in a pan. The white portion of the egg is the inflamed tissue surrounding the actual “cancer” of the egg, which is the yolk. This doc evidently wasn’t able to get any yolk. And guess what else? The doctor who did the biopsy is gone for a month and his replacement doesn't think he can do such a complicated biopsy due to my dad's tumors being camera shy and uncooperative. If this next biopsy doesn’t work, then they have to do a more invasive procedure where they actually scope him and go under the sternum area. Just thinking about it makes me hurt.

To add a little insult to injury; the doc tells my mom not to be a pest. Don’t call repeatedly asking for updates – we’ll let you know when we can. And certainly don't bother the oncologist too much because they'll drop you from their caseload. You annoy me - go die in peace. What?! I call bullschat. Have the courtesy to return a call the first time someone calls you. Don’t make sick people actively chase you down to confirm their appointments or to find out if they in fact, have an appointment. These calls may be annoying to you, but tough luck. This is a life you’re dealing with – have some common courtesy and mutual respect for your fellow human being and answer the damn call the first time it’s placed. Try to put a face on your “annoyance” and realize that you must be your own advocate in this state of “professional” healthcare.

If you’re still with me, let’s do some simple math on my dad’s cancer. The doctor initially thought something was going on around the month of April and he was finally diagnosed with lung cancer two weeks ago. During that three week time period, his four tumors doubled in size. Now, it’s been an additional two weeks since the last scan, and the doctor is talking another three weeks before he’ll even be seen by an oncologist. Hmmm…two plus three is five weeks…You do the math on the size of his tumors.

Essentially, what we were told today is that there is no way to speed up the medical system in Humboldt County because it SUCKS. I do not say this lightly when I tell you; do not get seriously ill in Humboldt County. In case you’re like me and didn’t know this, we hardly have any medical specialists in the area, especially in the field of cancer. The oncologists that we do have are treating patients all the way from Mendocino County on up to Brookings, Oregon, and from the sounds of it, they are extremely overworked due to the enormous amount of cases. They can’t help but treat their patients as a number because they don’t’ have the luxury to do otherwise. But my dad isn’t a number; he’s Grandpa D, the greatest grandpa in the world (next to Papa Tom, who in his own right is one of the greatest grandpas in the world).

This appointment helped me to quickly realize that my dad has zero chance of living a longer life should he decide to stay with the medical care provided locally. He’s being written off by a seriously lacking medical field and a fast growing cancer. He just doesn’t have the time and there is no way to speed up the medical system in Humboldt. I just can’t sit back and let three more weeks go by before he even has hopes of receiving some sort of medication.

This is where the Mayo Clinic in Scottsdale, Arizona comes in and our hopes were perked for a day. Our doctor explained that my dad could be seen there and within a week, could be diagnosed and placed on some sort of treatment plan. They have a tremendous amount of resources and they are specialized in the world of cancer. I know they can’t perform miracles but all I ask is just a bit more time and the doctor was quick to point out that as of this point, the ultimate outcome will probably be the same. Nice, I know – way to be positive Doc. My dad is too healthy to be this sick and I’d like to keep him this way.

We call the Mayo Clinic and guess what? Three weeks and then we'll see him. By the way, what sort of insurance does he have?

Successive calls to Stanford, UCSF, and even some place in Minnesota have proved fruitless; evidently the treatment of cancer must stick to rules that govern paperwork and insurance rather than practical applications of how tumors grow. My dad is dying and there is not a damn thing I can do to get the healthcare system to throw him a bone or at least shave off a week of waiting time. I really don't think I'm asking too much.

It’s just such a shame that a family tragedy has to wake me up to the fact that our healthcare system in Humboldt County is in shambles. We live in a gorgeous area of California but the beauty we have is not attracting qualified doctors to our area. The doctors we do have are seriously abused and tend to be overworked and this can only lead to problems for their patients. Primary care doctors need local specialists that can handle the caseload being referred to them; we shouldn’t all have to cross county or state lines in order to get help.

I don’t know what the answer is to this problem; but if you do, please share. It's going to take all of us to come up with a solution; I just hope we don't loose too many patients in the process. Especially not my dad.

Posted by Mommazilla at 05:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (13)

Hubby thinks I have officially lost it but I don't care. New Kids on the Block have reunited and I'm going to see them in concert - in Vegas to top it all off!!! My girlfriends and I are going to be hitting refresh on the 'ole keyboard first thing Saturday morning when the tickets become available online...I'm...so...ex...cited!!!!!!!!

In case you didn't know, I was their #1 fan back in the day of pegged pants and Aqua Net and I'm sure Donnie will remember me from the Exclamation scented letters I sent him by the dozen. Sure, he's married now and has a super receding hairline, but like I said in my counter, I'm going to preach polygamy and beg him to take me as a sister-wife. Hubby's all for it as long as I get a pre-nup and I'm sure my kids will love having a bonus dad. It's a win-win for everyone.

