<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2426929920445026229</id><updated>2011-04-21T16:42:31.265-07:00</updated><title type='text'>For Reals?!</title><subtitle type='html'>Absurd things that people do.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2426929920445026229/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>theambersweeney</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>11</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2426929920445026229.post-6006365901756766188</id><published>2009-03-15T14:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-15T14:24:48.665-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Another Random Tip</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UbTJ1Yqjy44/Sb1yDP6BP3I/AAAAAAAAAAs/Q-6W4ZrxBAg/s1600-h/CONSUM.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 252px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UbTJ1Yqjy44/Sb1yDP6BP3I/AAAAAAAAAAs/Q-6W4ZrxBAg/s320/CONSUM.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313528535502110578" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, you're low on cash but you have some fabulous threads that require special care...care that you want to give but don't want to forfeit eating for. So, your options are to stare at your glorious "dry clean only" clothing for fear of getting a coffee or sweat stain on them, wear them once a month so you can afford to have them dry cleaned, or wear them out and ruin them by washing them in your washing machine. Not any more, my friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you're on a tight budget but want to make your delicate and dry clean only clothes last longer and stay "so fresh and so clean, clean," then toss them in a pillow case, knot it closed, and wash in cold on a normal cycle. After they're washed, hang them up on hangers in your bathroom, or laundry room if you have one. All will be well, your clothes will be clean, and you will continue to look fabulous without having to turn off your cable or starve a few nights a week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For more tips check out &lt;a href="http://www.mythings.com/tips"&gt;mythings.com/tips&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mythings.com/tips"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2426929920445026229-6006365901756766188?l=randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com/feeds/6006365901756766188/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2426929920445026229&amp;postID=6006365901756766188&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2426929920445026229/posts/default/6006365901756766188'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2426929920445026229/posts/default/6006365901756766188'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com/2009/03/another-random-tip.html' title='Another Random Tip'/><author><name>theambersweeney</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UbTJ1Yqjy44/Sb1yDP6BP3I/AAAAAAAAAAs/Q-6W4ZrxBAg/s72-c/CONSUM.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2426929920445026229.post-1540471862917323797</id><published>2009-03-15T13:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-15T14:04:57.312-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Random Tricks</title><content type='html'>Alright, I found this while looking for tips about laundry care and it was random enough to share. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Have you ever had a cotton t-shirt, perhaps one of your favorites, shrink? You know, the one you took extra special care to not put in the dryer because the fit was so perfect when you bought it, that you feared if it was placed in the dryer it would shrink. Yeah, I've had those too. Somehow, they end up in the dryer and they never fit the same again. You're tempted to donate it but can't find the heart to get rid of it. You hope and pray there's a way to ease the fit without stretching it. You rack your brain and your friends for any ideas and come back empty handed. Not any more. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I actually tried this and it worked. It didn't bring it back completely, but it did give about an inch, maybe two, in all directions. You have to follow this pretty closely. It won't work if you don't. And remember to use &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;white vinegar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/IRDx0voZFSw&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/IRDx0voZFSw&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2426929920445026229-1540471862917323797?l=randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com/feeds/1540471862917323797/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2426929920445026229&amp;postID=1540471862917323797&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2426929920445026229/posts/default/1540471862917323797'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2426929920445026229/posts/default/1540471862917323797'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com/2009/03/random-tricks.html' title='Random Tricks'/><author><name>theambersweeney</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2426929920445026229.post-9195497966559974785</id><published>2009-02-06T11:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-06T12:17:47.956-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Truck Stops Really Are Creepy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UbTJ1Yqjy44/SYyas7cnYhI/AAAAAAAAAAk/hnngtny-5DQ/s1600-h/roadtrip.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UbTJ1Yqjy44/SYyas7cnYhI/AAAAAAAAAAk/hnngtny-5DQ/s320/roadtrip.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299780958170866194" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a spring night, in 2005, some friends and I found ourselves near the last leg of a two week road trip across the western United States. At about 3 a.m. we found ourselves needing gas somewhere along I-5 nearing the border of California and Oregon. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We pulled off the freeway into what might has well have been a scene from a horror film. There was a single, dimly lit, light illuminating the gas pumps attached to a log-cabin type structure. There were rows of semi trucks parked in the darkness next to the gas pumps. We all slowly piled out of the 35 foot R.V. that we had spent the last two weeks in, and made our way to get snacks and use the bathroom. