This weekend the adventurer side of me struggled gamely to the surface in time for this question: "Want to go to Mt. Rainier with the kids and hike some trails?"

Ms. Adventurer's head poked out from behind the sofa, knocked off the chips in her haste to be heard and yelled out a resounding, "YES", while clamping a hand over Ms. Couch potatoes mouth.

This is how I found myself strapped into my friends all terrain vehicle, a ten year old, nine year old, two year old, and the family dog all ashiver with excitement behind me.

Our first stop was Chenuis Falls in the Carbon River area of Mt. Rainier. It was on the "Easy" section of trails and fairly short. While Ms. Adventurer chortled at how easy that trail was, Ms. Couch Potato was lamenting over the amount of time she had to wait till she could stuff her face full again.

Since no one was maimed, killed, or otherwise disfigured, it was voted on that we would proceed to the next trail to see Ranger Falls and Green Lake. It's a three mile hike, three miles...Huh, I can do that shopping...so off we went.

I should have gotten an inkling of what we were in for when we passed those people passed out on the side of the trail..but oh no, my friend assured me they were just "resting"....rightttttt. After a full half hour of going straight up, even Ms. Adventure was beginning to have second thoughts. For God's sake, even the mall has escalators! No where in the trail guide did it mention that you would be proceeding at a 90 degree angle All Day.

We would pass people coming down along the way, who would then give encouragement to the children, things like, "you're almost there guys, how great your doing!", or "Keep it up, you're gonna love it!", to which my response was, "Hell, the kids are fine, anyone gotta winch to get my ass up the rest of this trail of death??"

Sadly, that was a no.

An hour later we reached the falls which is roughly half way to the lake. Both Ms. Couch potato and Ms. Adventure had to agree that the falls were majestic, awe inspiring, and breath taking...or that may just have been been the 1.8 uphill mile hike....

luckily for us, my friend decided that another 1.8 miles uphill to visit a lake could wait for another day and after we tackled Ms. Adventurer down and sat on her, Ms. Couch Potato gave a whole hearty agreement to that idea. Both Potato and Adventure breathed a collected sigh of relief as we trundled down the mountain at a brisk jog/stumble/slide/scream.

Surprisingly no one argued internally when I set us all up for a date with Mr. Painkiller.

So Ms. Adventurer is quiet for now and Ms.Couch Potato soothed into a coma by Sunday's day of laziness; however, Ms. Literary is on the warpath. She currently is writing an angry rant demanding immediate reclassifcation of the Green Lake trail from "Easy" to "Vertical Trail of Torture."

When doing a recent spell check on a document at work I found this little irony that I wanted to pass on:

The abbreviation DNR was not in the vast library of Microsoft Word(Shocking I know).
However, the "word" DKNY came up as an alternative....
I can't tell you how it heartens me that the people over at Mircrosoft have their shopping priorities in place.

Go Bill! We should hit the mall sometime soon Girlfriend!

One day I will wake up and not be assaulted by the realities of my life.
I will roll out of bed happy to go to work and pull on shoes that I bought this month, not three years ago. I will have pants that haven't been held together by mendings and I wont have to worry about stretching the dollars enough for gas till my next payday.

One day I will be able to buy whatever it is my son wants, when he wants and not worry about what bill has to slide in order to make everything work.

One day I will not worry about rent increases, back to school shopping, and daycare. My son's father can protest the amount of child support he doesnt pay all he wants because I. Wont. Need. Him.

One day I'm going to remember what it's like to have a hobby.

One day I will take Kendell to DisneyLand.

One day I will go back to college and not need financial aid or worry about how I will pay for daycare while I go.

One day I will not feel that I am drowning in worries because I make too much to receive help, but not enough to help myself get ahead.

One day I will never have to do a pay day loan again.

One day I will not eat Top Ramon because I have too.

One day I wont need to make a dollar out of fifteen cents.

One day, just not today

Dear Cupid,

Really, what the hell is wrong with you?!! I've been waiting for your delivery now for 33 years...tick tock tick tock, time is awastin my friend.
I understand back log but really, this is ridiculous.
Have you heard of Federal Express??? Overnight delivery...check into it.

I can understand you sending in pinch hitters to tide me over, but couldn't you send any with a job? Or that didn't live with their mother? If I have to deal with one more man with a foot fetish, you and I might just have to go a round, and I'm not talking about drinks either Romeo.