My girlfriends and I have the weekend planned to a "T"; NKOTB tramp stamp tattoos, new matching satin MILF embroidered panties and bras (ready to be thrown at our special NKOTB'er), and a coupla other things I won't mention in case we got any copycats lurkin' around the board. I know that Donnie is waiting for me but I'm not sure my girlfriends (sorry Dina and Sandra) are as secure in their belief that Joey is waiting for one of them. That's gonna be an ugly fight...

Here's my luvah back in dah dayz:

Here he is now...some of the NKOTB are kinda fugly, so I've prettied them up:

If you're an NKOTB fan, shout it out here! What's your favorite memory? Favorite song? Who do yah luv? Share my false preteen angst and excitement!!!

Posted by Mommazilla at 10:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (13)

and I'm sad, actually sadness doesn't even touch it. I've never had this sort of raw, gut kicking pain that seems to almost pulse with every breath I take. I want to scream, cry, and hug this person close but I don't want him to know how bad I'm actually freaking out inside. I need to be strong for him and my kiddos; I may be losing a dad but they're losing their Grandpa D.

The doc was great today, very compassionate and happy that we had filled her tiny room with the whole family. She said things like "four hot tumors," "fast growing small cells," and further testing involving "biopsies" and big "needles". I think I pretty much shut down and let me eyeballs burst as soon as I heard her say:

Yes, it's cancer.

The tumors he had three weeks ago have almost doubled in size since the first scan. They're aggressive little buggars and in normal circumstances, he'd be happy that his body was acting so young and virile. Unfortunately, it's the creepy little destructive organism that's being so active and destroying his lungs and invading his body.

She told us that further testing will tell us what sort of cancer he has. Yes, more hurry up and wait, but that elephant in the closet needs a name and she's going to find it for us. She assures us that the rest of his current PET (Positron Emission Tomography) scan looked o.k. and that it didn't appear any other areas of his body had been affected. When she said this, I kind of chuckled to myself as I had recently seen an episode on the TV show House where they talked about a patient having weird knee pain due to breast cancer cells that had spread. Who'd of thunk it? Those pesky little cells can travel and vacation in other organs. Good for them, bad for us.

So now we wait. The biopsy will tell us which form of cancer he has and how it should be treated. She's already informed us that because of the number of tumors, it's inoperable. If it's lung cancer, they have four to choose from. If it's anything else, then we'll have to wait and see.

I love my dad and consider him to be one of my biggest supporters - even when I've taken risks that he wasn't initially too fond of. He's been there to push me on and to call me back in, both as a kid and a grown-up. Most importantly, he's truly the bestest Bampa a kid could ask for, just ask Gun-Gun.

I hate waiting and seeing and I've pretty much explained that in previous posts. But, since time is not so much on our side anymore, the waiting and seeing portion seem to be a little less tolerable. Thanks for listening.

Posted by Mommazilla at 05:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (11)

Warning...this blog is going to be ugly. I am so frustrated and irritated with the Humboldt County Healthcare System that it's making me ridiculously pissed off. Rather than listen to the homicidal thoughts running through my head or the little voices telling me to get the Hell out of Humboldt and seek real medical care, I'm going to calm myself by venting to you, the unknown reader.

A very special person in my life has suffered a lifetime of lung problems. He's been told that he's had everything from asthma to aspergillosis (essentially fungus in the lungs) since he was a little kid growing up. Having worked a lifetime in the mills, you can pretty much come up with your own conclusion on the kind of crap he's been subjected to breathing in.

Almost three years ago, this person spent two weeks in ICU battling near death, due to severe lung problems. The night he was placed into ICU, he actually called us from his short stay hospital room to tell us that he thought he was dying. The nurses had instructed him to adjust his position in bed and essentially blew him off, not taking him seriously. You could practically hear the water and other garbage sloshing in his lungs as he struggled to breathe and tell us goodbye – just in case. We immediately rushed to the hospital in the wee hours of the morning until they finally admitted him and two wonderful respiratory therapists spent the following weeks sucking the junk out of his lungs. The ICU nurses were excellent and attentive but it was still the scariest two weeks of my life. I have never cried so much; I cried to the point of having no tears or snot. Sorry for the visual, but you get my point.

Flash forward to this month. He's starting to get some of the same symptoms again and this time we all take note and encourage him to go back to the doctor. They up his medicine, take away this medicine, and try this new medicine; nothing was working so they finally did some x-rays to confirm it wasn’t pneumonia. Thankfully, it wasn’t and they diagnose pleurisy (a painful inflammation of the chest wall - hurts like a buggar). He's not getting any better and goes back. Almost lackadaisically, they finally order him into a CT scan after a few more visits and he gets this call a few days later:

Hi, we got your results. There are spots everywhere on your lungs. You either have lung cancer or a very bad infection. It’s really 50/50 as of this point. Let's do some more tests.

