Close Enough

“Girlfriend, hey giiiirl, DIVA!”

Of course with Diva being called out I whipped my head around. There were two women trying to get my attention at the motorcycle rally. One was sitting. She had the biggest, most genuine smile I’d ever seen. The other was standing. She was wearing big Jackie O. sunglasses and had an attitude to match.

They were dressed in biker gear. While they were both very feminine, they also looked like you wouldn’t want to get on their bad sides. 

The one standing said, “Come on over here Miss Diva!”

I walked over.

“Girlfriend, I LOVE that corset! You look HOT. I’m a clothing designer and that looks like something I’d design.”

(I looked at her website when I got back to the room and was floored. Ms Biker Babe is a major designer, the woman designs couture! She’s designed for some major people as well as a bike club, strange but interesting combo I think.)

These women and I continued our conversation.

Then the one standing sealed the deal for my attraction to these two.

She looked at the sitting woman and said “Girl, did you see the bike this Diva rode up on? It’s white and pink! It’s bad ass! Are you a Gemini?”

"No, Taurus."

"Close enough!"

Oh yeah, I’m loving these people.

We continued laughing and talking. They both rode their own bikes. These girls kicked butt. I could have stood there all day talking with them but the parts guy pulled me away. I was having this bad ass air cleaner installed on my bike. On our way over to ok the work my friend grabbed my arm.

“Teri, you can wipe the drool off your face now. And how in the hell did they know to call you Diva?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me? I EXUDE Diva!”

He shook his head and walked away. Meanwhile I was feeling pretty damn good about myself, at least for that moment in time.

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Two Little Words

 This was written a couple of years ago. Many of you have never read it. It kind of seemed appropriate today.

I find it odd that two little words changed my life forever. Oh there were more words spoken at that meeting, but none as powerful as those words consisting of just 15 letters. They were about to impact my life in ways I could have never imagined.

As I sat in the doctor's waiting room I surveyed the photographs she had chosen for her walls. They were black and white photographs of people of all ages. Some were happy, some were not. Some were on the beach and some lying in the grass.  If you've ever watched the Sopranos you know what I'm about to say.  Just as Tony did, I looked at each picture carefully trying to find the hidden meaning the psychiatrist was trying to convey with each choice. Were there hidden meanings, or was I just being paranoid from sitting in this office?

I flipped through magazines while wondering whether to stay or to run. I knew that this meeting could provide me with life changing information and I wasn't sure I was ready to deal with it. On the other hand I was curious. Was I my own enemy? Did I have an enemy? Did it have a name?

My life has been anything but calm. From my early days I remember the turmoil as it sometimes surrounded me, pulling into its depths.  At the time I wondered why these tumultuous times wouldn't release their grips on me, now I wonder if I was I that couldn't release my grip on them.  It's strangely funny how introspective I became waiting for the verdict.

In my primary care doctor's office, I chat with the staff, look at magazines, play Sudoku on my iPhone and look forward to seeing the doctor that we have become friends with. This time was different. I was nervous. I was a little bit afraid and I was certain. I was certain of the verdict she would issue and it would be a life sentence.

Within minutes, that seemed like hours, the door opened and the doctor appeared. She was about my age, 45 or so, attractive, tall and thin. Her blonde hair fell to her shoulders and flipped up slightly on the ends.  She was casually dressed in black pants and a red long sleeve shirt. She didn't wear much makeup, but she didn't need it, her big blue eyes captured my attention at once as I'm sure they did with everyone that saw her.  She most definitely didn't fit my stereotypical image of a psychiatrist.

Her voice was soft and calm as she called me into her office and introduced herself.  Her name was Linda and she had been referred by my regular therapist, another Linda. Her office was done in neutral colors, but stylish with its classic furniture. Though not small, it was cozy and comfortable. There was no couch, no butterfly net and no straight jackets. There were shelves filled with books, kids' toys and boxes of tissues.

I looked at the chairs trying to decide which one to choose and if that might mean anything in the evaluation. I mean, if chose the chair on the left am I psychotic, if I chose the chair on the right was I a hypochondriac? I decided to choose paranoid and took the chair in the middle.

I sat down scrutinizing my posture. How were my hands? Was I sending off uncooperative body language, or was I too eager for a diagnosis, making it invalid? I thought I'd better calm down before she called in the men with the nets, who I was sure were in the other room.  I could feel anxiety-induced beads of sweat forming at my hairline. They were beginning to drip down my neck and to the small of my back.  I needed to calm down before I sealed my own fate, a fate worse than death, the fate of being admitted to the Adventist "Behavioral Center" otherwise known as the Cuckoo's Nest.

