Saturday, February 23, 2008

So, yeah. . . .

Wow, is all I can say about the Congressional hearings. A waste of time for all.

And I've stopped trying to defend Roger Clemens, for fairly obvious reasons I would imagine. I still believe in "innocent until proven guilty," but his appearance there was either the most ill-advised, or ill-prepared, that I've ever witnessed (pun intended). It took my breath away, how poorly he presented himself. I felt very sorry for his family.

And obviously I'm a Republican, since I felt no sympathy for Brian McNamee at all. Clemens may be a delusional asshole with no sense of personal responsibility, but McNamee is just a sleaze.

Enough of that. Spring Training has begun, yay! Which means, of course, that Hunter Pence has started running into stuff. Or in this case, through stuff. Young Mr. Pence gets his own bobblehead this year. I'm anticipating that it will come with bandaids, an arm sling, and crutches.

So, I had some excitement of my own a couple of weeks ago. To make a long story short, my fire alarm went off. Alas, I did not hear it because I was in the shower (I was getting ready for work, meaning it was around 6 in the morning). By the time I realized it was going off, the fire department was at the door, ready to bust it down. I'm sopping wet, thinking it's the intruder alarm instead. Not sure who was more surprised--me, finding out that the "intruders" were firemen, or them--since I answered the door in a towel.

With my 12 gauge.

Meh. At least they know where I stand on the Second Amendment.


At 6:37 PM, Blogger Leah said...

Oh my gosh - that is either awful or hysterically awesome. or both.

At 8:06 AM, Blogger danyah said...

Well, most people I've told that story to find it hysterical. And the firemen weren't afraid of me, seeing as how I couldn't even level my shotgun at them (much less fire it) without dropping the towel.

I do suspect I'm going to be a highlight in local fire department lore. When I was younger, I wanted to be famous.

This isn't what I meant.


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