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The interior was almost as poorly lit as the outside. Everything had a yellow-grey tint to it. It was almost laughable to call this tiny room a storefront for the gas attendant and his food and drink items for sale. Nevertheless, I asked where the restrooms were. The attendant grunted something about them being down the hall on the right. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I hesitantly walked down the dark hall and entered a room that may has well have been decorated by Ted Nugent. There were gun moldings and bumper stickers about gun rights all along the beams on the ceiling. There were also blown up newspaper clippings about Hitler being found dead and the Hindenburg disaster. I'm not sure how that all related to gun control, but someone found it important enough to place on the wall.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I could tell that this room was part of a larger space and quickly saw what looked like restaurant seating in the darkness beyond the room I was in. I was a little uneasy by this point but had to use the bathroom, so I made my move towards the sign indicating I had reached my destination. I was shocked to find the door stop as it hit something. As I peered in slowly to see what stopped the door I saw a bathtub, followed by what looked like a woman's legs. There wasn't a curious bone in my body by this point. I turned and ran out of there. I slowed as I came to the store front and noticed the small grin in the corner of the attendants mouth as I left the building. I told my friends about it who let their curiosity inspire them to discover what had convinced me to refrain from using this particular bathroom. Each of them shuddered as they came out of the building. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was, in fact, a mannequin. A woman dressed in a red polka-dotted dress turned to witness the relieving of peoples bladders. Now, I'm sure truckers find this hilarious as much as the attendants find it hilarious to watch people run out of there. And I have to admit, it is pretty funny. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The best part of the whole thing is that we found out, upon sharing the story with people, that some other friends had been there and found out that if you touch the mannequin or lean over it, an alarm goes off and she starts screaming. I would say that I want to meet the people that own this little truck stop and shake their hands for coming up with such a genius trick to play on unsuspecting travelers, but I don't. That said, it does make for a great story. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2426929920445026229-9195497966559974785?l=randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com/feeds/9195497966559974785/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2426929920445026229&amp;postID=9195497966559974785&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2426929920445026229/posts/default/9195497966559974785'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2426929920445026229/posts/default/9195497966559974785'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com/2009/02/truck-stops-really-are-creepy.html' title='Truck Stops Really Are Creepy'/><author><name>theambersweeney</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UbTJ1Yqjy44/SYyas7cnYhI/AAAAAAAAAAk/hnngtny-5DQ/s72-c/roadtrip.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2426929920445026229.post-3282875777955659222</id><published>2009-01-28T08:15:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-28T20:02:09.861-08:00</updated><title type='text'>These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things</title><content type='html'>Now, this blog is technically dedicated to all the random things I see in life. But I felt it needed some balance, so I thought it appropriate to make a list of some of my absolute favorite things--things that make me smile that just might make you smile. Enjoy! &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;1. Good Coffee&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;There's nothing like a warm, cozy, delicious cup o' joe in the a.m. to make the early hours that much more exciting. I especially like home made coffee, cuz I can make it how I likes &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;2. Watching The Sunrise&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I used to hate getting up early. Now, I can't believe I've let myself miss out on the glory of &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;the beginning of the day. There's nothing like watching the sky go from black to gold with &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;an array of colors that outdoes a rainbow. It's simply majestic. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;3. Stretching&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;There's nothing like stretching to revitalize the body. It wakes up the mind and relaxes the &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;muscles. It's simply refreshing and I love it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;4. My Friends&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;If you don't know them, you're missing out. They are some of the most grounded, faithful, &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;and inspiring people I know. I really, really enjoy them. It's hard to go to "work" because of &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;them. They pretty much rock. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;5. Hearing My Favorite Song on the Radio&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I love this. I love it because you crank it up, and sing a long at the top of your lungs, and &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;pretend you're the lead singer of the band singing to a million fans. And of course you feel &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;as if God did that just for you. He probably did. And He's probably chuckling at us when we &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;sing our guts out like that. I would. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;6. Listening To Children Laughing So Hard They Can't Breathe&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Kids laugh at a lot of things, but it's not every day they laugh so hard they can't breathe. The &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;things they find humorous seem so simple, but they are truly hilarious. I love it because it's &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;genuine and unapologetic. I wish adults were more like that. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;7. Trying New Things&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Some people say this to sound impressive. I like the things I like, but I also really like to &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;discover new things. New foods, new ways of doing things, new cultures. It's all very &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;fascinating to see the world through other people's eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;8. Reading&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I especially like this with my great and glorious cup o' joe. I love reading various things--the Bible, political articles, inspiring stories, and biographies. It's just fun. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;9. Helping A Friend In Need&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I love helping people. One day, I'll fund projects and such for people who need assistance. &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;But more than that, I love helping people realize how great they are. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;10. Jesus&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;He is amazing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Have a fabulous day!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2426929920445026229-3282875777955659222?l=randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com/feeds/3282875777955659222/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2426929920445026229&amp;postID=3282875777955659222&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2426929920445026229/posts/default/3282875777955659222'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2426929920445026229/posts/default/3282875777955659222'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com/2009/01/these-are-few-of-my-favorite-things.html' title='These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things'/><author><name>theambersweeney</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2426929920445026229.post-4206734111468442032</id><published>2009-01-20T18:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-20T18:34:24.554-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Name Dropping.</title><content type='html'>You meet the strangest people when you travel on any form of public transportation. My transportation of choice these days is the air bus. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There is an unspoken etiquette when it comes to communicating when you're on an airplane. There are a few who break these rules intentionally, and those who are simply oblivious. The ones who are unaware have had some sort of circumstance in their life that has prevented them from any real conversation with other people. These people say some funny stuff. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The woman I sat next to this morning was in her sixties. She used to be a school teacher/librarian. She was kept much like a woman in her sixties would be, with glasses and short, grey hair, and a cozy sweater to match. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She noticed my phone and talked to me about how much she wanted a blackberry and asked if I had Facebook on mine. I demonstrated a few things and then continued to settle in before we took off. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When the flight attendant was standing near in preparation to demonstrate how to use the seat belt and such, the woman mentioned that her cousin was the pilot who landed the plane safely in the Hudson River a few days ago. The flight attendant expressed her appreciation for the man and then asked how he was doing. The woman replied: "Oh I don't know him. He's my third cousin. We've never met. But at my family's reunion next summer you better believe I'm going to ask him about it!" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And with that I closed my eyes and waited for the plane to take off. I was secretly laughing on the inside. It all made sense to me now.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2426929920445026229-4206734111468442032?l=randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com/feeds/4206734111468442032/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2426929920445026229&amp;postID=4206734111468442032&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2426929920445026229/posts/default/4206734111468442032'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2426929920445026229/posts/default/4206734111468442032'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com/2009/01/name-dropping.html' title='Name Dropping.'/><author><name>theambersweeney</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2426929920445026229.post-8031859647702008332</id><published>2009-01-13T10:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-13T10:56:41.412-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Papa Was A Rollin' Stone</title><content type='html'>Once upon a time, in a land far, far away there was a hall at which people were invited to come and sing songs before audiences who would travel far and wide to catch a glimpse of the magic brought by this mysterious strip of land. Upon the strip were glittering lights which captured the hopes and dreams of countless souls seeking fortune in the soil of the great west. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was no stranger to this place. This land had once been my home, not by my choosing. My parents had journeyed there hoping to re-establish themselves as parents sometimes do. I was accustomed to strange practices of the land. I once saw a man walk down a street in broad daylight wearing a women's blue, powdered suit and high heels to match.