I don't think you understand the time sensitivity of my delivery. I was expecting it about ten years ago and the tracking system keeps reporting that it's "enroute". Really, how hard is it to deliver stateside??? I mean if you were sending me a package from Spain I could understand the delay, there's the travel time, time for citizenship papers to process, some English as a second language lessons...but seriously here, time is of the essence. There's an expiration date that's coming due!

So I am sending you this friendly reminder to either pony the hell up or I'm taking an arrow to your diapered ass.

Sincerely,
Me

I live near Seattle Washington, home of the Rain God, in case you didn't know.

Evidently the Rain God has taken a hiatus and the Sun God is covering his wet ass. It's been in the 90's for over a week and in the high 80's for the bulk of July.

I am here to say, "Uncle"

Ok, I called it, we give. Rain God, please come home. I want to worry about mildew again. I want to curse as I make a run for my office building because I forgot my umbrella and try to hurtle puddles the size of the potomic.
I don't have summer clothing you Sun God Bastard! I have winter clothing that I can use all year round. What the hell! My body is not designed for good weather. My body prefers nice sweaters that cover my ass...thank you very much.

The dog is laying in the sprinkler, the boy right beside him and I'm constantly feeling like I'm going through the change. I'm too young for the change damn you!

I have four fans, count em...four. They still don't get things cool enough. Let's not to mention the fact that i'm walking around in my own personal wet tshirt contest, just to stay cool, and i'm really tired of the neighbors looking at me funny.

My makeup is melting off my face and I start sweating the minute I get out of the shower. If I wanted to resemble a wax doll I would move to Texas and melt in peace.

So dear Rain God, come home and I promise never to groan when I wake up to the pitter patter of your little feet hitting my roof. I am burning the umbrella as a sacrifice as I type this...Please...Pretty please, come home before I am forced to wear shorts! For the Love of GOD you don't want to see that!

Talkative male grocery clerk: How are you today miss?

Me: Hot, sick, and on the rag...you?

He didn't talk much after that... Go figure.

My momma always said, never ask a question that you don't want to know the answer to...

I tend to put people in little categories. You do or say something distinctive...Smack, your in a category.

For example, we have an espresso stand on the first floor of our office building. The owners nice looking son works there and he's about 25 years old. We got to chatting one day and he informed me how he wanted to be a park ranger in Alaska, but decided against it since there wasn't much opportunity to surf.

His new name is "Eye Candy", he's great to look at, but he's all empty calories...

I'm at work

If I cough one more time I may just find that quarter my mother said I ate when I was three...

I don't appreciate being at work

If one more person asks if I'm sick after I squeak out a hello on the phone I'm going to reply, "no, my sex change meds are starting to kick in"

I can't go home because I only have ten hours of sick pay and I have to save them in case Kendell gets this cold I now have.

I am contemplating several ways to make my coworkers as sick as I am, such as coughing on everyone's phone handset

I think if a coworker were as sick as me, I'd insist they go home.

I find it irritating that people keep calling my place of business. What do they think this is? A business??

I believe that if I don't get any sleep tonight I may just come into work tomorrow in my pj's with no makeup. I bet they send me home then.

I'm not a happy sick person

People are irritating. What with all their talking and crap. Why do people have to talk so damn much, and laugh, what the hell is so funny today!! And all that looking, why are they looking and making eye contact. No eye contact, no touching, no laughing! I am banning all forms of communication RIGHT NOW.

I suppose they expect me to be doing work right about now....I hope they are up for disappointment.

Maybe I'll go lick the lid of the coffee creamer....

I think Vodka should be an official cold medicine

I could go sneeze on my boss's files.....

I really wanna go home....Sniffle

Fine, I'm leaving for lunch, you all can come out of hiding now.

You know those sexy women with their guttural voices that give you images of underground, smoke filled jazz clubs. Voices that melt like poured whiskey over ice on your ear drums. They invoke images of hot, steamy, urgent mating rituals...

Mine? not so much. I sound like Barry White trying to be a drag queen.

Laryngitis is not a good pick up tool.

Just in case you were wondering...

Saturday I got a bit of a slow start. Having to sleep off my margarita induced stupor and clean up after a rocking (if I might say so myself) candle party, it made me a bit slow....Hush, too much noise hurts me head.

I did wake up with one thing that caused my short man endless joy. I was voiceless. You got it. The cold I've been nursing took ahold of my vocal cords and gave em a mighty yank. So I did alot of pointing and threatening looks in lieu of comments like, "Are you crazy?!! Don't EAT that!" or, "Do I look like I'm kidding?!!" Kendell was overjoyed and also found great delight in asking me a million questions that would require lengthy responses..just to hear me squeak.