What?! You drop the "C" word to a man whose parents died from cancer and then had two adult sisters battle cancer as well? This is not something we take lightly nor did he. So two weeks later, he finally gets in to have a more extensive scan. He's told that he'll have the results within two days. That was Monday. Hmmm...let's do the math...two days would be Wednesday? Sounds reasonable to me. Guess what? The results are in...and on the doctor's desk...but the doctor took the rest of the day off. What? Have another doctor in the same practice interpret the results? One of the other doctors who's seen him numerous times? Hmmm...again, sounds fair to me, but sorry, not going to happen. You have to wait until the doctor is in. I’m sorry if you’re scared and having nightmares that you might not see your family grow up. That’s just the way it is. Hurry up and wait, again and again.

So here we wait. Sitting on two and half weeks of the knowledge that someone we love may have the "C" word. Can't someone throw us a frickin' bone and just give us a yes or no? Can I please have some information so that we all can sleep through the night without nightmares of grief and loss?

I hate running on medical time frames. What if the police didn't make a felony arrest because they didn't share information with their fellow officers or want to take the time to do the case? What if classes were routinely cancelled in schools because teachers didn't share lesson plans with substitutes? Do you see where I'm heading here? No accountability. You are literally held by the balls in a small community when it comes to health care. For those that escape Humboldt, there are many options out there. Unfortunately for the rest of us, if you don’t have the funding, you’re stuck with Podunk time frames and neither here nor there attitudes. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of wonderful doctors, nurses, etc. in Humboldt County; but in this circumstance, I feel as though the entire system has failed him. Do anything, but just do something; that's all I ask.

I’m frustrated and I want answers. I’m tired of the fact that this person had received a lifetime of care provided by doctors whom I thought were the slight bit vested in his well-being. I guess I was wrong. He is just a number, and like the rest of us, must follow the insane and uncaring time frames set about in our crappy health system. All I ask is that medical care eventually turn back to where it should be; the patient. Please tell him if he’s got a fighting chance so he can start fighting again; the mental games he’s waging against this unknown illness are kicking his ass.

Alright, vent over. Back to gumdrops and butterflies.

Posted by Mommazilla at 06:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (9)

Hi! This is Heather with account services! This call is to let you know that our special offer of a low introductory rate on your credit cards is quickly expiring. Act now to secure the rate. Press "1" to speak with an operator.

I give my name and she asks how she can help me. I remind her that I'm on the National Do Not Call Registry and I want her company to stop calling me. The bitch hangs up on me.

This episode happened to me this morning and it's been happening around the Nation as well. My Caller ID tells me that the call is being generated from Miami, Florida and that the number is 305-758-9297. I answer it because for one, it's not an 800 number and two, I'm nosey.

You'd think after the third such call I'd get a clue but this morning's call just pissed me off. I was right in the middle of watching a great movie on the LMN (they're all great by the way - I'm so addicted to this channel - it's like reading romance novels in a two-hour period) when the phone rang and that all too familiar number popped up. I answered it, thinking that I'd ever so politely demand them to stop calling, and the above conversation ensued.

The more I thought about this episode, the more pissed off I became. I Googled the number and found information like this.

And this.

And one more.

I actually found a blog and website dedicated to Heather and her mysterious company:

Heather With Account Services

I went ahead and lodged a complaint with the FCC, in regards to the incessant calling, but in actuality, you know these jerks will never be caught. They are able to "spoof" the Caller ID system and so far, my complaints to Dateline are going unnoticed. I guess Chris Hansen would rather trap pervs than telemarketers.

These vial creatures are making thousands of these calls every day and I bet at least a quarter of them are producing fruitful results. Why else would they keep doing it if they weren't making money? Certainly it's not because they're lonely and likely to talk to a variety of different people around the nation. It's really sad how easy it is to get information off of credit reports nowadays, and how legit these scammers can sound to people who may be desperate or otherwise unknowing.

So please, if you get a call from Heather, tell her "hi" for me. And then hang up on her. Err.

Posted by Mommazilla at 11:59 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Dear ______ Checker,

I just wanted to sincerely thank you for the terrible customer service you provided me tonight. It was great to be in your line with 10 other people (including five screaming children) behind me and you not knowing how to do your job. Your equipment was not working correctly and unfortunately, I'm not well versed with ATM/Debit card machines so I couldn't help you more. Sorry 'bout that.

I understand that technological problems can and do occur and that sometimes things just can't be helped. But what really irked me was that you took the time to stop, turn around, and ask your teenage grocery bagger, what plans she had for the weekend - all the while I'm standing there, looking like an idiot. I don't give a flying flip if you two party together on Saturday night and then turn around and go to church on Sunday morning; your behavior pissed me off and inconvenienced me, the good customer.

