When I become a park ranger...

As many of you know, (I say "many" even though there are like, 4, people who read this... but whatevs) the shelf inside one of my kitchen cupboards collapsed "the other day." "The other day" is how I refer to it so people don't judge me for having all sorts of things strewn about in my apartment. If the shelf is down, that explains the grape nuts, Swiss Miss, oatmeal and Chocolate-tini packages all over my couch. Truth be told, I'm pretty sure the shelf fell a month ago. Well, today I finally had the energy to try to put it back up. I bought L-brackets this weekend and I figured I could do it while Andy was at work... wrong. Epic Fail.

I took everything out of the cupboard (you know, the things on the bottom shelf that didn't come flying out in the middle of the night, crashing down scaring the shit outta me, making me think there is a burglar and nearly kill Andy for NOT GETTING THE FUCK UP AND PROTECTING ME! i.e. when the shelf fell) took it all out, marked where the brackets should go, etc etc... and I can't get enough leverage to drill the screws in. Got up on my stepladder, one foot braced on the counter, boobs inside the cabinet-- hooked on that little lip that the magnets that hold the cupboard door closed are in--for leverage, you know... nada. The cabinets must actually be made of steel even though they look like wood. I got ONE, count 'em, one, screw to go all the way in. FML.

So, I gave up. Decided to call my mother and whine. Turns out my father has been to Dakota City at least twice this week... you know, Dakota City, the city that is like 10 miles from my apartment and he hasn't called once even though, hey, he could fix my shelf... THAT Dakota City. Dammit.

So as I'm finishing up talking to her, I remember a question I had for her the other day: Andy has never been to Mt. Rushmore so I'm thinking of taking him there this summer. Where else should we go?

We, of course, discussed Reptile Gardens and other places I had already thought of. Then she says Wind Cave. This is where my mistake comes in: I said "Oh yeah, I forgot about that." She proceeds to tell me in detail (for ten minutes) which tour to take. "Yeah mom, I remember" Of course I remember, I was seven-freaking-teen!
"Don't take the one we took. Take the one Chris walked. Well, he walked all of them except Mammoth Cave, but he was only a year old then. We backpacked him then. First your dad carried him, then Uncle Mike carried him.." blah blah, fucking blah, story I've heard EVERY TIME the word "cave" is even mentioned in a conversation in a 3 room radius of where she is...

Then: "Yeah, we're going to Yellowstone in the first part of August cuz Chris has never been there."
If you hang around here enough, you'll realize that Yellowstone is probably my favorite place in the world so far. So the fact that they rub in my face that I can't go, and that the Golden Child is going with them this year, really makes me mad.

It doesn't seem to matter what I do, in my mother's eyes, I will never be as good as him. He spent all his college fund on things that ended up getting repossessed while I nannied through high school and actually bought her birthday and xmas gifts and the occasional thing that caught my eye and screamed "mom" at me. He still wins.

He joined the Navy and got kicked out. I went to college and got a BA in English and a minor in Photography. He still wins.

He got married, had two children ( I should say, got his girlfriend knocked up, got married, had a second child...), got divorced, remarried, and divorced again in less than 10 years. I finished high school, college, DIDN'T get knocked up and got married and got a job (he went thru multiple jobs--> like in the realm of 10 jobs at least in 10 years) in those same 10 years. He still wins.

I came home regularly and often brought home new games or movies or whatnot for my family. He came home to ask for money or whatever. When I came home, MAYBE mom cleaned all the junk that she had thrown on my bed in the last month off so that I could sleep somewhere. More often not. Every time he came home, she baked his favorite dessert.

Andy noticed (I didn't until recently, he noticed within about 2 months of meeting my mom) that whenever we are home, there are approximately 5 Chris stories told in the average visit. Sometimes she tells one about me.

So for her to just mention that the Golden Child gets to go to Yellowstone this year--- the year that I DESPERATELY want to go, that I DESPERATELY want to take my husband and can't--- is just a slap in the face. So I've decided: When I become a park ranger, HE IS NOT ALLOWED IN MY PARK. She can come in until she pisses me off.. so about 15 minutes. That's ok, she'll need a smoke after 15 minutes anyway.*
harumph.



*Admittedly, that was a low blow, but she's been hitting pretty far below the belt for a few months now, so just once, it's my turn.
the end.