In self defense I bundled the dog and boy up for a trip to the off leash park. They both seem to like the open pasture and the ability to run hard and fast for as along as possible.

Now the thing about off leash parks that I'm learning is that they house all different kinds of people. There are your Laid Back personalities that could care less if you dog took a dumb on their dogs head. There are the Experts, who probably breed their dogs and know all about body language and can tell you if your dog has homosexual tendencies or not. There are the Newbies that try to be laid back but end up just a little bit paranoid. There are your dotting Mother Hens who call their dogs smoochems or baby, and then there are your Suburban Yuppies who pull up in their station wagon/SUV decked out in loafers and khaki's with their dogs who are named things like Tiberus, or Zeus.

Each of these types are ok from a distance but I prefer to stay with the Laid Back, Newbies, or Experts. They don't take offense easily and like to dish out useful advice like, "See how they sniff each others urine, it's how they identify each other"...Yea, gee, thanks for that.
I've learned alot about dogs since we started coming. How not to freak out when Buddy tries to mount a MALE dog, because he is just trying to assert dominance or how not to panic when they start barking as long as the body language remains friendly and no blood is coursing down their little dog bodies. But not everyone that comes to these parks are open to this kind of education.

They come to exercise their dogs, but not really to "mingle". God forbid if their purebreed whatchmacallit gets jumped on by another dog. The sky is falling if they actually start to bark or growl at all, and Lord help you if your dog does hanky panky on their dog..Dominance bid or no.

This Saturday, Buddy took a shine to a dog who didn't really like him back. He would go up to him and try to engage him in a chase...no dice. It didn't help that the owner would call her dog back every time Buddy did get this dogs attention. "Here Hermione!, Come Hermione"
See what I mean about stupid names??

I ignored it for the most part and took them on a run so that we could convince/exhaust Buddy enough to get him back on the leash at some point before midnight. We were coming back from the run when Buddy spied his wannabe friend. He started to chase him around a tree when the dog's owners husband grabbed Buddy by the fur to stop him. Instantly my hackles went up and I snapped at him to get his hands off my dog. I pointed out that they were just playing and it was his dog that was freaking out, not mine. The wife pipes in with the searing comeback of, "no, it's your dog, please remove him" with all the snootyness of your most highbrow society matron.

Oh, it's on now bitches. Throwdown at the dog park! She did not just tell me to Remove.My.Dog!
"We have been sitting here at this bench." she said.

Oh, this went over real well with me. I stood toe to toe with her and in a sneer said, "First of all, they were playing, not fighting, secondly, you never handle another persons dog that way, you grab yours and let the owner (me) grab mine, thirdly (is that a word? huh, I digress..) if your dog is that much of a pansy, you should take him over to the "special needs" section, and lastly, I don't care if your name is carved in this bench with the blood of your ancestors, you want me to leave, make me!" all the while looking at the reflection of my outraged expression in her Raybans.

Needless to say, we stayed. Stupid loafer wearing yuppies. I had to seriously clamp down on the urge to let the air out of their Volvo.

sigh.

Anger management anyone??

So today is D day (or should I say C day??).
The candle party has arrived.
I've spent the whole week scrubbing, disinfecting, making things spit spot shiny, just so that I can get a few extra credits to buy some silly candles. Is my house that dirty you ask? Um, I have a ten year old BOY...yes, yes it is.

Last night I pulled down the punch bowl and proceeded to put my ingredients on the table for the margarita fest we will be having. I plan on making ALOT of margarita's.

In trots my son. He scans the table, notices the gargantuan bottle of tequila and looks up at me with raised eyebrows, "What are you guys drinking at the party MOMMMMM?"

Explain to me how a ten year old boy can manage to turn into my father in one second flat? Was this the result of the curse my parents spewed at me several times during my puberty? You know the one where they say, "I hope one day you have children Just. Like. YOU!". I figured when I turned 21 and had my own child and lived in my own home, I didn't have to listen to the voice of judgment anymore.

Evidently I was wrong.

So while several grown ladies are getting tipsy and buying candle sticks they don't need but the liquor god approves of, my son, the moral police, will be watching on with the disapproving eyes of my father.

Mind you, this is the same boy that decided streaking his sitter sounded like a fine idea...

But that's ok though, cause I know...one day he will have children Just. Like. HIM.

So I had to have a little talk with Kendell.
Evidently he has streaked the babysitter.
What? Didn't read that right? Let me repeat, He.Has.Streaked.The.Babysitter...

Um, yea....as in, ran into the living room in all of his birthday suit glory. Waggled things about a bit and ran back out laughing hysterically.

