Sweet home Arizona

Ok, Phoenix does not rank for high on my list of great American cities. But I did enjoy yet another weekend out of Pullman. And in very warm weather. With palm trees.

Let's see, I arrived in Phoenix and due to my tardy flights (thanks, Southwest), I checked into my hotel and headed off right away to the stadium to watch the Diamondbacks play the Giants. My friend Cole was joining me there later, after he killed some bees and got lost in Phoenix.

Diamondback fans, for the record, are incredibly boring. Granted, they didn't have the racist props that the Braves did, but they were boring just the same. The true fun came from the drunk lady in front of me. She tried her hardest to start a wave, yelling at the crowd, and doing everything in her power to get us pumped up. I was with her, but I might have been alone in this sentiment. But that's just me, supporting all alcoholics.

The row of kids behind me were also fun, as they screamed things out at Barry Bonds for being a big fat cheater. True to my word to my father, I joined in on my boo-ing. Bonds sucks. Drugs are bad, mm-kay?

After the game, Cole and I headed back to the hotel where he had to sit through (a) my marathon ironing session because I hate wrinkles and (b) my gushing over Stephen Colbert. And I don't care what Cole says, I can love Stephen with no shame. Here's where Cole's best quote of the weekend came in. Noticing that I had a loose thread on my shirt, I asked him if he had a pair of scissors or a pocket-knife. After rustling through his bag, Cole informed me that he didn't have those, but he did have some floss that I could use.

Now, I know that I'm from Idaho so maybe I'm a bit slow, but do people often use floss to cut thread? How exactly does one use string to cut string? Cole's California wisdom at its finest.

Let's see, the next day I went to my conference which went well. Then I skipped out to see all the sights that Phoenix had to offer. Not much, as it turns out. The best thing about Phoenix was riding around in Cole's Mustang. Even though he almost killed me by going the wrong way down a one-way street.

Speaking of scary experiences, apparently all the cool kids in Phoenix have massive road rage. We were two minutes too late to see an incident, but we were just in time to see a police officer putting at least ten bullet casings into an evidence bag. That's right, some guy was cut off in traffic so his logical response was whipping out his gun (yup, I said whipped out) and opening fire. Silly me, in this situation I would have just sworn under my breath and flipped off the offending party, with my finger well-hidden under my dash. I do that since you don't know what kind of crazies you're going to run into. And Phoenix has justified this for me.

Ok, Curb Your Enthusiasm is on now, so thus endeth the Phoenix stories for one day.