She began with asking me the usual questions about childhood, parents, siblings and then the more difficult ones regarding present experiences and traumas.  The entire meeting took almost three hours. As she spoke, I became much more comfortable with her. I calmed considerably and stopped looking for hidden syringes and various other torture devices.

She focused on my shopping, my forgetfulness, irritability, depression and mood related issues over all. In the third hour of the evaluation she turned at her waist, put her notepad down on her walnut desk. She then turned back toward me, leaned forward, folded her hands and uttered the life changing words: Bipolar Disorder. I believe her exact words were "I feel comfortable with the diagnosis of bipolar disorder II."

Well I'm glad someone's comfortable, but it certainly wasn't me.  I was thinking of that nice big check I had just written her and thinking "No, shit you're comfortable!"

Bipolar Disorder II, not the classic disorder everyone associates with manic-depression. There are no delusions, no psychotic behavior, none of the serious things usually associated with the condition. But there is shopping, irritability, severe depression, mood swings and all that shit. Wow, I'm feeling more comfortable every second.

However the more I think about it, the more I agree with the diagnosis. When you know your enemy, you can fight them offensively. I like that my enemy has a name and it's not Diva.  It's going to be a challenge, but really I'm the same person I've always been, just now I know why things get so skewed sometimes and why my moods can fall so quickly. I wasn't going to tell anyone, but I am the same person, I'll keep the good and work on the bad.  And now you'll know when I disappear for awhile or am quiet, it's not you, it's me and I will be ok. Yeah, I think I'm getting more comfortable every day.

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Something's Up

Something’s up. I’m not sure what it is. It’s not like I don’t have choices to pick from. Bipolar is what others usually blame my moodiness on. This is more, I know it, I feel it. It really pisses me of when some blame my every emotion on bipolar.

It could be from being so freaking tired from riding for six days. Could be the kids, probably not them. Then there’s the fact that we’re reeling from not being paid a significant amount of money from work completed months ago. We don’t get paid, our employees, our subs, our suppliers don’t get paid and we scramble. The stress level is unbelievable.

Maybe it’s all of the above. I feel the restlessness, the distraction and withdrawing coming on. That’s always a barrel of fun. No one seems to get it. The more I need to be alone, the more people smother me. The more people smother me the more I pull away. It’s a vicious cycle. Once it begins it’s so damned difficult to get out of. It’s like quicksand of the soul.

I can feel myself beginning to shut down. That’s always a scary feeling, or it was before. I never knew what was going to happen or how far the spiral would descend. It’s much more controlled now. There are still spirals, just no where near as deep or dark as in the past.

The difference in this time and ones prior is that now I can tell myself that this is temporary, I may not feel it, I may not believe it, but I can tell myself that now. The problem is that I don’t want to tell myself that it’s temporary. I tend to want to roll with it.

The walk into the woods is always easier than the walk out.

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Yeah Well I'm Tired

I'm tired. My feet hurt and I have a two day ride home. Thought I'd just check in and share a few more pics. The next two days should help me formulate just how to tell you about some of the craziness that's gone on here.

Michael and Christy

Lake Tahoe

Me and Christy

Oh yeah, new air cleaner!

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Don't Ever, I Mean Ever.....

I learned a few things today, a few things not to do on a motorcycle trip. Thought I'd share them with you just in case.

• Don't ever pass up the opportunity for a Moon Pie.
• Don't ever engage someone that really believes that they are the world's best psychologist AND is solely responsible for saving Alaska in conversation at a rest area. Guy scared the shit out of me!
• Don't EVER follow a cattle truck. Besides smelling terrible, stuff falls out.
• Don't fail to wave to other bikers. You may run into them in a small town Mexican restaurant after they've had six pitchers of margaritas.
• This one is the most important. NEVER forget you have a full face helmet on with the face shield down and spit. Oh yeah, that would be me.

Now a few of the days pics and a short video that I really want you to see. Please watch it you can be the difference.

Oh, and forgive me for not responding to your comments quickly this week. Being on the road makes it a little difficult. But thank you all. You rock!

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Interesting Question

 While I was making my way around the blogosphere this evening tying to catch up on my reading I saw an interesting question posted by Traci66 on her "Ask Momma Anything" post.


