Shenanigans with Val: Top Hats, Ghost Stories and Bertha’s Mussels (Part 2)

And here we continue our tale of Val‘s visit to my fair city and the fun times that were had . . . . . . (if you missed Part 1, go back and start there).

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 . . .

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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.

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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.

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Majestic braided ponytail beneath festive twinkle lights.

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Val & Bertha.

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 . . .

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Totally impressed.

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.

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Val’s sexy leg and leather skirt. Mrow!!

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!

You tell me.

You tell me.

And then Val licked him . . . just to be sure.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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 . . .

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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:

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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:

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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 . . .

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Val’s cleavage . . . you’re welcome!

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She likes to bite things almost as much as she likes to lick them. Almost!

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:

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Hey, it’s midnight in the city . . . let’s see what’s down this narrow, unlit passageway!!

And then we found a ship . . . in someone’s backyard:

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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.

The night got a little fuzzy, but apparently, at some point I posed for a portrait?

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!

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Shenanigans with Val: Elf, Old Lady Beatdowns & Hipster Bars (Part 1)

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Here it is.  The moment you all have been waiting for . . . the recap of Val‘s most recent visit.  Well, at least the first half of it.  It was, as always, the most epic of days, which means we packed a ton of epicness into a small amount of hours.  So, I’m gonna have to split this thing up so as to do the entire story justice.

We begin our story with both of us arriving in Baltimore, where we would spend the next 24 hours, traveling in and around the city.  Somehow, she beat me there, even with her mandatory stop at Waffle House, and the fact that I only live a little less than an hour away.  Normally, I’m waiting for her ass, so this was different.  However, I found her comfortably ensconced in a nice lounge chair in the lobby, and didn’t make her wait too long.  Once we checked into our room and changed into our good, theater-going clothes, we set off to our first planned destination . . . Elf: the Musical.

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When Val and I first decided that this would be the day she would once again grace my fair state with her awesomeness, as always, I did my due diligence to see what was going on.  When I found out that Elf would be in Baltimore that weekend, it was decided.  I asked Val how she felt about it, she responded “smiling is my favorite,” and we were off!

When we arrived at the theater, we obtained some beverages, lest we get parched during the long performance, and then found our seats.  They were excellent seats, about 12 rows back and right in the middle.  Perfect view.  When the show started, we were so excited.  The first thing we saw was Santa, and we were like two little girls on Christmas morning again.  “It’s Santa!  I know him.”  We were giddy with excitement.  When Buddy came out, who looked like a six foot tall Martin Short but sounded exactly like Kenneth from 30 Rock, we were already completely enchanted and in love with the show.  It was like the movie, but just different enough to make it fun.  And musical, of course.

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Being super excited and stoked to be there, and loving everything about the show, we occasionally made a comment to each other about some of the funny or interesting parts of the show.  But quiet-like, because we have class, dammit.  And we were laughing at all the funny parts, of which there were many.  Well, apparently, our joviality and friendship highly offended the woman to my left, because about 40 minutes into the show, I suddenly found myself face to very ugly mug with the meanest and nastiest person ever.  She thrust her puss right into my personal space and proclaimed:  “If you two don’t cut it out, I’m going to call the manager and report you!”  Commence my shocked look towards Val to see if this was for real happening.  “I’m getting really sick of your shit!”  Holy crap, I think that really DID just happen.  What the hell do we do now?

Yeah.  We were actually and totally struck speechless.  Us.  That NEVER happens!  We just could not even believe that someone would actually be offended that we were enjoying ourselves and laughing at a musical comedy, and would so nastily and rudely tell us to stop having fun.  We weren’t bothering her in any way, but apparently she was a very angry elf.

After we recovered from our initial shock (and wondered to each other if we were allowed to laugh any more), we were pissed.  At intermission, Val was pretty much set on beating her ass at the end of the show.  However, that mean old Grinch was just lucky that she was as fast as she was mean, because she raced away from those seats the second the show was over, and Val was unable to catch her.  Probably best, or we would have spent the rest of the day at the police station.

