"Where Is That Large Automobile?"

NayNay and Mr. C are on their honeymoon in the Dominican Republic. They've spent school vacation lounging in padded deck chairs and drinking beverages that almost certainly came with little paper umbrellas, while looking out over the sun drenched Caribbean.

They're my friends, so I was trying not to think too many mean things about them this morning when I woke up to more *&^%$#@ snow. On the bright side I got to try out my new snowblower, which is electric, environmentally friendly, and surprisingly effective. I speculate that I couldn't say the same about any man I might have married.

Special K and I got assigned the task of transporting NayNay's car to the airport so the Happy Couple would be able to make it home when their plane lands tomorrow morning at 1:30. We discovered that the parking areas at Logan are poorly marked, at best, because we had to do a full circuit of the terminals in order to make our way to the economy lot which is nowhere near the terminals.

The B terminal at Logan is not a place you want to be trying to caravan.

After the drop off, Special K joined me in the not-fun car, and we took a slight detour, so I could go to the bank. Should have been a 15 minute detour, tops. We hit traffic in the tunnel on the Mass Pike, and it was old-fashioned Boston, fuck- you- I'm- not- ever- moving- you- live- here- on- the- roadside- now traffic.

It was a good three miles to the next exit, but there was a HOV lane ramp right there, so we took it. And we ended up here:

It appears that the Massachusetts Turnpike does have a designated off-ramp to the ninth level of hell. The ramp leads directly into this parking deck over the South Station Bus Terminal.

Who knew? Well, I don't know who knew, but I know who didn't know. The dude in the minivan directly in front of us in this photo, because we followed him up there. And the dude behind us didn't know either, because he followed us.

The swearing and shouting that ensued revealed, once again, that there IS no Fun Car.

We thought our little detour was going to cost us $8.00 for the first half hour, but our karma must be pretty good, because we got released from the ninth level of hell for free, and we didn't even have to become dung beetles to do it.

From there we just had to navigate our way through the surface streets of Chinatown and the Financial District. Of course, everyone knows both of these areas are populated by subterranean gnomes who change the directional signs every 10 minutes, when people aren't looking.

Two lessons from this experience: 1) We pretty much own NayNay. 2) I should probably break down and fill out the paperwork for direct deposit.