When we left our heroines, they were heading off to a haunted pub crawl, planned by tour guide extraordinaire, Misty Laws (moi), who just so happens to have the sexiest sandaled feet in town. (But enough about my brilliance and beauty. No really, stop . . . you’re embarrassing me!).
We arrived at our destination, the sidewalk in front of a bar in the area, that interestingly enough, was not actually on the tour. But, it’s a very well-known bar in the city, so it makes sense that it would be a good place to congregate for those about to depart for the tour. Once we checked in and received our ghost stickers (to indicate that we were on the tour), we hung out for a few minutes with some others, waiting for it to start. As we were waiting, we noticed an interesting gentleman. He had a top hat, a long black coat, a long braided ponytail, a cane and some sort of golden binocular spectacle things perched atop his head. As you can see, Val was a bit unsure about this character at first . . .
But he turned out to be our tour guide! So, we started to warm up to him. Especially since, upon arrival at our first destination, he relayed to us the story of how on a previous tour, one of the patrons screamed out “BITCHES!!” in answer to one of his questions. Ok, he’ll do.
Did I mention it was pretty damn cold that night? Yeah, so after a brief introduction, we moved into our first stop, Eat Bertha’s Mussels. We all grabbed a beverage, a hot buttered rum for myself, and settled into the warmth of the bar to listen to some ghost stories. Something about a light going on in the bathroom mysteriously, blah, blah, blah. We might not have been paying that much attention. Mainly, Val and I got silly and took pictures.
Once we finished our beverages, and after some socializing with our fellow ghost tour patrons, we moved out of the warmth of Bertha’s (spoiler alert, we’ll be back), and back out into the street to hear more tales of spooks and ghouls.
Our next stop was The Horse You Came In On Saloon, a very historic and famous destination pub in the area. Val showed the appropriate level of respect and awe at this fact . . .
And then shit got real when our tour guide extraordinaire pulled out a device that was supposed to track spirits and supernatural presence and passed it around for us to find anything interesting out on the street. So, of course, we all started using it on each other. I’m sure that none of you will be surprised that Val made the thing beep and blink like crazy. Yeah.
Once we entered the bar, and naturally procured another beverage, I realized that we were in the presence of a celebrity. That’s right, one of our fellow tour guid-ees was a famous comedian from the well-loved 90s sketch comedy show, The State. None other than Joe Lo Truglio!! (Hey, famous people like ghost stories, too!!). At first approach, Joe wouldn’t fess up that it was actually him, unbelievably claiming that he had never heard of The State! But, when I produced photographic evidence of his identity, he could hardly deny it!
And then Val licked him . . . just to be sure.
Once Val was finished molesting our new friend Joe, sadly, it was time to move along from The Horse, on to our next destination . . . of which I have forgotten the name. Let’s be honest, things were starting to get a little fuzzy at this point. But what I do know is this . . . standing outside of this next bar, listening to tales of ghosts and spirits . . . it began to snow! It was magical.
Once we warmed ourselves inside this next bar, drinks firmly in hand, we started to get cozier with some of the other patrons . . . and the tour guide. Despite Val’s initial trepidations as to the acceptability of our guide, she had become enamored with him throughout the tour, and he seemed quite taken with her as well.
But, Val being Val, she was not content to just cuddle with her newfound friend. Oh no, she had to take it to the next level. She needed to . . . bite his beard.
Not sure our finely attired friend was quite ready for Val’s level of
insanity awesomeness at this point. But he was a good sport and went with it. Sometimes, that’s really all you can do when Val wants to lick/bite/fondle you in some way. Just go with it . . . shhhhhhh.
Besides, once we left the establishment and moved on to our next location, it was evident that Mr. Bitten Beard could handle himself . . .
It’s practically like they were soul mates.
Once we arrived at our final pub destination, and once again got some beverages to warm our insides, we bought a drink for our new friend to thank him for a job well done and an entertaining evening. He graciously accepted and we socialized with him, along with some other new-found friends, for a bit before he had to be off. But not before this happened:
Told you they were soulmates. True love, right there.
Oh, and as for those new-found friends? Yeah, they were incredibly rad. A married couple that were out for a fun night, and were not afraid to have a good time and participate in some shenanigans with Val and me. Need proof? Here:
Anyone who will allow me to photograph them flashing with ghost stickers on their nimples is ok in my book.
