Rolling Thunder

Hubby and I participated yesterday in Rolling Thunder. Although touted by the media as a "tribute to all veterans", the actual function of Rolling Thunder is to bring full accountability for POWs and MIAs of all wars, and reminding the government, the Media and the public that "We Will Not Forget".

We started our adventure at our chapter: Old Glory Harley Davidson where we volunteered to carry a flag (Washington State, since that's where hubby is from), and then sat around and waiting for the procession to begin. We would have a full police motorcycle escort from Old Glory down to the Pentagon, which is totally freakin cool. Anyone that has ever driven on 295 South knows what a nightmare it is, well, not with a police escort it isn't. All entrances to 295 were blocked for us by the various motorcycle police officers to ensure we had the whole road to ourselves. To those of you who were inconvenienced by this... suck it up.

We arrived at the Pentagon around 8:45 am, parked in one of the MASSIVE almost full parking lots there, and then proceeded to wait, and wait, and wait. The procession doesn't start until noon, so there was a lot of waiting, but to bide the time, there were also a lot of good vendors, relief agencies, educational booths, free water and crackers, vendors selling food (tasty foods), selling commemorative t-shirts and patches and all sorts of stuff. Plus, there was the camaraderie of a lot of good and decent people, with common interests, common beliefs, and good stories to pass the time. THANKFULLY there was also plenty of sunscreen, but sunscreen can only do so much. I have to say that the highlight of the waiting was the misting booths that the fire departments had set up, where you could walk into a tent and get gloriously cold mist sprayed on your entire body. AAAAH!

Go here for some pictures of the event and the actual ride.

There is also a great video out there that shows all stages of the ride.

Anyhoo, so we waited and waited and waited, and finally, around 2pm, it was our turn to head out into the streets of DC. Seeing the crowds of people lined up to watch, waving American flags, cheering, waving was awe inspiring and brought a tear to the eye. People on the sides would hold out their hands and riders would low five them (as the passenger, we did some of that, swooping in close enough to reach hands). Seeing the Army soldier and Marine standing in the middle of the road saluting is very touching as well. They stand there the entire time (the parade takes about 4 hours before all bikes make it through). The whole thing just flies by in a blur and much too soon, its over.

Most of the bikers parked in designated fields to stay and watch concerts or walk through the city. We bailed and headed back home as the pups had been locked up for longer than they normally are. Once we got some rest and sprayed sunburn relief stuff all over us, we went out to Rita's for some soothing custard.

It was very refreshing.

Frappucinos with Vroomy Man

A while back I met hubby at Starbucks after he went on a long, relaxing motorcycle ride, leaving me home to cook, clean, and clear 40 acres with a paring knife.  Ok, fine, I was napping, shut up.

I was cruising through twitter and saw the news that Bret Michaels, front-man for the '80's group Poison, was on death's door and not expected to live.  I would just like to say that I have no idea how the guy signs his name to things.  My name is long enough, but I can't imagine trying to fit: Bret Michaels front man for the '80's group Poison on everything.

Anyhoo, I found an article that explains why BMFMFT80GP was on death's door.

Me: That lead singer for Poison is on death's door.
Vroomy Man: I thought he was dead already.
Me: no, not unless by dead already you meant like 15 minutes ago, which may be the case because this news item is an hour old.
Vroomy Man: no, like years ago
Me: you must have been thinking about his career
Vroomy Man: yeah probably.
Me: he had a subarachnoid hemorrhage
Vroomy Man: Well, those spider bites can be dangerous
Me: um, no... he's bleeding at the base of the brain
Vroomy Man: well, I'd be more worried that the spider laid eggs there
Me:

General Rambling

Listening to a Talking Heads song "Stay Up Late", David Byrne mentions "cute as a button". I wondered where that came from and just what the hell does it mean.

So, I looked it up on the inter webs. WikiAnswers thinks it came from some moron that was talking about a button quail, and then showed me a picture of a penis. Ok, it didn't, but apparently the Wiki is having all sorts of issues where contributors (meaning anyone with half a brain, or no brain at all) can provide content that other people (meaning anyone with no brain) actually take as gospel. You can go look that whole fiasco up on your own, as the iPad blogger interface I have is incapable of allowing me to link interesting stuff in my post, and I'm generally way too lazy to fix it in "post production" meaning: after I hit a button and upload it. I hope they fix that soon.