I'm standing there for a reason. I've been shaking diapers out for three days and re-using mucousy Kleenexes as toilet paper. I can no longer water down the curdled milk for fear of more projectile diarrhea, and I've shaved the bread and cheese three times - just this week. Did I mention it was with the same knife since I have no dish soap left? And if I have to run my coffee grounds through the coffee maker one more day, Hubby said he'd leave me for a gal at Starbucks. I obviously have issues and can't fix your problems, too.

Don't ruin my domestic happiness by telling me that since your mother lovin' machine is down that I can't get my sale items for their advertised cheaper price nor can I use any of my credit or debit cards. That ain't my problem, find someone smarter than you to fix it. At this point, I don't think it would be difficult for you to find that person. Hell, I'll start pressing buttons if you think it'd help. But standing there, staring at me, rolling your eyes, girlishly giggling, and shrugging your shoulders isn't doing squat for either of us. The pounding vein at my temples isn't a normal occurrence nor is it very enduring to my Hubby who has to deal with a disgruntled wife.

In conclusion, I'm very thankful that your prepubescent manager, Doogie, was finally able to free himself from Nick at Night and come over to assist you. It's amazing how he could fix everything and make me happy with only the touch of a few buttons. I hope you were watching because the person behind me looked a little bit pissed off, too. And thanks for calling me "ma'am" when you finally got my transaction completed. The word torked me but the insincere sacharine syrupy way you said it, was only to specifically remind me that I wasn't wearing make-up nor had combed my hair that day. At least I wasn't wearing my housecoast and cutesy rabbit slippers...you woulda ended up with a fuzzy bunny protuding from your rectal cavity.

Regretfully Yours,

Mommazilla ~ The Angry Suburban Housewife

Posted by Mommazilla at 03:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Each year, I'm faced with the quandry of whether or not to take the kidlets to the local Easter Egg Hunt. Do I take them to the event that draws nearly five billion people to one small area in the hopes of finding less than a couple hundred eggs? Should I really expose them to the parents who choose to hunt the eggs for their little Betty Sue or Johnny rather then letting them do it themselves? Would it be wise for my blood pressure to see my children in tears at the fact that they only got one hardboiled egg, and it was smushed?

My vote is a resounding...no.

This particular Easter Egg Hunt sucks eggs (literally) and I boycotted it last year. I'm sure they noticed my absence because I was really trying to make a statement about their overall suckiness.

Ever since I had my oldest, I had made it a point to bring her to the Hunt each year after she began walking. Initially, it was cute to follow her around while she picked up eggs, licked off the dirt, and then dropped them half eaten into her basket. As she grew and advanced into the older area, my husband and I found ourselves hearing parents prepping their children as if they were going into some sort of sporting match.

Evil Mommy: You see that, Betty? There's a whole patch of eggs over there and one looks plastic. It's a PRIZE egg.
Betty: Yeah Momma. I sees it. Watsa pize eggie for?
Evil Mommy: It's the bestest prize! You really want to get one, right?
Betty: Yeah Momma.
Evil Mommy: Then listen very carefully...As soon as they so go, you fake right, then go left...Can you do cartwheels yet sweetie?
Betty: Watsa carted wheel Momma?
Evil Mommy: That's OK honey, just do a somersault for Momma, right in front of that boy who looks like he's fast. He might fall down but that's ok 'cuz you'll get to the eggies sooner. K, sweetie pie?
Betty: O'tay Momma.

And off they'd run. The parents would be screaming from the sidelines, encouraging their little ones on and yelling at any cheater parents who crossed the lines to help their child locate eggs. It was just ugly and each year, Taterbug would come home frustrated and crying. Because of that, we hadn't even thought of going to another one until this year.

Taterbug and C-dub heard their little buddies talking about the eggstravagant hunts at the park and eggcellent prizes that one could find. When they came to me with their little hopes and dreams I quickly reminded them of what it would be like.

Too many people.
Too many cheating parents.
Tears and dirt.
A handful of plastic eggs with Dollar Store prizes.
A park full of squished eggs reaking of sulfur fumes.

And they still wanted to go. So we've settled on a plan for this year. Rather than take them to this huge obnoxious event, we settled on a smaller hunt in neighboring town. Yes, the kids may still need to throw a few elbows and maybe they'll even have to wrestle for a prized egg, but at least I know that the tears and sad feelings will be minimized. And if they aren't, well, I'll just cancel Easter egg hunting next year, if not Easter.

In conclusion, I'd like to offer a few suggestions of Easter Egg Hunt etiquette for those parents who decide to partake amongst the festivities and bring their children to an American tradition:

* Two-way radios, cellular phones, and PDA's are not allowed on the course. Your child is perfectly capable of finding their own eggs without your technological assistance.

