So here goes. Friday afternoon I get buzzed that my ride is arriving a couple hours early, so I run around like a madman, depositing checks, finishing up work and packing my bags just in time for half of the 'rents to pull up outside. A few minutes later, my rent check is getting thrown into my landlord's door and we're off to the races.

The drive was long and uneventful, managing to pit the two of us against every single rush-hour traffic jam in existence. I-95 is never fun, but having to wait to get up to Boston was especially annoying. I'm glad we left a few hours early; otherwise we'd have been a blot on the asphalt around two in the morning.

Having arrived in Beantown, we crashed.

The next morning, upon rising, I discovered that my travelling companion had departed for his surgical conference. A hour of hilarity followed in which I went downstairs (we were staying on the 18th floor), discovered the parking ticket was not in the front seats, went back upstairs, discovered said ticket was not in the room, went to the 3rd floor, where I was told my dad was "on a break starting at 11:30" to which I replied, "it's only 11:20 right now" to which they replied, "yes, so he's already on break now" to which I stormed out. Ignoring the sage-like wisdom of the conference organizers, I ambushed said parental unit outside his class at...11:30, went back to the car, and discovered the ticket had been sitting in the back seat all along. Yay!

The mundane part of my visit over, I hit the gas and told the soup sipping suckers to kiss my ass. A bridge later, I was in Cambridge, home of the world's worst parking situation. With Brad's capable assistance, we parked in the only parking garage and prepared to be screwed later by the exorbitant fees.

Walking around Harvard Square reminded me of a recent foray to Woodley Park; Brad kept getting hailed by everyone in town, as if he had presciently deployed his friends at key corners to say hello in advance. The best occurred when an attractive woman stopped, in the middle of a busy street, and said hello. Brad ignored her. She remained paused, and said hello a second time, tilting her head in the process. For a brief second I thought she must know me but I elbowed my cold companion just in case. He came to his senses (we were, I must admit, at that point, burdened with a couple of extremely greasy bacon cheeseburgers and fries) and introduced me, whereupon another person happened to run into us. We moved slightly out of the way of oncoming traffic, then dispersed, us to our lunch, and them to their various engagements.

Next we ran into another friend, whom Brad insisted I had not only met before, but insulted. She seemed nice, and after some banter regarding the latest "talent show" we parted ways. Our lunch was still warm when we jaywalked across the road to sit in front of the Charles. The extremely windy Charles. Boston is apparently about 4 weeks behind DC, seasonally. Their cherry blossoms were just beginning to bloom, a pity since the gusty winds almost blew our lunch and their petals away in seconds flat. The incredibly beautiful weather made up for the tempest though, with sunny skies and perfect temperatures.

After lunch Brad continued his tour, ending with some purchases back in Boston. A wardrobe change, the pickup of the mutual parental unit, and we were at a southern barbeque joint in downtown Boston. The ribs, alas, left a little to be desired. From there I would learn to avoid food from "home" and to stick to what Beantown does best: fish. The only knock on Brad's delightful friends (that comes to mind quickly, at least) was their aversion to fish. Weird, in my opinion.

After dinner ways were parted once more and Brad and I travelled back to Cambridge to attend a friend's b-day bash. Not knowing any of the company, I kept my expectations low. A lengthy walk, the purchase of party favors and spirits, followed by another lengthy walk, all led to the apartment in question.

The place was lavish, located on the fourth floor, and included a bedroom, a living area and a personal fireplace. All for one guy. A cake was deployed, along with well wishing all around, and then a game. Since I had been warned of another game, the one chosen actually turned out to be quite enjoyable, with almost all of the included people participating. By the end, when we were ready to move to the next spot, I had almost no ability to determine Brad's friend's actual names, instead replacing them with curiously cute nicknames. No, it's not irony, but it is strange to write about now, on this particular website. The rest of the evening whenever I looked around at Brad's friends, I couldn't shake the naming scheme from my head.

As far as individual personalities are concerned, most of Brad's friends were quite cool, all were wicked smart, and most were able to go until winning time. I was saddened to discover that Adriana would not be joining us, but the good conversation and fun almost made up for that loss. (At the time, I thought it did make up for the loss, but after meeting Adriana...) From our departure of the lavish apartment, we headed to a place called the RedLine (feel free to correct me, Brad) where there was tolerable music, limited dancing space and a crowded bar. Brad's friends rapidly self-segregated, with most of the women dancing and most of the men, voyeur-like, watching them in the same manner the boys with remote control sailboats would act towards their craft the next day. Not a knock, just an observation.

As the evening wore on, I ran into an ex-district person who had attended a few werkz parties, we chatted briefly and shortly thereafter the few and proud departed for greener pastures. A special mention must be made for the two people who went the distance, accompanying Brad and myself to a dinerish location which closed down a short time after our arrival. It was no pizza-mart, but we were able to sit down, instead of being forced to roam in the streets, 'Morg style. After we walked outside I said goodnight to the final threesome, and boarded a cab ride for an uber-expensive trip back to downtown Boston. The cab driver, in a move bizarre even by DC standards, decided to hop on the MassPike, thus costing us an extra dollar in addition to ten additional minutes of time. What a loser. I made it back and crashed, preparing to rally for Sunday's fun.

Here comes Sunday...