So, even though the official tour was over, nobody was ready to be done with the night. There was much fun still to be had! So, we asked the bartender where a good place around there to get grub was (thinking we should probably get some food in us at this point), and headed on down the street to another pub/restaurant type place called Koopers. (Yep, remembered the name of that one, somehow).
Once the food was ordered, and another round of drinks naturally, we started to get to know each other better through inappropriate hand gestures and interpretive dance atop of the tables.
No, not really, but it’s a testament to Val and my tales of craziness that you believed me there for a minute. We just chatted about our families and asshole exes, etc. Oh, and then this happened . . .
I would show you pics of our companions being silly (the ghost stickers ended up on the hubby’s nimples at one point, and there was also much breast grabbing and showing), but I’m trying to be respectful of our new friends’ anonymity, since they do not know about our blogs and hence had no idea that they might be the subject of public ridicule/infamy. But I’ll just say, that they were wild, wacky and fun. It was a perfect pairing.
Once we realized how late it was getting (for them), and that we were going to have to bid our new friends adieu so they could drive home to DC and be all responsible adults and such, we had to find our way back to the original meeting point, so that they could then find their car. Being somewhat familiar with the general vicinity, and after walking the wrong way for a bit, I eventually led us back to where we began. But not before discovering a dark alleyway that, of course, had to be investigated:
And then we found a ship . . . in someone’s backyard:
Which, obviously, was there for the sole purpose of climbing upon and documenting more shenanigans. Of course.
So, now is the time when Val and I come to a crossroads. Having said goodbye to the somewhat responsible adults of our foursome, and having a young night stretched out in front of us, we decided to grab another drink in one of the myriad bars surrounding us. But first . . . being girls who had consumed quite the impressive amount of beverages thus far, it would only stand to reason that the time was upon us to do what only comes naturally . . . we had to pee. So, we entered the bar in front of which we initially began our journey, and stood in the very long queue for the bathroom, which we discovered was so massively long because only one working toilet was inside (of 3 available). People are nasty.
While waiting, some toddler chica decided that we would be the appropriate people to line jump in front of. Um, excuse me? “Oh, this is my friend. She was holding my space. But you can go into this stall if you want.” Oh, you mean the disgusting one that is overflowing with nastiness? Gee, what a lovely offer. How about we just beat your ass for you instead? No? Would you prefer to get in the back of the line then? Yeah, that’s what I thought.
Barely avoiding yet another opportunity to harm someone who was desperately asking for it that night, once our bladders were empty, we decided to leave the overly crowded and mostly college aged bar to head to someplace a bit more our speed. And this is where we come full circle and walk across the street to our first stop . . . Bertha’s. The place was practically empty, so we slid right on up to the bar and perched ourselves there for the remainder of the evening. No hipster bullshit college place, this was a real bar. So, we chatted up the bartender, who was a real man and gave us shots without all the bottle flipping attempts at impressiveness, thus impressing us all the more. Until he started pouring the whiskey. Oh god, not the whiskey. But, being the classy fucking ladies that we are, we did our damn shots of whiskey, then requested the next offered shot not be quite so . . . whiskey-y. And thus, a beautiful friendship was formed.
We closed that joint down after many, many, many more drinks. Basically, by the end of the night, we were no longer patrons, but employees, and we sat there chatting with both bartenders as they did their final cleanup, and the bouncer, who had the most delightful hair (apparently after a certain amount of shots, I forget I own a camera, because there are no pictures taken after the boat. I know, I’m ashamed of me as well!), a blue dyed checkerboard pattern shaved into each side of his head and a floppy mohawk happening in the middle. They were rad dudes. Eventually, 2 of the 3 went home, but we stayed for a much longer time, exchanging life wisdom with our new favorite bartender (of whiskey shot fame).
Eventually, we realized that the sun was probably about to come up, so I dragged Val’s drunk ass into a cab and we headed back to our hotel room. I had a baby shower to go to the next day, and if I didn’t love her so much (Hi, Thoughtsy!!), I probably would have bailed, because me and 3 hours sleep (that bitch!) have never and will never get along very well. But, the bitch and I were forced to endure each other’s presence on that fateful Sunday morning. Oy. Although luckily, neither Val nor I were hungover the next day, and nobody puked! That is such a huge win, based on the sheer volume of alcohol that we ingested over the course of that Saturday into Sunday morning.
And thus ends another tale of the adventures of Val and Misty. Somehow, nobody got arrested or killed . . . again! So, obviously, we are doing something right. Huzzah!