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 (11)

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 (10)

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 (3)

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)