Back to the whole button conundrum. Another reputable (because they said so) place said it was a saying about an actual button, because buttons are cute. Of course, their opinion may be a bit jaded as that explanation came from the button fetish site.

Since nobody really knows where it came from or what it really means, I think we should stop saying it, because it could actually be some kind of code word used to revive brain eating zombies, and the next person you say that to could leap up and rip your skull off. I'm just saying. Don't blame me if you get your skull ripped off.

There's a new iPhone application out that lets you find sex offenders for free. Thank gawd, because whenever I needed a good sex offender, I got tired of paying for the application to find them. You can never find a good sex offender when you need one.

Lastly, I don't know if you've ever seen the movie "LA Story", and if you haven't, you should. Its pretty stupid, but it mocks LA and from what I hear, it mocks it pretty well. There's a part where a traffic sign writes to Steve Martin's character and tells him things to do, once again proving that everyone can get Xanax but me.

Anyhoo, on the way to our usual Starbucks there is one of those solar powered information signs on the side of the road. I'm thinking that either its got issues, or the person typing in what it needs to say has issues because its never... really.... normal.

One day it said TERROR, then gave a 1-800 number. Just one screen that said TERROR, next screen 1-800 number. Hmm. Is it telling me that around the curve there is terror, and I should dial that number. Is it telling me that if I want some terror, I should call the 800 number, or if I see some terror to call the 800 number. I'm thinking that if I actually saw some terror I would probably dial 911, because years of constant bombardment of the number has me trained to dial it for things like terror. I couldn't possibly memorize the quickly flashing and long 800 number while I drove (let alone write it down, because if I can't dial my damn phone and drive without getting a ticket, I'm pretty sure dragging out a piece of paper and pen to write down an 800 number is right up there with a fine), but I wonder if I actually did dial 911 and reported terror, would I be told to dial the 800 number, or do they have the capability to just forward me to the 800 number. These things concern me, as I always like to be prepared for terror, and know what number to call if I see it, or want to order some.

Yesterday the sign said something different, leading me to believe that terror was gone, so I could relax. This time it said: Click it, or... highly enforced. Hmm, no clue there.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Frappucinos with Lobsterman

Recently hubby went on a motorcycle ride to escort World War II veterans to the war memorial (his group does it every time there's a flight of veterans).  It was hot and sunny.  He didn't (as usual) put on any sun screen.  We later met for Starbucks (as usual).  Here is that conversation.

Me: You got a bit of sun today, I see.
Hubby: yes
Me: Probably should have put on some sun screen.
Hubby: ya think?
Me: that's gonna hurt tonight, guess I can expect you to scream like a little girl every time I roll over and bump into you.
Hubby: yes, but I don't scream like a little girl
Me: right
Me: oh crap, I've stepped in some dog poo, give me your straw so I can scrape it off
Hubby: use your own straw, its right in front of you.  Besides, I'm going to use mine to dribble cold frap onto my blistering skin

Married life quality time.

Sh*t That Don't Work

The kitchen sink has been around forever, like since the 1920's and are you telling me in all that time NOBODY has ever invented a freakin kitchen sink plug that actually PLUGS????

The crap plugs they come with are a joke, I mean seriously, do they actually think they can give you something that never screws in right, drains the water if its not just perfectly set in there, and by the time you get the freakin thing in there you're so pissed off  especially after finding out that all that fidgeting and messing around STILL DIDN'T GET THE THING TO PLUG UP THE FREAKIN SINK!

Yeah, so apparently adding additional holes in the sink doesn't help either, but it does feel good.

Please note: no sinks were harmed in the making of this blog post, nor would I waste perfectly good ammo on a sink.

Take the Challenge

I was a bit horrified when I saw the latest Activia commercial where Jamie Lee (this is the only gig I can get) Curtis is asking people to send in their videos about their experience with Activia (the poop yogurt).

The actual commercial aired one viewer's video, and thankfully it was pretty stupid.  I totally expected something like this:

Chocolate and Depression

I read an article that said that chocolate causes depression.

The only depression chocolate will cause is the one on your face in the shape of my fist if you try to take it away from me.