Today was not a good day for not spilling things on myself.

Phase One began when I tried to drain a can of Red Bull…with an uncapped, half-full water bottle in the same hand. That was the smoothest move of the shirt incidents.

Phase Two occured when I went to pick up some coffee for assorted people at the commissary (i.e. cafeteria). One person wanted a soy latte. This beverage apparently did not want to be made.

When the coffee dude was making it, it overflowed and burned his hands. Although it probably wasn’t a brilliant idea for him to heat the soy milk directly in the cup.

Then, as I was carrying it back, it spit a large chunk of its contents directly onto my shirt, in the exact same place (and almost exactly the same pattern) as the water I had spilled earlier.

Phase Three was when I tried to use some of the “wash-free hand sanitizer” they have at work after I cleaned a bunch of trash off the floor.

I didn’t even notice that a large blob of it was on my shirt. And neither did the guy I was talking to. Unless he was being a complete dick, but he’s really a very good guy, so I think he just missed it.

But now I smell like a combination of latte and sanitizer, and have for most of the day. I should have just dumped a bucket of water over my head and gotten it all overwith…

I’ve been tired and a little punchy lately, but for the most part, I’ve felt like I’m doing okay in terms of actually being coherent enough to get things done.

Until this afternoon.

I had to take a computer back over to the telecommunications department at another building, so I moved a bunch of stuff around in my trunk so I could fit it.

In addition to the normal stuff (assorted ice-removal implements leftover from Chicago, trash, jumper cables, antifreeze, etc), there was a package of half a dozen eggs.

I had purchased this item at the grocery store last night, and I had somehow missed it when I took everything up to my apartment.

I also completely forgot that I purchased it, because otherwise, I would have gone back down to get the eggs. I’m lucky I found them when I did, or my car would have stank to high hell.

And here, I take a small bow.

The level of desire you have to do your work is inversely proportional to the amount of time you spend at social-networking sites like Friendster.

As in, if you have no desire to do your work, you will spend a ton of time on Friendster, whereas if you want to get things done, you will forget it even exists.

I realize this is pointing out the obvious in an intellectual fashion, but it’s still fun to overintellectualize.

As I mentioned, I was in Phoenix over the weekend. I went because Mark was in town at the Western Psychological Association’s conference, and, well, I had never been to Phoenix.

Mark and I tend to meet only in neutral cities, since he hates L.A. and I despise D.C., thus making it difficult to visit each other at home.

It’s almost suspicious. As Mark put it, “You know, sometimes I feel like we’re having an affair or something.” Well, except for the sex and sneaking around, yes. But since those are the main ingredients of an affair, then no.

But I hadn’t seen him since I dragged him to Atlanta for thanksgiving, and probably wasn’t going to see him in a while, I decided to go to Phoenix to see him.

Well, actually, the bulk of the weekend was spent getting to and from Phoenix. Took thirteen hours to get there, was there for about thirty-six hours.

It’s a better ratio than when Mark and I drove 40 hours round trip to San Antonio to spend about two days there. But still, it was fairly whirlwind.

It would have been a better ratio, had it not taken me over two hours to get out of L.A. It took me as much time to get from work to Palm Springs (100 miles) than from there to Phoenix (250+ miles).

Anyway, I got to Phoenix at about 12:30am, so I didn’t really get to see much scenery on the way there, and basically passed out as soon as i got in.

When I woke up for good around 1pm, I went for a walk around downtown Phoenix, since Mark was actually there for work and had to cover a bunch of sessions.

It was hot as hell, since it was, after all, Phoenix. The whole city is the same sort of sandstone-y color, although design is more of a consideration than it is in L.A., where earthquake protection is paramount.

There’s a nice blend of faux-Mexican and faux-Native American all over Phoenix. Everything there is very new, though. Nothing looks like it’s been there for longer than about 20 years.

After my walk about town (followed by the chugging of enormous amounts of water, because it’s ridiculously dry there), Mark and I drove out to Tempe to see ASU and then to Scottsdale.

There’s a good bit of nice scenery around Phoenix. I maintain my previous opinion that Flagstaff is still the prettiest city in Arizona, but Phoenix ain’t bad.

Plus, Flagstaff doesn’t have a professional baseball stadium with a retractable roof that’s retracted to the tune of an extremely bad 80′s synthesizer song.

Mark and I saw this fabulous phenomenon at the Diamondbacks game we went to after dinner at Majerle’s (insert gales of laughter by 90′s basketball fans who remember Dan Majrele playing for the Suns).

