This afternoon, as I was reading blogs, drinking diet coke and trying to look cute busily working, I get a call from a sheepish Barbie.

PB: Um, Porkchop?

PC: Yes, love?

PB: We (being she and the hot friend who flew in from far away to escort her to some pageant gathering) are in Washington DC and kind of can't find a place to park. Could you Google something up?

PC: Sure. One sec

Seconds pass.... Do you know how hard it is to simply "find parking" in downtown DC near Consitution Ave.?

More minutes pass... she hands the phone to Hot Friend since she is, in true family form, concentrating on her extreme driving skills.

HF: Er. I am very scared.

PC: She's driving a bit wild? Don't worry! She has my radar detector (especially lent for the occasion, even if they are rather illegal in VA) so you will be fine.

HF: She just ran a red light. Radar detectors don't help you with that.

PC: True. (At this point, I hear horns honking madly in the background and PB cackling merrily with her success.)

I finially find a parking garage and instruct them where to go after they have pinpointed their location for me.

PB: So turn RIGHT on to New York Avenue.

HF: (relays to Joy) So we should turn around...

PC: Wait! You said you just crossed Pennsylvania WHY ARE YOU TURNING AROUND? I am so confused. WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?

HF: We found it. I think. One second.

PB: I can't find the entrance!

HF: Maybe if we circled the building?

I wait. Pensively. We cannot find the entrance? Am I related to this woman? It's a PARKING GARAGE!

I hear a squeal in the background.

HF: Yes! We found it! Good to go! Thanks a million.

PC: Anytime...