The question was "Do you bribe your child to do things?"

My first thought was not just no, but HELL NO! Then I Googled the definition:

bribe  (brb)
n.
1. Something, such as money or a favor, offered or given to a person in a position of trust to influence that person's views or conduct.
2. Something serving to influence or persuade.

Usually when I think of bribing a child I think of something along the lines of "If you don't throw a fit I'll give you a cookie. Please, pretty please don't throw a fit." To me that means the kid is the puppet master and the parent is the puppet.

Then I read the second definition, something serving to influence or persuade, and I had to re-think my initial reaction. I realized that I do things that are intended to influence or persuade.

"What? You don't want to eat the dinner Mommy made? That's ok. There's always breakfast tomorrow. You won't starve, well not to death."

"You got up too late to catch the bus for school? Guess you better get walking. Oh, and take an umbrella it's pouring out there."

"You're kidding me? You want an allowance? Let me get this right. You want me to pay you to be a part of the family and help out? Think again. You want money? Do something outside of your normal responsibilities."

"Before you throw that fit you better realize that I brought you into this world and I can take you out of it!"

"Really? You're gonna run away because I won't let you have a TV in your room? Here's $25, catch a bus."

Kids need boundaries, absolutes, to feel safe. They need to know there's someone in control. They need to learn that they aren't the Sun and we aren't the planets. They need to learn to respect themselves and those around them. They need unconditional love and unconditional consequences. They need to know that their parents are parents and not puppets. But mostly my kids need to understand that I'm the mom, I pull the strings. I don't understand how a loving parent can send their kids into the world and not teach them the rules the world plays by.

So bribery, yes, I use bribery. I teach them the rules, I expect them to follow the rules. If they choose not to I have all sorts of ways I will influence them. This mama don't play no games.







On another note I'm leaving bright and (ugh) early tomorrow morning on a week long motorcycle trip. I think I may try to vlog some of it, should be fun!

Love you guys!

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Showers, Shampoo and Spiders, Oh My!

I saw it as I started the water for the shower. It was on the crown molding. Although I didn't know it at the time it was waiting for an opportune time. Its shiny brown body and eight long legs were perfectly still, probably trying to convince me it was no threat.

As the water warmed I watched the spider as I tried to evaluate whether or not I should knock it down and kill it. Should I get the vacuum hose and vacuum it up? Eh, both were too much trouble. I'd be fine, I wouldn't be in the shower long and it hadn't moved since I first saw it several minutes earlier.

I got in the shower and after soaking my hair I turned toward the shower head to wash my face. I put my face under the cascading water but tried to keep one eye open as I rinsed the residual of the night's sleep away. It still hadn't moved. Piece of cake, no problem, I had it made.

As I reached for my shampoo I saw it drop several inches and catch itself on a silken thread. I watched as it climbed back to its place on the molding. Being certain that it would be there for awhile I lathered up my hair and leaned back into the water. As the foamy bubbles were rinsed out of my hair and down onto my body I felt safe as I saw the arachnid still securely in place.

Feeling much more confident I took my pink scrubby off of its resting spot and squeezed on body wash. I began to wash my arms and chest with the scented gel and glanced up to see that the spider was gone. The spider was freaking gone! I don't have a fear of spiders, but that doesn't mean I want a physical relationship with one either.

I looked around the crown molding that surrounds my bathroom. It was not to be found. I looked down into the shower floor, no luck. As I surveyed my surroundings once more the horrifying realization hit me. The little bastard was on me! Then I did something that I still don't understand, I screamed. Tell me how in the hell a scream is going to help in a situation like that? Do spiders even have ears?

I couldn't feel it on me which meant it had to be in my hair. Just like in the movie Arachnophobia I knew it was going to wash down my face as hundreds of other spiders made their way through the shower head and onto my naked, wet body. Ok, now I was freaked.

I thrust my head under the flowing water once more and flicked my hair around with my hands. The eight legged freak fell to the floor. Now it was me against it. It stood there staring before it started toward me. I wasn't going to step on it without shoes and I wasn't going to crush it with a shampoo bottle and get nasty little spider guts all over. The only weapon I had was the hot, running water and the hope that gravity was on my side. It was coming faster when the water moved it off of its steady course. The water had caught it! Its legs were thrashing as it acknowledged its fate. In one last ditch effort to get to me it jumped up only to be swept away and down the drain.

