On GPS devices and not killing us both at the PCA conference

I first attended a PCA/ACA national conference two years ago when it was in New Orleans primarily because it was in New Orleans, I had a paper that I could tweak to fit the Library, Archives, and Museums group, and I needed another conference presentation for my c.v. Karen Gracy was also presenting, so I could also relive my single, student days.
It turned out to be an academic fan convention! Sci-fi, fantasy, comic book, film, television, popular fiction of all ages . . . I swore I would attend again.
And here I am, but only by the grace of God and other drivers. The drive out here was completely uneventful, until we reached San Antonio. By then, I'd been driving for 8 hours, it was rush hour, and the idiot GPS began giving asinine directions. First, she tells me to take the ramp toward some street "South." Ok, it splits into a South and North. She says South, I get in that lane. Then she says, "Take ramp for Street South and stay Right." Well, hell, that's Street North, not Street South. I veer over to that triangular bit between the two, that's striped with yellow lines, turn on my signal, quickly check the traffic, and see that I can just get in. I do -- but the unmentionable thing driving the silver luxury car behind me decides to prove that no one can pull in front of her, so speeds by us on the rapidly disappearing shoulder. Mike starts to panic.
Then next exit, then she tells me to "Take the ramp to I35" or whatever. I manage to squeeze into the line of cars stopped at the light, head up onto the ramp as I hear her say, "Take the ramp to I35 then turn right on . . ." I realize too late that I should probably have turned right at the light, not taken the ramp.
This is where it gets really fun. Darlene is screaming at me in point something miles to take the exit on the left. I'm frantically trying to cross literally 4 lanes of traffic to get to that exit -- I can see it, so it's not far! I don't know how I wasn't hit, except that the other drivers managed not to hit me. They are still cursing that idiot driver from Louisiana who had no clue where she was going or what she was doing.
This is why I prefer maps. I study a map. I get the route in my head. I know that, when I exit, I stay right and then turn right at the light.
Mike wonders if we should use the GPS when we leave. I'll use her -- but I'll check Mapquest first.