* Do not "brief" your child prior to the hunt. Let them find their own eggs, before and after.

* Be nice to the competition. Don't send innocent children off to neighboring yards, fields, forests, highway dividers, etc., promising them that "the good eggs are over there." That's just evil and big time negative Karma points.

* Easter Egg hunts are supposed to be fun; colleges, universities and future employers do not care how many eggs your children find. Relax.

* The "Parental Line" is set-up for a reason. Have some parental restraint and don't be an ass of an egg jockey, selecting prize eggs for your children's psyche. They really don't care - as long as they get candy.

* Spend the $1.49 at Target and buy your brat a real Easter basket. Those Safeway plastic bags really don't set the mood.

* And finally, do not force your child to sit or stand with the high school student wearing the stinky Easter Bunny costume. Those vacant eyes, scratchy hair, and matted bunny tail are sure to inspire at least a half dozen killer rabbit nightmares. Who really wants to look at pictures of screaming children and a put-off bunny?

Follow my advice and I'm sure you'll be a much happier parent and have an extremely satisfied child. See you Saturday!

Posted by Mommazilla at 09:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

If you have an e-mail account, you've more than likely received one of those bogus letters claiming that:

1. You've won a gazillion dollars in a world wide lottery.
2. A Prince in Africa needs you to help him access his money - and you'll get a hefty cut.
3. Your PayPal, e-Bay, Bank of ??, has been compromised. Oh no! Type out your credentials here, and do it quick!

Hopefully, you already realized that all three of these situations are total malarky and were created by deceptive scammers trying to get ahold of your hard earned money and even worse, personal information. I would estimate that I receive between three and five of these e-mails a day, and some of them are just hysterical to read. Obviously, the whole concept of proper English in an official business letter is not really appreciated.

I recently watched a very interesting show on Dateline called "To Catch an ID Thief." The pervert hunter, Chris Hansen, actually worked with expert computer hackers to infiltrate into the computer hacking and scamming system. They showed how quickly (less than a minute normally) that someone could sell your information and then it be used to buy things that you'd never get the benefit of.

He then followed the purchased items to their recipient(s) and it clearly showed some of American's finest - at least America's most gullible. Two single moms with a plethora of kids were both engaged to "Paul" in London. They would receive these essentially stolen items and then mail them to their fiancé in London where he would sell them in his store. Guess what? Yeppers, they met Paul on the Internet and never had seen him in person. He even sent each woman identical pic's. You can almost guess that he has other intended "wives" scattered around the USA.

The second story focused around a real winner of an older man with a very strong lisp. He was receiving the stolen items and then mailing them to his Australian model girlfriend, "Wendy." Wendy sent him numerous model type shots and he fell hook, line and sinker. He estimated that he spent close to $40K on mailing costs because of course, Wendy, assured him that he'd be reimbursed. And he get some bonified lovin' in the end.

These two tales were just a sampling of what I saw but it was so fascinating to watch it played out. I didn't get to watch all three parts yet but I know that at one point, Chris Hansen ends up in Africa, confronting the actual genius behind some of the scams. Interestingly enough, Fox News had a story on this same topic and it actually kind of tagged on to where Dateline ends. It introduced a website where members actively scammed the scammers. These potential victims put the scammers through their paces and then laughed about it in the end when the scammer looked like an idiot and the victim still had their personal information safe. Kind of cool, huh? I perused through the site and find it quite amusing - especially some of the pictures of the scammers holding up various signs that their "victims" had asked them to do. The site does have some profanity and some make take offense, so read at your own discretion.

I don't personally think it's the best idea to "play" with scammers. First of all, I'm paranoid. And second of all, I'm not that computer savvy to think that I could totally protect my location, information, etc. But it is very interesting to read about those who do so successfully. Take a gander at the sites that I've provided. What's the funniest e-mail scam you've received?

Posted by Mommazilla at 11:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

My daughter attends a wonderful school with outstanding teachers and staff. She looks forward to going to school each morning and adores her teacher. But there is a problem. A big problem. This school has one of the worst parking lots I've ever had to park my 1976 Ford Granada in (two-tone brown paint job if you were wonderin'). One of it's main problems is that it's just not big enough to encompass the teachers, staff, and parents who need to use it in a daily basis. And now, some very cute Bob the Builder type construction workers are currently working on a large project in the playground area and feel the need to steal our valuable parking spaces. On a side note, they did have a variety of different equipment and vehicles - much to the delight of C-dub who's mesmerized by cement trucks and forklifts.

We all agree the parking lot is already a madhouse because of it's layout, but add the construction and overall bad driving of some parents, and you have a freakin' nightmare before and after school. Today, I had the unfortunate opportunity to be at the wrong place but at the right time, and I saw something that irked me to no ends. Most parents understand that if you do not arrive early enough at this place, you will be forced to park on the street. Heaven forbid you have to unleash the three kids and then walk in to pick up your fourth, fifth and six child, but it happens to the best of us and it’s a good lesson learned. However, today showed me that laziness is alive and well in this world and that common sense sometimes takes a back burner.

