Hirpasms

Here’s something I’m not fond of: when a saleswoman or cashier calls me either “sweetie” or “hun.” I know it’s supposed to be pleasant but lady, I don’t know you. I don’t really care for “sir” either, but it’s a definite step up from the terms of endearment. We just met, our time together has lasted roughly 46 seconds, and the only thing we have in common is this transaction. Where in that brief encounter did you get the idea that I’d like for you to call me “hun”? From now on, my response will be “no problem sweet tits.” Unless, of course, I’m cranky.

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I got home yesterday just in time to catch the Roger Clemens press conference. It was pretty interesting stuff, the type of drama that would make TNT proud. They know drama, ya know? He’s a guy I’ve always suspected used, the parallels between his career and Bonds are pretty eerie. I couldn’t help but notice how much Roger speaks like President Bush. The same pissed off, can’t really formulate a thought, but the anger and frustration are so prevalent they can’t be ignored and they try hard to intimidate an entire room.

And I tell you what, there may be some holes in Rogers story and doubts raised by the audio tape of his conversation with his accuser (doubts on both sides) but I think if my integrity had been questioned and I was innocent (of course I’d be innocent) I’d be just as pissed off as Roger is. Imagine you were faithful to your spouse, and someone said they saw you with someone else. You can’t easily prove your innocence, and those accusations are fucking with what’s dearest to you. Yep, you’d be livid too.

But here’s the catch, his anger came late. This all started with the Mitchell Report, and that came out weeks ago. If you’re that angry about something, how do you control yourself for weeks? Maybe he’s just angry all the time, that pesky roid-rage.

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There have been numerous occasions in which I entered a stall at work only to find someone was kind enough to leave a little something behind. Be it a full toilet, pee on the seat or short and curlies scattered across the seat. Basically, it’s never very pleasant. But for the second time, I walked in to find someone left the sports page. That’s a good Samaritan.