So... we had a little discussion about when it is, and is not, a proper time to be naked.

Basically it comes down to this; in your room, in the bathroom, or in a changing facility, it's ok to be naked as long as your ALONE.

Being buck naked in front of the giggling fifteen year old sitter....BAD, BAD, BAD.

Please excuse me while I go buy a combination lock for his trousers...

There's alot to be said about friendship...It holds your hand when you cry, it doesn't judge you when you splurge on that triple chocolate confection, it hates all the people you hate, just on principal, and it knows EXACTLY how to guilt you into doing what it wants.

This is how I ended up being on the living room floor last night covered in soot.

No, really, it is; let me explain.

My friend LINDA (you know who you are) threw a candle party. Being the loyal friend I am, I went (first mistake). Also being the friend I am I bought many things (not a mistake....mmmm, smelly in a good way). Then she pulled out the big guns.
If I were to throw my OWN candle party she would get more credit. Damn You Linda!!

The party is this Friday. Joy.

What this means is I am cleaning my house to prepare for at least fifteen women, on whom I plan on plying with liquor and chips to loosen the clutch on their pocket books.
Sneaky?
Yes. Shuddup.

How does this lead to me playing in the ashes? Hell, I'm getting there...

While I was outside supervising the lawn mowing by my slave child, I was sweeping the dog area and pulling weeds when I realized I needed to clean out the fireplace.
My fireplace is so full of ashes I could hide a small child...or a grown adult, which you will see shortly.

I head inside armed with my bag and dustpan and proceed to shovel out a good six months worth of burned paper. I'm doing good besides the inhaling of many toxic fumes, but it's all to maintain my self delusion of being a neat person (cough, cough).

I decide to suck out the small remainder with the vacuum. I open it to change out the bag only to see that the bag had commited suicide inside of the vacuum (forshadowing you say?). I get it all cleaned out and turn it on...why did I turn it on? Hell if I know.

What happens next is reminiscent of the explosion at Hiroshima. The vacuum vomits all it's innards filled with ash into my living room in one giant expulsion. I'm covered with soot from head to toe, the inside of my nostrils resemble a black out and every time I bat my eyelashes, soot explodes from my lids like little kamikazi planes. I'm sitting spread eagled on the floor, stunned, while this giant soot cloud hovers over my living room.

This is where my son comes into the room, looks at me, notices the cloud of death, shakes his head in dismay and turns on the fan before leaving the room, all without saying a word.

Yes, I've done this before...now shuddup and go get me little cats A,B, and C...

Sunday was a beautiful summers day. Kendell and I packed up and headed out to the beach for a day free of worries. The sun was glinting off our sunglasses and the music set to a decibel guaranteed to piss off a few elderly.

Pulling up to a light I noticed the transient in his usual spot. I've seen him here often. Sitting in his wheelchair, one empty pant leg seemingly taunted by the other full robust leg. His unshaven face is framed by a baseball cap that seems to have weathered many a cold Washington morning. I see him often, yet I don't, not really. He is a part of the landscape, no more or less then the bus stop he sits near.

I'm not sure when my heart steeled against people like this lonely man on the corner. Was it too many, "Sixty Minutes Investigates"? Was it when I started seeing them every day begging down town? Or was it when I realized I couldn't help the world, that I was barely helping my own little family make it, so I shut them away to avoid the hurt.

Kendell's heart is that of most young children. Open, vulnerable, and sweet. He's yet without my cynicism and jaundiced eye. He sees things in black and white and it makes his world very simple.

We pulled next to this man and my head groaned with our proximity, while Kendell rejoiced at his chance to say hello; which he did in his young man/boy voice. The man's answering hello was lit with a smile that relayed his pleasure at actually being seen. Kendell didn't see the chair, or the sign asking for money, he just saw the man.

Behind him this day was a new addition. There stood a forty something white man. His head sheltered from the sweltering heat by a broad brimmed hat, designer sunglasses perched on his nose, and a name brand tshirt designed to be "casual" covered a well fed physique. Once I got over the Bermuda shorts and socks pulled to his knees, I realized he carried a sign. I didn't want to stare but read it as we pulled away. It read, "Help make my neighborhood safe, don't feed the homeless".

Here was a man that made enough money to keep himself clothed in ridiculous, but name brand clothing, protesting a man in thrift store apparel, obviously handicapped, for a few lousy dollars.

Yes, he might take that money and go buy booze, yes he might take it and buy drugs, or yes, he might take it home to help feed a family for one more meal, but I don't believe this man is going to be crawling in your bedroom window.

