And this? Is why I don't like other people's kids.

Okay, that's not entirely true. There are some kids who are totally wonderful. My daughter has a wonderful friend named Katelyn who doesn't have a mean bone in her entire body. And I wish all little kids were like that.

Bean has a "friend". Devon. Well, had a "friend" Devon. Devon lives two doors down, and she's the only kid on the street Bean's age, so by default, they were "friends".

Devon and Bean argue pretty much every time they play together. Oddly enough, they're always playing over at our house. Devon has this habit of completely trashing Bean's room, and Bean quickly realized that even though someone else destroyed her room, she was responsible for putting it back together. I won't help.

Devon also invites herself to dinner. And to spend the night. Only she tells Bean to come ask me. The answer has been no every time. (By the way, am I the only person in this God forsaken world who was raised not to invite themselves over for dinner or to spend the night?)

Well, Saturday, I was taking Bean to the park. I was getting ready when Devon rang the doorbell. Bean told her she couldn't play, but I told her to run over and invite her to come to the park with us if she wanted to come along. Half an hour later, I went over with Bean, exchanged cell phone numbers with Devon's mom, and we went to the park. It ended up being too crowded, so we went to a marsh wildlife preserve deal right by the park instead.

The whole time, there was no arguing. It was great. We walked around the marsh, visited the nature center. It was over an hour of blissful getting along. On the way home, I told Devon she could go home and ask her mom if she could play for a while, and then come over. I was feeling generous.

She did come over, and after about 20 minutes, the arguing started. I went in Bean's room once to tell them to quit, and eventually I just got sick of it and told them to start straightening up because it was time for Devon to go home.

Five minutes later, I snuck up to Bean's room because I heard more arguing. I peeked in the door, and Devon was saying, "... so then I'm just going to take one of your things. I'm going to take ..." Then she saw me and stopped. I said, "It's time to leave. Right now. Bean, you can finish cleaning up after you walk Devon home." I was livid. Really livid. And desperately trying to restrain myself. I couldn't believe the nerve of this kid trying to walk out of my house with one of my kid's things.

Bean came home from walking Devon, and she was sobbing. Devon had called her stupid.

In the next five minutes, I found out Devon had done/said the following:

1. Told Bean she was stupid.
2. Called Bean a name for trying to keep her from breaking/tearing shit up.
3. Made fun of Bean because she likes to play with her parents.
4. Told Bean she has a big butt.

Then the doorbell rang. Devon had forgotten her sweater. I couldn't even look this kid in the face because I really thought I might lose it. Not physically. I'd never get physical with a child. But I was really afraid of unleashing my arsenal of hurtful words on this kid. Which is totally unreasonable. But I wasn't exactly feeling reasonable.

So she got her sweater, and when she left, I slammed the door. I slammed a door on a seven-year-old. I? Am so mature.

Yesterday, Devon came over to play like nothing had happened. No, Bean couldn't play. I wasn't letting this venomous little cleptomaniac back into my house. Especially after I found out that she'd tried (and possibly succeeded) in taking things from my home before.

I would go over and say something to her mother, but, frankly, I've been to her house, and I don't think that would make much of an impact. The house is a disaster area, and the father can't even get his lazy ass off of the couch to get the door. He just screams at other people to answer it.

I'm trying really hard not to be so angry at this kid. Because I'm an adult. And because I'm almost completely certain that her home life has a lot to do with why she is the way she is.

But Bean doesn't have a mean bone in her body. She doesn't want Devon to come over anymore, though. She agrees that a real friend doesn't upset you every time you play together. And a real friend doesn't say mean, hurtful things just to say them. I wish she would stand up for herself. But I don't stand up for myself, either, though, so I suppose she gets that from me.

I can't wait to move.

Old man crushes

I have old man crushes. It's really odd. With all the young, heartthrob-y actors in Hollywood, I have crushes on old guys.

I have never been especially interested in watching political crap on television until I discovered Keith Olbermann. Now, he used to do sports correspondance, and I never thought twice about him then. Maybe it's the combination of nice suits with coordinating ties, salt and pepper hair, the glasses, the cynicism, and the knowledge of politics that makes everything he has to say very, very interesting.

In the same political vein, I find both Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert wildly attractive. Colbert kind of reminds me of a cartoon character. Maybe that's what I like about him. And, I know, I know, mid-forties isn't necessarily old. It's actually not. However, since I'm 25, I'm going to say that mid-forties is older.

Then we have the old guys who just have phenomenal talent. And that is hot, too. Bruce Springsteen, Al Pacino, and *drool* John Malkovich. Good night, I love that man.

And then there is the bizarre that I can't explain. My psychoses all come to light when I tell people that there is something oddly attractive about Billy Bob Thornton. Shut up! Who are you to judge me?

Ungrateful Panhandler

There is an old homeless guy who sits on the corner of Pikes Peak and Tejon all the time. Every time I show up for work and round the corner to the pub, he's sitting on the bench asking for change.

A couple of weeks ago, I had a whole dollar. And I gave it to him because, really, I didn't need the dollar to pay for parking since I was paid up. And I like being able to do something nice for someone else when I can. It's winter, it's fucking cold as hell some days, and a cup of coffee (or gin, whatever) goes a long way to keeping someone warm when they have no place to go.

Last week, as I was approaching his bench, he was asking someone if they could spare a dollar, and they said no. Then he turned to ask me. I told him, "I don't have ANY money, I'm sorry."

And as I walked away, he said, "NOone has a DOLLAR to spare today. NOone has ANY change."

Excuse me, old man, but I most certainly do not have any money to give you. Why do you think I'm coming to work? Because I need to make money. I have, like, three pennies and 10 pesos. I can give you the pesos, but it wouldn't get you very far. I am not lying. I have nothing. Besides, I don't even think I got a 'thank you' last time I gave you a dollar. And now you're giving me attitude? AAAAACK!

I usually have a really tender heart for the homeless and/or disabled people in this city. But that.... really rubbed me the wrong way. I have a kid who I have to feed, clothe, and house. I cannot always give these guys money. Can.not.

Letter from God

"Letter from God"
by Scroobius Pip and Dan le Sac

And I? Am feeling like a big stupid jerk.

Oh boy.

My co-worker, the pregnant one. She's not at work for the rest of the week. Why? She's having a miscarriage. She is understandably heartbroken, and so is everyone in the office.

I feel so awful for her because I know how badly she wanted (wants) this. And she was so happy. But at her obstetrics appointment earlier this week, they could not find a heartbeat via vaginal ultrasound, and they actually think the baby stopped developing at 5 1/2 weeks.

I have talked about how I don't know what it's like to be excited about a pregnancy, to have the people around me excited, that I don't know what it's like to have a proud father present at an ultrasound, and at a birth. And I have talked about how jipped and jealous it makes me feel. But I also don't know what it's like to want to make a baby so badly, but having a body that won't cooperate. I don't know what it's like to want and hope and pray for it for 8 years, have my prayers answered, then have that hope snatched away. And I guess I'm glad that I haven't had to go through that.

But now I'm left feeling this terrible guilt. Over the jealousy, and the bitterness. Even though I was happy for her, those feelings peppered that happiness for her. And I'm feeling really awful. I feel awful for her, and I feel awful that I let those thoughts sneak in and affect my overall feelings about everything.

So, if anyone reading this can send good thoughts her way, I'm sure she and her husband can take everything you're willing to dish out.