Unless the laws have changed and nobody bothered to notify DMV, the handicapped/disabled parking places are meant for people who either have an appropriate disabled plate or placard in their window. It's a little right that this person has applied for and received. Most importantly, it's the LAW! You can be fined up to $500 for violating this code and you seriously rack up a bunch of negative ethical Karma points. Some need those points more than others.

To the two ladies who decided to park in the disabled spots today, sans any plate or placard, I don't really give a flying flip how many kids were in your vehicle or how quickly you were planning on leaving, you were in the wrong. Shame on you and the message you were giving your kiddos. Ignorance is no excuse and I just wish I would have had the forethought to at least write down your plate number so that you could have gotten a friendly reminder letter from the local police department. Maybe you did have a placard and just forgot it…too bad cuz I doubt that you did. Just follow the law - not to mention common civility - and we’ll get along famously. And, I won’t let the air out of your tires when you’re not looking.

For those of you anal readers who (like me) enjoy solid facts and conclusions, here's a link to our vehicle code in regards to this area:

California Department of Motor Vehicles

Additional Facts

Posted by Mommazilla at 03:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I was feeling especially cantankerous this morning when I got my coffee and rather than having verbal diarrhea of the mouth, I decided to compose myself on paper via laptop. I recently read that a not so local coffee chain recently underwent training on how to better make their coffee and grind their beans - yeah for them. The kicker is that along with this training came role playing sessions on how to better create small talk with their customers. While I truly appreciate the efforts they are taking in improving the flavor of my false happiness in a cup, I could care less if my own personal coffee guru knows how to properly ask me about my day, children, marriage issues, or even occasional bouts of spontaneous verbal assaults towards awkward participants of stilted conversations.

I’m in their drive-thru at 5:30 AM for one reason, and one reason only; to make my world a better place by injecting myself with two to three shots of liquid gold (a.k.a. caffeine). In case they didn’t notice, I normally don’t choose to get up at that indecent hour, but the person who signs my check says it's a good time so I play their game accordingly. I am kind and courteous to the people who take my order but then I just want them to go away. Shut the sliding window…Walk back to the counter…And make my freakin’ coffee before I seriously lapse into a coma due to lack of appropriate caffeine levels! Argh!!! Even if that’s not your job, give positive words of encouragement to the person who is making me my happiness. Egg them on into quick espresso completion! Don’t try to hold my dismal attention by asking me where I’m going or what I plan on doing today. Remember, this is pre-caffeine surge and not post – your answers will greatly differ and I’m sure you’d prefer the latter. We don't need to start a relationship or even become BFF's, I just want my coffee - yesterday, rather than now, for that matter.

Ultimately, while I do appreciate good customer service and I will pay more for a friendly face rather than a grumpy one, I do not need to be coddled or entertained while I’m waiting for the precise thing that makes me accept life as it is. You already have greeted me and you have my money. You took my last four dollars so I can't spend anymore. And I promise that I’ll come back within a few days for my next cup. You just better make sure that you tell me good bye when I leave or I might consider this to be a deal breaker.

In summary, dearest coffee person, I promise you that I'm fine sitting or standing, just waiting for my positivity in a mug. We don't need to have stimiulating conversation for me to enjoy my coffee that much more. Besides, sometimes you look a little weird trying to make up things to say. Maybe even like your in pain and surely that's not the case or I don't really want you touching my coffee. And remember, I live with two screaming bamboons and one laughing hyena, and you’ll see why I consider silence to be golden.

Posted by Mommazilla at 11:55 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

When I was a little girl, I used to ride the bus home after school. Each day we'd pass by this big, enchanting tree that would yield beautiful yellow blossoms every year. The branches would lag down due to the weight of the gorgeous yellow blooms and I remember thinking that the tree looked like someone had splattered it with sweet butter. It looked heavenly and smelled even better. I even learned later it had an equally magnificent name. It was called an Acacia tree and I thought that name sounded like floral royalty.

One day, as the bus was passing this tree, we were forced to stop for a passing car. As we were waiting, one of the branches poked in through my open window and I was able to pull off a sliver of the tree containing hundreds of these beautiful buttery blossoms. The sweet honey smell was overwhelming and I just knew that my mom was going to be so excited that I had picked her a gorgeous piece of floral goodness. The bus driver didn't look to thrilled because my prize was oozing yellow dust all over myself and my seat. She appeared to be very happy when I finally exited the bus, branch in hand. I skipped all the way home even somewhat resembling Laura Ingalls-Wilder floating across the prairie grasses to her own "Ma" and "Pa."