Once we escaped (barely) having not murdered anyone, we took a quick trip back to the hotel room to change into a bit less fancy duds.  It would be the last we would see of our lovely hotel room for the next 12 hours or so.  However, we were unaware of that at the time, so we did not dally.  We turned right around to head out to dinner.  We had made plans to meet another blogger, who lives locally, for drinks and some food before we went off to our next destination.  (Yes, we were very busy girls that day).

When I set up our meeting place with Bluz, he checked out the locale online and immediately balked at the idea of going to a “hipster bar,” averring that he was decidedly “unhip.”  Reassuring him that I had no idea of the restaurant’s hipster status when I chose it, but that I only chose it because I had reviewed the menu and was intrigued by the offerings, and also that it was within walking distance of our hotel, I convinced him that his non-skinny jeans wearing ass would be just fine.  Plus, I had Val.  He would have met us in Satan’s bathroom if that’s where we were headed.

And actually, he almost got his wish for a different joint, since we arrived there before him and were gonna text him to meet us across the street at a beer garden that looked rad, but that was right before the bartender got his hooks into us and realized we were easy.  No, not like that!  We’re ladies, yo.  But he offered us a free shot, so we had no choice but to stay.  Free booze?  Um, yes please.  I mean, obviously.  We have class.

Oh, and did I mention that we spent most of the time making fun of him?  The bartender, that is, not Bluz.  I mean, what else could we do when he tried to get all fancy by flipping bottles, and then ended up dropping one.  And then there was the attempted selfie (he was supposed to be taking a pic of us), where he just looks like he’s eating his thumb.

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Plus, he patently refused to light our shots on fire!  What kind of crappy bartender was he, anyway?  Damn.  I mean, it didn’t stop me from pimping out my good friend Val to him, so that he may actually own her now and have her living in a pit in his basement.  As long as she just keeps putting on the lotion, she should be fine.  Besides, I’m not worried about her.  She’s a tough bitch.  She’ll be wearing his skin by the end of the week.

Once we finished our food and drinks and lovely conversation, we had to say adieu to our friend Bluz, so that we could head on over to our next destination . . . a haunted pub crawl in a historic seaside area known for its lively nightlife.  Oh yeah, it was on.

Alas, my dear readers, this is where I must leave off on this marvelous tale.  I will continue with the second half, and thrilling conclusion, later this week.  And just to give you a taste, there will be . . . beard biting, top hats and canes, and much late night (early morning) drunken shenanigans.  Pretty sure you are not surprised by that last part.  Until then . . . . .

Play Fair

On Labor Day, we took the kids to the Maryland State Fair.  It is fair season again, so this was actually the second fair that we attended this year.  The first was our local county fair, and of no real consequence.  Our third and final of the fair trifecta will be in two weeks.  That is our favorite, so stay tuned for a report on that one.

But, this past holiday we visited the middle child in our fair going family, the state fair.  We started the day early, attempting to beat some of the sweltering and oppressive heat that we had been enjoying for quite some time now.  Sadly, we were not early enough, because the blanket of oven-like temps attacked us within minutes of our entrance into the fairgrounds.  However, we rallied and put the kids on some rides, while we tried desperately to stand in any type of shade available, to avoid spontaneous combustion.  After a few spinning, bouncing, twisting, and flying contraptions entertained my kids, we decided to momentarily escape from the heat.  So we visited the cow palace.

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Tipping prevention technique.

This extremely large building was not air conditioned, but this shelter from the sun dropped the temp a good ten degrees.  What we traded in heat, however, we made up for in aroma, as this was where they housed all things bovine.  We happened upon an area where a cow was being held in a pen, and there were bleachers set up all around.  Curious as to what we would be watching, we grabbed a seat and tried to see what there was to see.

