While I try to tear my imaginary helper tapeworm Steve away from the listening to NWA’s Straight Outta Compton, Explicit Content Only Edition, I find myself faced with having to fetch my own Irish Coffee, Whiskey Only Edition at BWI.

I can’t tell you how much fun I find airports after spending several days, maybe even weeks, in the past four months enjoying their ambience while waiting for flights to various exotic locations, such as Newark, N.J.

Just kidding, I never got to locales that exciting.

But here’s why I’m writing this. My gears have been ground this morning. However, unlike how this entire preamble I set up would seem to suggest, my gears were ground not by airports, but by traffic.

So, I have a car this time around in DC, which is pretty much the worst situation imaginable, aside from anything obviously worse, you know, like ricketts.

And while I won’t justify why I have the car because as of right now I’m kind of confused, myself, as to what made me think it would be a convenience, but I will justly complain about it.

I drove to BWI. This morning. During rush hour. Let me tell you, I never missed the “inconvenience” of standing outside in the cold waiting for a bus to take me to Union Station so I could take the overcrowded MARC train on which the incomprehensibly sweaty dude standing next to me with his smelly armpit in my face would spend the entire 30 minutes exhaling the scents of last night’s dinner of chicken fried steak (extra gravy) from his ass.

I will see I-495 in hell.

Oh, it’s good to be back! 🙂