When I got home, my mom immediately noticed that I had brought her a gift. However, her reply wasn't what I had expected. I remember her yelling at me, "Get that thing outta here! That's Acacia and you'll kill your father!" (dad happens to be an asthmatic and have a lot of allergies - oops), as she ripped the branch from my startled hand and pitched it out the backdoor. She then commenced into a sneezing fit all the while trying to mop up the the fallen pollen that was still floating in the air and taking up residence in the livingroom. Later that night, after the initial sadness and rejection eased up, I also developed allergy type symptons and felt genuinely miserable, mad at myself for trying kill my entire family with one tree branch.

Welcome to March in Humboldt County. It's one of the most beautiful times of the year; all the fruit trees and flowering bushes are starting to bloom and the sun is finally starting to peek out from the clouds. But alas, with beauty comes trouble in the form of painful and irritating allergy symptons. To many outsiders, they think it's the good 'ole Humboldt crud. For the rest of us, the beautiful layer of yellow dust coating our cars and houses are self-explanatory.

During this time of year, I'm making weekly Costco runs for cheap Kleenex and my kids have learned to tell me if their sneezes are "dry" or "wet" (a.k.a. do you need a hankie or not?). And to the outside commentator, no it's not Pink Eye; it's nature's way of playing a joke on all the exposed membranes in my body. My eyes love feeling red and itchy and the watery discharge is just a bonus perk. To top it all off, my husband recently found out that I was having a nightly affair with a man named Zyrtec but he's learning to be ok with it because I did dump Cruddy C. I'm glad he's not a jealous man :o).

To all those out there suffering along with me, good luck. If you have a cure all, please do share. But in the meanwhile, Wallyworld carries a 30 day supply of my man "Z" for about $18. Happy sneezing!

Posted by Mommazilla at 10:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I periodically check in on this blog in the hopes that I may have received a comment or to re-read something I had previously written, especially if Uncle R is whining about making him look like a wuss (sorry-there are just some things in life I can't make look better...I'm not a miracle worker!). When I checked today, I discovered that someone had in fact, left me a comment. My heart did a little flitter slop and the butterflies (who normally lie dormant in my heartburn filled stomach) came to life in an array of acidy beauty. And yes, all Bloggers get this frickin' excited when people leave comments. If they deny it then they're a big fat liar or they've been doing this a lot longer that I have.

I nervously clicked the comment and opened my eyes to revel in its purity and opinion. In bold, 12 point font, I read a link containing several words that you will never see on my blog: If I liked to hunt with Chuck or play with a girl named Delores while accidentally looking up her skirt then things would have been a happier place for Rex (if you haven't figured it out already, substitute the bold words with their dirty and semi-dirty rhythming counterparts). OK, OK, I'm so not a prude nor do I take offense to trucker language, but geesh, don't post a frickin' porno link on a family oriented blog, people!!!

I'm guessing that either a very lonely person or a pervo computer porn bot program more than likely left this comment but never the less; I was a little pissed about it. Unlike the spam folder in my e-mail, where Sperminator, Viagra, and various other body part building concoctions can come to rest and eventually die (can you say DELETE!), I have to read these comments and delete them myself. On the other hand, I guess in a weird sort of way I should be thankful that all sorts of different types of people are reading my blog, and some are enjoying it enough to leave comments (disgusting as they may be). I made it big time, thanks to my special porn friend.

To whoever posted this link, I do appreciate you being concerned about my sexual health and that of my hubby's. But, please remember that I'm a mom of three and now that hubby and I have discovered what causes children, we just don't do it anymore.

Posted by Mommazilla at 05:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

If you've ever cruised a social networking site (Myspace, Facebook, etc.) then you're probably very familiar with the dilemma I've posed in this blog: social networking false advertising. I'm talking about the person who posts a wonderfully glamorous picture to entice the reader into their page, only to have the reader left stumped after looking at the rest of the photo album and reading the author's profile. Is this the same person? How old is that picture? Who the heck is sending me these messages and can they trace the ISP to my house?!

Uncle R and I have had numerous conversations about this topic and I've been faced with the uncomfortable situation of having to help him dump too many mendacious (I added a new word to my dictionary) women, since he normally can’t come up with any suitable words of ending type endearment. In order to rectify this situation, he and I have come up with a list of helpful hints to the new (and old) user of such social networking sites:

* Do not use your high school senior portrait unless you are truly still in high school. If you are over 20 years old, I can almost guarantee you that this sort of picture will peg you as a wishful thinker (liar). These photos might also be to your detriment in that the bangs that were cool in the 80's are not making a comeback.

* Do not use post pictures of your last drunken stupor (also probably taken in high school). Remember, only a drunk thinks a drunk looks good. Vomit, drool and urine stained jeans are never a good sign nor do they scream sexy.