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It happened on one evening, as I joined my brothers in a band of musical flare, that we found an equally if not stranger than normal incident. We had been invited to sing our songs of hope and freedom to those who dare listen, and were waiting to take our places on the stage at one of the magical stations on this gloriously shitty strip of land. A man in his 50s entered our dingy dressing room asking if we might lend our ears and dollars to him for a moment. One of the members of our group sought to give the man our attention and thus gave him five dollars to captivate us, however long it may be. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The man was quite disheveled and missing some teeth. He appeared to have made a home of the streets there. How he made it in, was unbeknownst to us. Even so, we were now inclined to hear what he would share with us. In the raspiest tone I've yet to hear from a person, he began to sing the words, "Papa was a rollin' stone..." The rest was undecipherable and short. I couldn't tell if the man had lost his voice or had something blocking the chords in his throat from chiming appropriately. Within 30 seconds the man was gone, our entertainment paid for, and we were all left with one of the stranger moments in life to remember. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I wish someone had the presence of mind to video tape the incident. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2426929920445026229-8031859647702008332?l=randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com/feeds/8031859647702008332/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2426929920445026229&amp;postID=8031859647702008332&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2426929920445026229/posts/default/8031859647702008332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2426929920445026229/posts/default/8031859647702008332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com/2009/01/papa-was-rollin-stone.html' title='Papa Was A Rollin&apos; Stone'/><author><name>theambersweeney</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2426929920445026229.post-2772959627074594046</id><published>2009-01-13T09:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-13T09:52:28.544-08:00</updated><title type='text'>You Know You're Getting Older When...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I hereby repent of my inconsideration of others on the road when I was a teenager.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;I hereby pronounce that I will do my best to remain confident with my driving technique so as to not appear to be inexperienced once I am well aged.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;For the first time in my life, I have experienced the other side of inexperienced and inconsiderate teenaged drivers. I happened to be passing by one of the local high schools as the students were rapidly fleeing from their isolated place of study. I was appalled at the methods in which these children were using to operate their vehicles. It should also be known that the northwest is not known for its skills in the motorized transportation department. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was tailed by 3 different teenaged drivers while going a minimum of 7 miles over the posted speed limit. I was cut off following the frustration that boiled over in the bodies of said persons, twice. It was then that I realized how much we might have sucked as teenaged people. I've never felt such contempt for the lack of consideration for others before. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Moments after this experience took place, I found myself once again being forced to slam on my brakes in an effort to avoid collision with an elderly couple who realized they were not only in the lane that would prohibit them from safely turning into the lot where they were intentioned to go, but that they were about to miss their turn. My head was still in the moment of disgust over the youth's inconsideration. I shook it off as an isolated incident and continued. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;None of this would have stood out if it wasn't for yet ANOTHER older couple who found themselves in the same situation only the confusion of the moment paralyzed them and prevented them from making any decision other than to come to a near complete stop in the middle of the road. They first tried in vain to move into my lane, realizing that the only way to do so would be to knock me out of it. They decided that wasn't a good idea, and I'm glad they did, however, they couldn't figure out if they should speed up or slow down. I slowed at them initially as they were close to hitting me, I stayed in the lesser speed so as to allow them into the lane. Their confusion made things worse. They slowed and were nearly rear-ended. They almost made the decision to move into the lane they wanted to but paused again. So, I finally decided to speed up and move past them so as to prevent anyone from damage. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I finally made it to my destination and came to a point in the parking lot of the complex I was in where I waited for cross traffic to pass so I could park in the spot directly in front of me. One of the cars I had waited for decided they wanted the spot instead, so they took it. It was an interesting end to a series of appalling driving techniques. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To any and all I have displayed such negligence to, my sincerest apologies. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now I say that northwest drivers should learn how to take pride in their ability to drive and show the world what we're made of!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2426929920445026229-2772959627074594046?l=randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com/feeds/2772959627074594046/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2426929920445026229&amp;postID=2772959627074594046&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2426929920445026229/posts/default/2772959627074594046'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2426929920445026229/posts/default/2772959627074594046'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com/2009/01/you-know-youre-getting-older-when.html' title='You Know You&apos;re Getting Older When...'