That man and his sign enraged me, it made my heart ache, and it made me listen. Listen to my heart, listen to my son. I heard the kindness that had not been leaked out of Kendell by society. I heard the plea in one man's eyes, I heard the ignorance behind the sign, and I listened.

I believe in signs, I believe that they are put there to guide us; this sign was meant for me. I find it enjoyably ironic that the messenger would be less then pleased with the message he managed to send me.

Thank you Lord, for lessons well learned.

I'm not 21 anymore. Surprise!

So please explain why I keep insisting that I can dance till 2:30 in the morning and still get up for work at 6:30?

Today my feet beg for mercy with every step, my knees crack and pop, I have a hangover which includes intermittent visits to the bathroom, and my eyes are so bloodshot that everyone seems to be wearing pink.

I would say I'm going through midlife crisis but damn it, I'm not at mid-life yet!

Let's not forget that when I've had a few liquid refreshments, I can't seem to say no to men who want my number. As a result I may get a few calls from varied gentlemen, including a man going through a divorce, and a stutterer, who, by the way, called me at 3am to make sure I didn't give him a fake number.

Lord help me,
looks like it's time to change my cell phone number AGAIN.

What's that you ask? Well, take a seat my little one's and let me give you a lesson in Elevator Etiquette.

I work in a building on the seventh floor. That means I get to rid in an elevator that's been around since the conception of fire, twice a day.

At first pale this might not seem like an issue that should require lessons, but let me tell you my little friends...it does, oh yes it does.

*Note, these are actual occurrences and should be avoided like a six hundred pound human in a mosh pit.

The Basics:

• Let the riders exit the car before you enter.
• Push your floor and move away from the buttons...yes, back away, the button will not turn off.
• Say, "Excuse me" as you try to leave the elevator, shoving just makes us pissy.
• Pushing the button over and over again will not make the elevator move faster.

Advance Course:

• Hands full? Ask someone to push your floor rather then berating the entire car when you go past it. The elevator goes up..AND down..It's ok, it will return to your floor eventually.
• Someone asks YOU to push a floor, don't roll your eyes or ask if their hands are broken, their asking for a reason.
• If your small child hits the button for every floor, for your child's safety, leave the elevator IMMEDIATELY.
• Don't try to make babies on an Elevator, it's too small a space and leaves others feeling just a teeny bit..dirty.
• Do not look at other riders and snicker, you are trapped with them after all.
• Even if you whisper, we can still HEAR YOU.
• Eyeing cleavage in an elevator is not subtle.

Masters Degree:

• If there is an officer and several hand cuffed individuals...wait for the next car, trust me.
• Don't pass gas, this is recycled air people and we could get stuck at any moment.
• If the elevator gets stuck, please do not throw yourself to the ground screaming, "spare ME God, just ME", it's rude.
• If there is only one other person on the car, it is not necessary to stand right next to them and smell their hair.
• Please do not feel free to tell everyone in the car your life story, we don't want to know.
• If you have not bathed in several decades, please, take the stairs.

I can still see the baby in your eyes. The little face that would burrow and snuggle into the soft curve of my neck.

I still see the the black, downy hair and sweet infant smile glimmering just behind the man child you are becoming.

It's at moments like this I forget your pre-adolescent angsts. Your moments of absolute frustration as you begin the struggle between man and boy; often I am just a casualty of that inner war.

Stolen moments where snuggles are still ok and "Mommy" replaces "Mom".

My little Angel in the morning, how I love your sweet baby face.

When you're thirsty, you'll drink anywhere!

This weekend I took the boy and the dog to the off leash park. While stopped at a light on our way to the park I notice a sound being issued out of Buddy's mouth that can only be described as the mournful howl of extreme doggy desire. My hundred pound dog has his head, paws, and the bulk of his extreme furryness outside my half opened back window.

I glance over to the car next to me and see a perfectly ordinary woman. She's grinning, but I can't see anything that would inspire such doggy longing. I'm about to turn away to coral my wayward pup when I notice peeking just above the window ledge two distinctly feline eyes, followed cautiously by a nose. The black furred temptress jumps into her mistress's lap and assumes a "don't touch me" pose with all the haughtiness of an old south debutante.

As my lips form the words, "Uh Oh", I see the grin on my driving compadre's face stretch into full fledged giggles.

The light turned green, thwarting my puppy boy's attempt on interspecies mingling and I darted out of the danger zone with a wave and a grin to the gal in the other car.

My new occupation starting Monday? Dog Whisperer

Name:Kara

Location: Tacoma, Washington, United States

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