* If you have children with a questionable person, make sure that you're significant other has a signed note on file indicating that they approve of you dating, so that a potential restraining order can be averted. A "Baby's Daddy" permission slip, if you will. It can be easily posted in the "Interests" section.

* In order to verify age of photography authenticity, hold up a current paper, with the date clearly showing, next to your cheery, un-Photoshopped face. Any age is fine, as long as your truthful about it.

* On the topic of Photoshop, any pictures altered with this program must show a before and after, with a date.

* When using programs such as Myspace, post urinalysis results indicting negative drug usage at time of profile formation, directly under the "current mood."

* Under the urinalysis results, a DNA swab results section would be extremely helpful in verifying that your family tree does in fact branch appropriately. You can link to this in your "I'd like to meet" section.

* Finally, a complete health work-up (including a battery of STD tests) and a wrinkle count by a licensed dermatologist, to be posted in your "About Me" section.

The above recommendations are only a sampling of requirements we feel are necessary for these sites and should be mandatory for all users, male or female. It's not that we don't support the occasional cougar or milfalicious female, but at least make life fair in the playing field and do not promote the spreading of fictitious information. Uncle R is the epitome of cougar bait, and has several friends that are as well. Please help them by helping yourselves; support truth telling in all online communities.

Posted by Mommazilla at 05:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I've never been one to enjoy commuting to work but the drive to Eureka is something I can usually tolerate with a little caffeine and some good tunes. It's normally not an unpleasant drive as long as the wildlife population hasn't decided to commit a mass suicide with the highway clean-up crews celebrating an extended vacation. However, some person or persons, more than likely a lot more heavily college edumakated than muah, has discovered the perfect way to ruin my daily drive and make me dread commuting. It's what I like to call the "14 Miles of Angst."

I'm talking about the lovely highway median project between Fortuna and Eureka. It's supposed to keep our roads safer by placing a solid median between the north and south running highways. In theory, it's a brilliant idea and should keep people safe; however in reality, it's a pain in my ass and I'm so sick of the slow progression it's taken. Seriously, did Cal Trans really need to block off 14 miles of roadway, ALL AT ONCE?!!! I'd like to think that an engineer actually wrote "4 miles" and then, due to an errant piece of his lunch landing on the plans, a "1" was accidently added. That surely sounds more reasonable than a person actually thinking this was a good idea.

After doing a quick, rather unofficial tally vote over a couple of Hot Toddies, the resounding vote (from my professional friends) was NO! We want our highway back and we want it back now. My normal 15 minute commute now takes at least 25 minutes. It's always my luck that I get stuck behind the person that wants to drive 45 mph to be "extra special safe" and in front of the jerk that wants to get to his destination 15 minutes ago. Every morning, I feel like I'm in an evil traffic sandwich and I can feel my blood pressure pulsating in my temples. I think I have peeled most of my steering wheel cover off and what's left has been severely picked at.

Now don't get me wrong, we do need this sort of median. I know that I don't want my family to be hit by the wayward driver and I certainly don't want anyone else to be subjected to the pain and loss of a nasty highway traffic accident. But again I ask, 14 miles? Why not 2 miles at a time? OK, how about 3 miles? Maybe I'd even consider 4 miles, but I think you see where I'm going here.

It's been more months than I can count, but I did notice the other day that they were painting the new median so that the cement rocks appeared to have more depth and texture (I guess, unless it was some sort of sealant and I totally missed it). I'm hoping that once Van Gogh or Michelangelo has had their fun, they'll pitch those steroid loving orange rubbermaid cones into the trash and once again set our highway free.

Posted by Mommazilla at 04:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I've asked this question to many of my mommy friends and have yet to receive a solid answer...When does hygiene kick in for kids? When will they want to smell good? When will they get embarassed if their hair isn't combed and contains bits of shrubbery from the weekend storm? When will they care if their breath smells like the butt of a dead horse? I preach, yell, sweet talk, finagle, buy the newest singing toothbrushes (Tooth Tunes, total waste of money by the way), and make outlandish statements of a promised allowance should they just choose to clean themselves up. But hence, it's been all to no avail.

Currently, I have a five year old son that would prefer to change his underwear four times a day rather than wipe his stinky little butt. The eight year old daughter takes pride in having "onion pits" and almost dreadlocked hair. The two year old, well, he still fishes in the toilet and eats off the floor, so I guess hygiene is a mute point with him. I just finally got hubby to stop shaving over my toothbrush and leaving me bits of hair to later gag on, so I shouldn't push my luck.

The only option I have at this point is to wait them out. I guess if you look at it, we're saving a fortune on soap, shampoo and toothpaste, since it seems like I'm the only one currently using these products. But alas, I will continue on in the hopes that the hygiene fairy will eventually shake her magical little cleaning wand on my three stinky angels.

Posted by Mommazilla at 04:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)