/><author><name>theambersweeney</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2426929920445026229.post-5733331274760027612</id><published>2009-01-04T22:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-04T22:42:15.198-08:00</updated><title type='text'>This Takes The Phrase, "Don't Take Candy From Strangers" To A Whole New Level</title><content type='html'>Once upon a time, I ran the electronics department for my local One Stop Shopping Store. During the holiday season we would hire a barrage of temporary employees to help with the surplus of customers longing for the products we had that they so desperately needed. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It happened that one day there was an elderly man who came in to seek help with his broken television. He had purchased a television a year or two prior to this visit and along with it he had one of our special maintenance programs. The young man who had initially helped him was one of the temporary hires who really shouldn't have been working there. His only focus was to sell merchandise and make as much money as he possibly on the next paycheck, regardless of how many returns he received on the next one. (It was a commission based pay) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I observed, from a distance, the disdain that was beginning to form from the elderly gentleman towards my co-worker. I went over to listen to what was transpiring. The young man was not sure of how to help this man and instead of asking questions to figure out how to solve the problem, he pretty much b.s.'d his way through everything. Both of them were frustrated. It finally came to a point where the young man couldn't do any more on his own and he was forced to ask for help. As I came in the older man softened and instantly warmed to me.  His problem was solved and he felt understood and taken care of. He had expressed to me that he was incredibly unhappy with the young man who initially helped him and was grateful I stepped in to help when I did. He was so grateful that he decided he'd do me a favor. He first asked if I liked buffalo meet. I was slightly shocked, but answered yes. He informed me that in a few weeks he'd bring me some, as he was a hunter and would be leaving a few days later to go on a buffalo hunt. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I didn't hear from or see him for several weeks. One day he came in with a grocery bag full of frozen buffalo meet, just as he promised. He explained that he had hunted it himself and has a butcher friend who takes care of the meet to be distributed. He also told me that I reminded him of his grand daughter. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now, you're not supposed to accept things like this, but I was sure that he was genuine and all would be well. And it was. Nevertheless, that has to be the strangest experience I had ever had in my years working in retail. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2426929920445026229-5733331274760027612?l=randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com/feeds/5733331274760027612/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2426929920445026229&amp;postID=5733331274760027612&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2426929920445026229/posts/default/5733331274760027612'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2426929920445026229/posts/default/5733331274760027612'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com/2009/01/this-takes-phrase-dont-take-candy-from.html' title='This Takes The Phrase, &quot;Don&apos;t Take Candy From Strangers&quot; To A Whole New Level'/><author><name>theambersweeney</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2426929920445026229.post-6061698265532792525</id><published>2008-12-30T22:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T23:04:03.326-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Public Decency Fails Again</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UbTJ1Yqjy44/SVsZWfVj7VI/AAAAAAAAAAU/IBFgwsusigo/s1600-h/lovers.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285846461809159506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 222px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UbTJ1Yqjy44/SVsZWfVj7VI/AAAAAAAAAAU/IBFgwsusigo/s320/lovers.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm a sucker for a good romance story. I assume that most people are. I especially love it when the intimacy of such romances are tasteful and non-invasive to the viewers. In other words, I don't want to see a full on love scene from start to finish on the big screen. Leave something to the imagination. Which brings me to this incredibly random, and yes, very true story. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;A few of us found ourselves closing down a quaint little bar following a bottle of wine and some good conversation. We had been celebrating a birthday. As the night came to a close, somewhere near 2 am, my friend and I stumbled upon the most random and absurd thing I have yet to see in my humble time on this earth. We began to turn into the parking lot of the facility we were staying at when our headlights suddenly became the spotlight that illuminated the giant buttox of a man with his pants around his ankles. He was standing outside and opened, driver-side door of a car and he wasnt' alone. That's right. He was doin' the nasty. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now, what I can't understand is what honestly prevented him from moving the few inches INTO the car so he and his friend wouldn't expose such an act to the rest of the world. I've never experienced such a tasteless portrayal of "intimacy," since I watched the third highlander movie somewhere in the 1990s. I hope it was worth it, pal. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2426929920445026229-6061698265532792525?l=randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com/feeds/6061698265532792525/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2426929920445026229&amp;postID=6061698265532792525&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2426929920445026229/posts/default/6061698265532792525'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2426929920445026229/posts/default/6061698265532792525'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com/2008/12/public-decency-fails-again.html' title='Public Decency Fails Again'/><author><name>theambersweeney</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UbTJ1Yqjy44/SVsZWfVj7VI/AAAAAAAAAAU/IBFgwsusigo/s72-c/lovers.