I had come up against an enemy and I had won. I had won with nothing but streaming water and Isaac Newton's theory. Even with my victory I was still creeped out. It could still climb up and out of the drain and come for revenge. I hadn't won; it still had its grip on me. I had to do something to ensure that it lost.

I quickly got out of the shower and grabbed the Drano. I poured a half bottle down the drain and scalded the little shit with my chemical arsenal. Was it rational? No, but it sure felt good.

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I Was Just Doin' My Thing

Starbucks. Latte. Morning ritual.

I was sitting alone enjoying my coffee. I was waiting to meet the photographer for the photo shoot with my Harley. My hair was pulled back. I had on my fringed chaps, a sexy, low cut, lacy tank top, and make up....lots of make up. The pics were going to be pin-up, bad girl type photos and I needed to look the part.

I was checking the  email on my iPhone when I felt a soft touch on my shoulder and heard a soothing voice in my ear. "Sweetie, I've seen you in here almost every day for years and today," a lotioned hand traced the tattoo on my back, "I've seen a side of you I never knew existed."

I turned to see a woman about 5 foot 3 and probably 70 years old with a "look" on her face. While I was a little embarrassed, and feeling that I must have "cheap" written on my forehead, I was feeling pretty cool too. We got to talking and she said that morning I certainly wasn't looking the "Happy Valley Mom" type. You don't know about Happy Valley Moms? You can read all about them here.

I wasn't really sure what to think. Was this nice woman giving me a compliment or a sweet old lady shot? I rolled with it, cuz I'm cool like that. Being the friendly biker chick that I am I engaged her in conversation. We talked about my adopted kids, her kids, our grandkids, and everything else under the sun.

I'm not sure if I was really in a conversation with her, or if I was trying to redeem my Harley riding, tattooed, scantily dressed self. I have a feeling it was the latter.

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What Would You Say?

 I so needed to change my mood for the day and this just may help some. It's a new meme from

Crazy Daze And Nite Dreams. I found it via my friend Christy at I'm Just Sayin'.

Today's questions and answers are:

1. What do you think other people think of you? Do you think they see you the way you really are?

Oh no. I'm certain most people have NO CLUE as to the REAL me.  I actually have a post for this later so I won't go into it much here. Let's see, I wear Chanel, I drive a Mercedes and love platinum and diamonds. That being said, it's only a facade. A few of you know the truth. If you email me you might be lucky enough to find out all about the real me. Maybe. Tattoos, a pink Harley and kick ass boots are only part of the story.

2. Have you thought about what you want your epitaph to read?

It should say "Finally! No more kids!" read my profile, you'll understand. 

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Boredom Causes Vlogs

Oh yes, we were bored at dinner. Nikki was entertaining us with her circus-like tongue abilities.

Please only family friendly comments she's just an innocent, wee one.

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No Words

Three years ago today I got a call from my brother. I then made a call to my youngest brother and waited. When I could wait no longer I called him back. Two hours later I was on a plane Texas bound.

Three years ago today my foundation crumbled. I felt like a kite that had its string cut. I was floating aimlessly not sure where, or if, I would land.

Three years ago tonight I was sitting at my dad's house getting my drink on with my brothers. I watched my sister clean the carpet. I couldn't help her, not that night. That night I spent in the arms of my brothers we were drinking and crying.

The next morning I tried to clean the carpet. I worked on it all day with the help of the others. We took turns. We took turns remembering our foundation. We took turns trying to forget what happened. We took turns trying to remember everything that happened.

The world ended for my brothers and me that day. Our grieving father had finally joined my mother. The blood was real, the blood was proof. He was happy, we were devastated. Even though we were all in our 40's we were orphans. My Dad  traded his life for the life of my grandson.

Three years ago this week we had a Dixie Land goodbye party. Dad had chosen all the music and had CDs made. I spoke in front of a packed chapel. I was compelled to, for my dad. Then we laid my Dad next to my Mom. It felt right. They were together.

My brother texted me today to see how I was. I thought it was sweet for him to text. I thought he texted about all the crap that's been going on here. I blocked out the date. I didn't remember. I didn't want to remember.

I'm a terrible daughter.

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The Rules. Short and Sweet.

Being a mom in my world, in my Diva world, comes with some well earned privileges. After raising 11 kids all together and numerous foster kids I've come up with a few rules, guidelines,  that help keep me sane. Some of those come with a specific child that needs to preform specific duties. Others are edicts in general.