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Ready to pop.

We soon realized that we were on the verge of experiencing the miracle of life . . . live and in high def.  Not sure that our young boys were quite ready to see that (and not sure that we really wanted to experience it, either), we moved along, and instead opted to participate in a different activity involving a cow . . . milking.

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Once we had our fill of milk cow related activities, we reluctantly went back into the sweltering blast furnace outside of the building.  Yeah, that was fun.  However, as we exited the building, I passed a mecca of wonderment and invention . . . the fried foods booth.

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If you’ve been around a while, you know that it is my goal in life to try a different fried concoction at every fair that I attend.  There have been oreos, twinkies, strawberries, pickles, cheesecake, kool aid and reese’s.  All of it battered and deep fried.  Most topped with powdered sugar.  (Not the pickles, because that would be very very wrong).  So, I perused the numerous offerings of this fried food heaven to see what this year’s lucky item would be.  And although there were many many MANY items to choose from, none of them really screamed out me, me, me, pick me!!  I thought about the fried Pop Tart (in honor of my friend Thoughtsy), but they had a sample of it sitting in the window and it was basically just an entire Pop Tart covered in batter.  It did not look appealing.  I wasn’t up for an entire candy bar (did I mention it was scorching hot?  Yeah, so that meant that I pretty much had no appetite), and the fried grilled cheese or peanut butter & jelly looked pretty gross.  I might have been up for whatever a buckeye was (it helpfully said it was chocolate covered peanut butter), but apparently they were very popular because they were all sold out.  What to do, what to do . . . it was a conundrum.

So, what did I do?  Actually, I walked away.  I know!  I’m not sure what was wrong with me either.  I’m gonna blame it on my brain being boiled by the 128* sun.  Obviously, what I needed was a lemonade to cool me down!  So, I went over to a nearby stand selling freshly made, ice cold lemonade, and as I was standing in line . . . the heavens opened, the angels sang, and I saw this sign:

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This!  This is what I had been waiting for.  It was the perfect treat, as Berger’s cookies are unbelievably delicious, and also the perfect amount, because I only needed to eat one to experience it, and could share the rest.  That way, I didn’t need to feel like a total glutton by devouring the entire thing all by myself!  (Although, I will admit that I totally could have hoovered all three of those bad boys . . . they were smack your momma on the ass GOOD).

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And speaking of Baltimore’s Own, the boy who served us these treats noticed my son’s Ravens hat, and mentioned dejectedly that the next stop for their little rolling cart of fried deliciousness was in Pittsburgh for the Steelers.  I told him that he better not take our Berger’s cookies up there to our rivals!  He said he thinks that they are only offering them locally, so at least there’s that.  He also said that he’s gonna represent Maryland pride by wearing all of his Ravens gear while he’s up there.  Good boy.  Go Ravens!

Next up is the last fair of the season, where I am sure to find something new and creative to wrap up this fried fair food festivus maximus.  Let’s just hope it’s not surface of the sun hot when we go there.  To be continued . . .

Our Milkshake Brings All the Freaks to the Yard

I have lived and worked in and around Baltimore my entire life.  Except for a brief stint in the farmlands of Pennsylvania for college, where I missed city life horribly, I have never lived anywhere else.  It is my home.  And I love it.

And while my undying love for my home city is true, that has never seemed to be the case for outsiders looking in.  The city has always had the reputation of being a lesser city somehow.  It’s neighbor to the south, Washington DC is more of a real city, while B-more has long suffered an also ran status.  Paling in size and popularity to other Northeastern cities . . . New York, Boston, Philadelphia . . . Baltimore has always quietly existed, content in its own skin.  Not looking for fame or recognition from any of its Northern brethren.