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2426929920445026229.post-4368335255286362080</id><published>2008-12-29T15:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-29T16:11:05.084-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Hand Stand Might Be Worth A Free Coffee</title><content type='html'>There I sat, enjoying a cup of coffee with a friend in Vancouver, Washington, when a man who appeared to be in his 50s, disheveled and slightly gaunt, stopped in front of the coffee shop window and bent forward. Seconds later, his feet were straight up in the air and balanced as though he had been traveling with Cirque du Soleil. I pointed towards the window in order to suggest something worth viewing to my friend who turned and appreciated the random act of gymnastics. After a near 30 seconds, the man returned to the natural upright state, surprising my friend and the barista with his aged appearance. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The man then entered the coffee shop and said the following, "Hey. Um. I'm broke. Can I have a cup of warm coffee or something?" The barista was gracious but firm in his response, "You can. But you still have to pay for it. I can't give anything out for free. Sorry." The hand-standing-man didn't seem too disappointed and shrugged his shoulders before turning to leave. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;While it was entertaining to see such a random thing, it also bears with it a slight sadness. The man was obviously without home and without complete sanity and the reality set in that if on this day he was given the grace of a free cup of coffee without the owners knowing or permission, he would return the next day expecting the same thing. I wanted so badly to pay for a cup of warm coffee for this man because it was a cold day, but I was short on cash also. I hope that one day that man finds someone who is willing and excited to invest in him and that he is willing to find himself in a situation that betters him so that he can walk into that coffee shop and pay for a cup of coffee on any day with his head held high, and without needing to beg or receive pity from anyone in order to get it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2426929920445026229-4368335255286362080?l=randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com/feeds/4368335255286362080/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2426929920445026229&amp;postID=4368335255286362080&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2426929920445026229/posts/default/4368335255286362080'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2426929920445026229/posts/default/4368335255286362080'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com/2008/12/hand-stand-might-be-worth-free-coffee.html' title='A Hand Stand Might Be Worth A Free Coffee'/><author><name>theambersweeney</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2426929920445026229.post-720898916728802813</id><published>2008-12-29T15:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-29T15:34:26.644-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Watch Out For The Wind Chill Factor</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UbTJ1Yqjy44/SVleezZjxHI/AAAAAAAAAAM/54WpcQPUpL0/s1600-h/portland-or.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 194px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UbTJ1Yqjy44/SVleezZjxHI/AAAAAAAAAAM/54WpcQPUpL0/s320/portland-or.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285359520982484082" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every year Portland has a bike-a-thon called "Pedalpalooza." It's a 16 day bicycle riding event where people are encouraged to bring their bicycle's down to the main roads and enjoy a nice trek through the city. Each day has a different organization, theme, or cause. It sounds like a fun event to participate in, except for the one day that caters only to crazy people. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Their moto is "Keep Portland Weird," and let me tell you, this group of people take weird to a different level. What is more is that there is a greater worldwide group they are connected to that insist on shocking people not with their words but their lack of clothing in the civilized world. That's right, they bike through the city completely, 100 percent, buck-naked. What are they thinking?! It doesn't appear that there's a unified cause, either. Some people say it's a type of protest, but it's rather difficult to discover what it is they're protesting. Clothes? Fashion? Decency? Sanity? Others think it's about liberating themselves. Some think it's just a funny adventure that one day they'll be able to say they did. Whatever the cause, this just seems like the most ridiculous thing to me. Especially on a cold day. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I think people are bored in life and need to find strange and un-impacting things to partner with because it seems radical and safe. I mean, seriously. What does one expect to change that will make this world a better place by riding a bicycle through a major city nude. This has to be one of the dumbest things I've ever heard of. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2426929920445026229-720898916728802813?l=randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com/feeds/720898916728802813/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2426929920445026229&amp;postID=720898916728802813&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2426929920445026229/posts/default/720898916728802813'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2426929920445026229/posts/default/720898916728802813'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://randomnorthwestlife.blogspot.com/2008/12/watch-out-for-wind-chill-factor.html' title='Watch Out For The Wind Chill Factor'/><author><name>theambersweeney</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UbTJ1Yqjy44/SVleezZjxHI/AAAAAAAAAAM/54WpcQPUpL0/s72-c/portland-or.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