• Iced Tea must be freshly made each day. 2 two gallon pitchers with Splenda. 
• If my bedroom door is closed there will be NO knocking, talking at the door or otherwise bothering the occupants unless there are either massive amounts of blood involved or severely broken bones. Toes do not count as broken bones, spiral or green fractures do not count as broken bones. Bloody noses and flesh wounds do not count as massive amounts of blood.
• Children will use their own washer and dryer. My washer and dryer are not to be used for anything but parental items.
• Adequate amounts of ice must remain at ALL TIMES in the freezer for Mom's iced tea. This little rule got me the most coveted title of "Ice Nazi."
• If a child leaves anything strewn about the living room it WILL be thrown away, no questions.
• Guest room and theater movies are for guests and parents. They are  not for grubby pawed bipeds.
• Due to past experience, anyone under the age of 25 will eat on plastic plates and drink from acrylic cups. Entire sets of dishes have been broken on the travertine kitchen floor.
• If you wash the kitchen cleaning rags, forget about them and they mildew, you will wash them again with bleach AFTER you memorize the mildew smell by smelling aforementioned rags for a time period of at least one hour. 
• Any scratches, dents, or BROKEN MIRRORS on mom's car OR motorcycles will result in the offending appendage being surgically removed, if it's your lucky day.
• There will be absolute silence when Shepard Smith is on. 
• Do not call me with questions about your eyelashes, ketchup or socks. I don't know and I don't care.
• Duct tape can, and will be used.
• The subject of Mom's Botox and Juvederm usage is prohibited in conversation.
• If they shop with me they must leave the area before I pay so they have no way of relaying exactly what was spent. 
• This is a new one, just tonight actually. Any child that refuses to shut their yap while Mom is writing or reading blogs will soon have their brother's nasty, three week old dirty sock stuffed into their mouth and duct taped.

Excuse me now while I find that sock. 

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Anonymous Comment Equals Coward

I got this interesting anonymous comment today. I always think those are pretty cool because the writer is too afraid to leave their name. It usually means I struck a nerve and am right on with my post.

This cool cat brought up a good point. When my son was hit by high school football coach Larry Scott Vang ( a great, upstanding role model this coward would have you believe)  he had been drinking. In fact my son was drunk. It's a pretty novel idea for someone that's been drinking to actually WALK home instead of driving, at least the 'fraidy cat that refused to be identified would want you to think.

This person also said my son was in the middle of the road when he was hit. Hmmmm....that's what Vang said. Kind of funny that the attorney says that 99% of the people involved in hit and runs say the very same thing. Wow. When in fact, if you read the police report and recreation of the CRIME, my son was on the shoulder of the road when he was struck down by Larry Scott Vang. Wow, another revelation.

Also if you read the police report and the DA's investigation you'll see that the police reviewed the video tapes of the bar that Larry Scott Vang was in before he got BEHIND THE WHEEL and struck my son. Larry Scott Vang had been drinking and decided to drive. Let me get this straight, Cole was drinking and walked, Vang was drinking and drove. I'm scratching my head on that one.

According to Oregon law my son could have been in the middle of the road with a sign that said "hit me" and if someone hit him and LEFT THE SCENE WITHOUT STOPPING TO RENDER AID, OR EVEN LOOK it's a Class B felony, something that Vang admitted, and in fact pleaded guilty to, and is now in jail for. Cole wasn't in the middle of the road with a "hit me and leave me unconscious like a dead deer on the side of the road" sign. He was walking on the shoulder the  investigation revealed.

Larry Scott Vang, after throwing back a few as shown on the tapes, hit my son and drove home leaving my son to be flown by Life Flight to the trauma center. Cole was hit so hard that he was knocked out of his boots and everything in his pockets went flying out. He left him like road kill on the side of the road.

This person also said it wasn't the first time my son had walked home drunk. Well if he had been drinking I certainly hope he wasn't driving like Larry Scott Vang was. I'd like to know how this person "knows" this. Could it be another classic case of trying to blame the victim? This person also failed to mention Larry Scott Vang's former DUI (according to a background check). Wow! Cole has no DUI's. I wonder if that's because if he'd ever been out drinking he made different decisions than Larry Scott Vang had. One can't help but wonder if Larry Scott Vang didn't stop that night because he had been drinking and was covering his own ass instead of having compassion for the person he ran over.