But lately, it seems, our little town has experienced a surge in popularity.  Three years ago, we became the home to the Baltimore Grand Prix.  A car race that is televised and occurs on Labor Day weekend, closing half the streets of downtown for famous racecar drivers to zoom around.  Although, definitely not popular with many of the workers attempting to enter and then leave the city, since a large part of the area of ingress and egress is completely closed off many days before the race.  However, it is a boon for Baltimore, as it brings in much money from tourism, so commuters be damned.

Also, it was reported recently that this summer there has been a spike in visits and funds spent in this city, as the hospitality industry in my fair town is apparently seeing a spike as well.

This could have something to do with the multiple very popular conventions that were scheduled this summer in the downtown convention center.  I have previously mentioned the Brony convention, which was a first for the city this year, and brought a ton of Bronies to the downtown area, surely boosting sales to many local hotels and restaurants.

And of course we have Otakon.  That convention has shown up in our city for many years, and brings with it oh so many fans of all things Asian culture and video games, who have the tendency to dress in costumes ranging from Pokemon & Sonic to the most garishly crazy video game demons imaginable, and everything in between.  It is one of the wackiest and most anticipated weekends of the year (at least for those who appreciate ridiculousness personified walking out in public).

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Just a little sampling of all the craziness I was able to capture on my way into and out of the city.

So, after the Bronies and the Otakons, you would think I’d be prepared for anything, right?  Well, I thought all the conventions were gone and there would be no more freaks to be seen until next summer.  Apparently, I was wrong.

Leaving work this past Tuesday, I stopped at a light near the convention center.  What I saw on the corner was what looked very much like a stripper.  And before you think I’m calling some poor innocent girl who is just dressed a bit skimpily a stripper, let me paint you a picture:  Pink cowboy hat, long flowing blond hair, long fingerless gloves, pink bra, pink underwear with a short black mesh skirt over top, cowboy boots.  Right?  Here, you judge for yourself:

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Not your NORMAL Tuesday afternoon attire, no?

Now, this is not the type of corner you would usually see something like this.  This is downtown.  Next to the business district.  On a Tuesday.  With no conventions in town.  It was a little unexpected.  So, when the light changed, and I started driving closer, on my way to passing by, I tried to get a closer look, while also taking another picture.  But driving and picture taking are not really the most companionable tasks, so unfortunately, I only got a leg.

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Yeah, I know. It’s bad.

But if you look closely at that picture, you might notice something.  Those are neither panties nor bikini bottoms.  They are in fact . . . jockeys.  That’s right, this sexy stripper was actually a transvestite stripper.  Which became blatantly obvious as I got closer and he turned around, giving me a full view of his very hairy chest and 2 day stubbly facial growth.  Yikes!  Not what I was expecting.  Sorry that I couldn’t get a better picture, because, well, you kind of had to see it.  This guy was obviously very lost.  He was on Baltimore street, but a full 5 or 6 blocks west of the area he was probably looking for . . . Baltimore’s red light district, also known as “the block.”

Apparently, there is no end to the things I get to see while working downtown.  I’m not sure I can take much more, though.  I’m starting to feel a little violated, frankly.  At this point, pretty much the only thing I haven’t experienced yet is a Furrie convention.

Then again, there’s always next year.

Bloggers, Bronies and Baseball

Last Friday was a pretty eventful day.  As opposed to my normal eight and a half hours of doldrums on the last day of the work week, usually spent trapped in my office at my hellish job, there was instead a bit of excitement.  The day prior, I had discovered that a blogger friend would be in my area on Friday.  So, of course, because I’m obnoxious, I mandated that she meet up with me when she passed through my town.  I am very demanding that way!

We went back and forth for a while as to how and when it would happen, which consisted of her asking me if I wanted to meet for a cocktail (um, yeah I do!), and me realizing that we weren’t going to be able to meet after work because she already had dinner plans with some family.  Thus, it came down to me “taking a late lunch,” aka walking downtown to meet in the afternoon for a drink.  And yes, I was going to drink during the workday.  God bless America.