The Bob (the Bank One Ballpark) is actually a pretty decent stadium. I will admit, as stupid as retractable roofs sound, they are kind of cool to watch in action.

The game was pretty lame, it was low-scoring and then the Diamondbacks pulled their starting pitcher and the bullpen stunk it up. But it was still really fun.

The fun was seriously enhanced by the fact that they sold ginormous beers at the ballpark. I had one of those hilariously oversized cans of Foster’s and a giant Heineken, and Mark had a pair of large beers as well.

We followed that batch of drinking with…more drinking. We went up in the rotating restaurant atop Mark’s hotel and had maragitas, and then went to the sports bar in the lobby and had more drinks.

You’ve gotta love benders.

Now driving in, I didn’t see much except lit up signs of restaurants along the road. But one of those restaurants was Waffle House. I cannot tell you how exciting this was.

This was the first time I had seen one (and I saw three!) this far west. There are a few in New Mexico, but to see one outside of the former Confederacy is pretty rare.

Waffle House is a grand dispenser of greasy food and sketchy atmosphere, and Mark and I have come to love this fine chain. The background may change, but the dentally challenged waitresses and cooks with massive tattoos all over their arms never do.

So clearly, after a night of drinking, it was time to go grab some Waffle House hash browns (smothered and covered, of course) before I had to drop Mark back at the airport, or as Phoenix calls it, the “Sky Harbor.”

I don’t think they could be more pretntious than that if they tried.

I dropped Mark off and started driving back to LA, passing hundreds and hundreds of cacti that I missed in the dark. The sedona cacti (the ones that look like people) were particularly entertaining, because they made the desert look populated.

Overall it was a very fun trip. I’m still kind of exhausted (as you might have noticed given the rambling and parenthetical nature of this post), but it was definitely worth it.

A brief summary of what happened in Phoenix:

More to come…

I’ll be in Phoenix for the next few days, and I’m leaving my computer at home, so you’re all on your own to entertain yourselves.

So I finally cracked and got a new cell phone. My old one had been going downhill for quite some time, refusing to hold either a charge or a signal recently.

The other thing about it that pissed me off was that it didn’t have a decent ringtone. There was no standard ring, only silly weird ringtones.

I also refuse on principle to pay for a normal ringtone, and I really don’t like the idea of having a song as a ringtone, because they usually sound pretty shitty.

Becuase of that, I had to choose from what they gave me. So I decided if it was going to sound stupid, it might as well sound really stupid.

I chose the absolute worst ringtone I could find, one the phone called “Chickens,” but which Cleo dubbed the Clown Cars ring, because it sounded like it should accompany clowns in tiny cars.

The Clown Cars were the bane of my existence (and the existence of those around me when my phone rang) for almost two years. I was fucking through with them.

So I got a nice new phone, and now I have a normal goddamn ringtone. It’s so wonderful to hear the dulcet tones of a normal ring instead of obnoxious bopping clowns.

The Clown Cars are banished to the recesses of my memory, only to be heard from again during nightmares.

Laz’s post about being out of shape amused me, since I have long been a professional at being out of shape. The thing is, I am fairly out of shape, but I’m not as out of shape as I appear.

See, here’s the thing. I turn red and sweat at the drop of a hat. People ask me if I’ve been running after I walk up the stairs, or pass out a large batch of mail.

But I can easily bike several miles without getting seriously winded after I get past the first peak of energy burning. It’s very weird.

I’m not quite sure how to deal with this, especially because I know I look like a fat fuck for breaking into a sweat at the slightest exertion, and I hate that.

I suppose eating right and excercising would be a first step, but I’m looking for fast solutions, not rational ones.

Oh well. I guess I’m just going to have to sweat it out, literally. As long as I’m not having health problems other than sweating, I think I’ll be fine.

So a little over two years ago, I started this blog with a rather asinine post. I’d like to think that over the last two years, I’ve continued that proud tratdition.

A year ago, I noticed on the actual blogaversary.

This year, it took looking for something else in the archives to realize that the blogaversary. It’s become so regular for me to post weird little happenings here that it’s gone without notice.

But I hope you folks enjoy all this silliness. It’s made my life quite amusing, and I hope it’s done the same for yours.

And now, for your entertainment, a dramatization of my feelings about my trip to Chicago, by the Ellen’s Blog Players.

Me: God, this was awesome, I have to do this more often.

My Wallet: NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! (runs off whimpering like a small dog)

Thank you.