One more thing, and this is addressed to Vang's wife, staring down the VICTIM'S family in court isn't a cool thing to do. Karma's a bitch. Oh and by the way, get your roots done. Your hair looked like crap, in my opinion.

Bottom line is that Larry Scott Vang committed a crime that night. My son did not.

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I Think I'm a Kleptomaniac

Saturday 6 is a great diversion today! Thank you Boobies, Babies and a Blog!




1. If you could break one law for the rest of your life and not get arrested, which law would you choose to break & get away with?

Murder with out a doubt. First for the guy that is my daughter's stalker and then another guy that's under investigation for "allegedly" hurting my grandson, and then, and then, and then...
 
2. If you wrote a book based on your life, what would be the most "shocking" revelation you made in the book about yourself or something you had done?

HA! right....email me for my other blog if you fit all of the criteria.
 
3. Has reading a book ever changed your life? Which one and why, if yes?

Geeze lots of them, mainly one's I wish I never read. 

4. Would you rather be extremely good looking and sexy or rich?

Why can't I have both?

5. Should marijuana be legalized? Why or why not?

Legalize it, tax it, get over it. I think there are more important issues to deal with.

6. Would you have a threesome if you significant other wanted to?

Refer to answer 2 on this one. 

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Stilettos Can Be A Girls Best Friend

It began well, perfect hair, perfect make-up and this super hot dress. We had reservations at Morton's Steakhouse in Portland.

We pulled up to the valet. He seemed like a nice young man and was well mannered and polite. I always go for the valet parking, not just because I spent a heck of a lot of money on my car, but because I love it. It's not going to sit in a lot so some moron can ding the door or so a drunken bum can pee on it.

I should have caught a clue when the valet didn't open my door. Whatever. I was ready to chill with a few Tanqueray 10 and tonics with a twist of lime and some Oysters Rockefeller. It was a night I'd been waiting for all week, no kids, great food and fantastic ambiance.

The evening was going very well until a couple brought a in a baby. Seriously, who in the hell takes a baby to Morton's, a screaming baby at that? Oh well, bring me another Tanq 10 and tonic and the screaming baby would fade into the background and I wouldn't end up telling the mentally challenged parents what idiots they were. Take the screamer to McDonalds for heaven's sake!

After enjoying a 3 hour dinner with T&T in hand, Filet Oskar and Creme Brulee it was time to call it a night. We went to retrieve my car. It was the perfect Portland evening and would have been an incredible walk the city night, that would be if I could walk after all the premium gin. The answer to that would be a big NO.


The valet promptly brought my car and opened my door so my friend could pour me in. Kid was on top of it now. Or at least I thought he was until he SLAMMED the door on my Mercedes! BIG pet peeve of mine thanks to my Dad. We grew up hearing "It's not an American car. You don't have to slam the door."

We also learned that if we slammed the car door, or any door for that matter, it must mean that we needed practice in learning to properly close a door. We would have to correctly close the door 30 times, one screw up and we had to start all over. My brothers are reading this now and nodding their heads in agreement.


My friend must have seen veins popping in my forehead. Just as I was reaching for my right stiletto to beat the valet to death my friend grabbed my twitching arm and demanded something he NEVER demands.

"Take two Xanex and take them now!" He then sped away.


So what you say? Dude only slammed the car door. WRONG! He violated my car! Here it is an hour and a half since we left and I'm contemplating getting in my car and taking my right stiletto back downtown!

Oh, and then get this. I walk in the house still pissed about the valet. My son looks at me and says

"Mom did you wear your hair like that tonight?"

I calmed down a bit feeling all that and said "Yes, why?"

"You look like you have guinea pig hair." Where the hell is my left stiletto?

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Counting Down!

We leave in 12 days to the motorcycle event that I look forward to all year, Street Vibrations in Reno, NV! It's five days of pure biker fun and my favorite event of the year.

It's amazing to see all of the different types of people there. There are the outlaw motorcycle clubs of course, Hell's Angels even have a booth selling t-shirts and such, professionals, hard-core bikers and lots of other interesting characters.

This year we're making the 2 day ride down with some awesome friends so that should be fun. Then it's days of constant parties, bike runs and all things related with the sub-culture. For a few days I get to be me, not a mom, not a homeowner, not a business owner, just me. Yes!

Virginia City

Ok, you have to admit this is hot. Got it for my bike pictures and Reno!

Got this one too, no mom in Reno!

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