I felt it my duty to warn Jess Witkens, that upon her arrival in my fair city, she might encounter some strangeness.  Even more so than the normal craziness of leggings and boobs hanging out everywhere.  No, this was a very special weekend.  The BronyCon was in town.  What are Bronies you ask?  Well, that is a very good question.  Basically, it is grown men who are huge fans of My Little Pony.  No, really.  And not ironically, either.  But in a pay lots of money for airfare and hotel in a city that will host a bunch of pony loving men, convening to do who knows what (um, role play, apparently), for 3 days straight.  Oh, and did I mention that they dress up?  Yeah, hence the warning.

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When I met Jess and her boyfriend, Joe, the first thing I noticed about her, besides the fact that she is super adorable, is that she is tiny.  As in, I could put her in my pocket and carry her around, tiny.  She was cute as a button!  Since it was later in the day, and nobody was too hungry, we all ordered a drink and just some sushi to share.  Living in Wisconsin, they don’t get to experience good sushi with fresh seafood very often, so this was a good choice for this landlocked pair.

We were only able to visit for a short period of time, since I unfortunately had to go back to work, but in that time, we bonded over a mutual love of Halloween, music and travel.  Before we had to say goodbye (sniff!), Jess and I were able to get a picture of the two of us . . . along with one of our furry little friends.

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Thanks for letting me hijack some of your time while you were in town, Jess!  Hope you and Joe enjoyed your brief time in my wacky little city.

After work, I met the family at Oriole Park at Camden Yards.  This will have been my FOURTH baseball game this year!  That must be some sort of record.  I think I went once last year, and may have gone more times this year than the previous ten years combined.  Then again, the Orioles sucked a lot in recent years past, so it wasn’t all that much fun hanging out to watch them lose so much.  It’s a bit more fun now.

Before the game, we had dinner at Dempsey’s, which is a restaurant that is inside the Park, but right outside the actual stadium proper.  They have fabulous food.  I may have mentioned this in a previous post, but it’s worth repeating . . . bacon, on a stick:

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Not just the fab food, but we got to sit outside with a view of the goings on, out and around the stadium.  Along with it being a lovely night, it wasn’t a bad view at all.

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Once we finished our meals, we went into the stadium proper to head up to our seats.  Talk about a nice view.  This is from the outfield wall, which we travelled by on our way to our seats.  We just had to stop for a few moments to enjoy the scene.

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It was even better when we got to see Nate McLouth (of personally handing my son a foul ball fame) hit a grand slam home run later in the evening, which had the crowd on its feet and in hysterics.  Did I mention a bit more fun?  Yep.  Thanks, O’s!

Oh, and just because of the What the F*ck of it all . . . a bonus picture I came across on the wonderful world wide web of wackiness in regards to that whole Brony thing above.  Please to enjoy:

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Who Wants to Touch The Butt?

Last week, I extolled the various virtues of the Fred & Friends company, and listed all of their most popular items.  Then, I put one of those items up for grabs in a giveaway, and was treated to various and sundry crappy office stories from y’all, in your attempts to win this lovely item.  (Not that your stories were crappy, they were stories about crappy offices).

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Thank you for that.  It makes me feel just this much better about my own crappy job.  Only a little, though, because after a 3 hour brutal surprise trial on Tuesday afternoon, and then leaving work only to almost immediately run over a nail on the war zone city streets of this ghetto town, which necessitated sitting on the side of the road in rush hour traffic waiting for AAA . . . well, it has not been a stellar week at work.

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BUT . . . enough about my craptastic work environment . . . let’s see who won this prize for having their own crappy work story . . .

As always, I have employed the very distinct skills of my brilliant children to pick this item’s winner.  For this item, 5 was the one to employ his master picking services.

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And the winner of The Butt is . . .

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TABITHA CROW

Congrats Tabitha!!  Just send me your info at mistyslaws at gmail dot com, and I will send this super rad little toilet man to you so that you can use him however you see fit (we don’t judge here at Misty’s Laws!).  Although, based on your story, I’m not sure you will have anywhere to put him at work.  Might need to lose something on your desk . . . like your computer.

Enjoy!!

Make ’em Laugh

Last week was tough.  There were deaths, explosions, maiming, manhunts and lockdowns.  The entire country seemed to be in a state of shock and depression, and I was no exception.  So, by the end of the week, I was really glad that I had scored some tickets to go see Kathy Griffin.  We really needed some comedy in the midst of the non-stop horrors being replayed on the 24 hour news stations. 

We left the house with every intention of getting downtown with enough time to grab some sushi at a nearby restaurant.  An accident, closed street and 20 extra minutes of traffic via a detour derailed that plan.  So, we headed straight to the theater, and instead decided to drink.  Seemed like a valid alternative.

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I found it interesting that a bar in a theater that regularly has operatic performances serves Jello Shots.  And no, I didn’t get one, but I was tempted.  I instead had the Caramel Apple Martini.  In a plastic cup.  It was classy.  But also delicious!

When we found our seats, we realized that we had somehow ended up with pretty good ones.  We were about 5th row centerish, which was unexpected.  See, I ordered the tix months ago through Groupon, so I had no idea what I was getting, especially at half price!  But we were hooked up. 

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After a few minutes, a pair of girls sat down beside me.  I happened to overhear them mention something about getting the same deal, and asked them if they also got tickets from Groupon.  They said yes, and we started chatting about the great and unexpected seats.  I talked to them for a bit.  They were very . . . vivacious.  At one point, I turned to the hubs and said, “look at me being social!”  I could tell by the reluctant momentary glance away from CNN.com on his iPhone, that he was very impressed with my feigned extraversion.  At one point in our conversation, I happened to notice the top of one of the girls’ foot.  There was a face there.  I remarked about how cool it was, thinking she would tell me it was her boyfriend or husband or something.  Nope.

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In case you can’t tell, that’s a picture of James Dean.  On the top of her foot.  That just seems . . . painful.  She had another face on the top of her other foot as well.  Any guesses as to whose face might be there?  You know what . . . I’m not going to tell you.  I’ll let you try to figure it out . . .

Once Kathy came out, we were pretty much ready to get our laugh on.  And she didn’t disappoint.  She is basically one of those people who you either love or hate, I’ve found.  So, I’ve included a video of some of the performance, and if you are so inclined, you can see some of her show below.  (Warning:  NSFW).

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(Click picture for video)

photoAfter the show, we were pretty much starving, since we hadn’t had dinner yet, and it was approaching 11:00 at night.  So, we figured we would revisit the sushi place we had initially had our sights set on.  The only problem was, according to their website, they closed at 11:00.  It was 10:45.  We had to hurry.  When we arrived, they didn’t want to serve us, but we noted that it was still 15 minutes until they closed, that we were starving, and that we would order right away.  They graciously allowed us to come in.  We quickly ordered some rolls, and within a couple of minutes, except for the waitress, we were the only people in the place.  It was a little strange.

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After 11:00, we started noticing something else a little strange.  A very raucous noise that sounded like it was coming from the basement of the place.  We soon discovered why the wait staff was so keen on shutting the doors at 11:00.  Apparently, that was when the karaoke started downstairs.  It was . . . loud.  And not entirely pleasant.   Pretty much exactly how karaoke is supposed to be.  So, as we finished our delicious rolls, we were serenaded by some incredibly poor singers, that apparently did not understand the concept of reading the words of the song they were attempting to sing.  There was a lot of mumbling is what I’m saying.  And then!  Then, a guy started making what can only be described as ear shattering and soul crushing noises.  We deciphered that it was supposed to be Never Gonna Give You Up.  Wow.

But look at me!  Being all selfish.  I mean, why should I be the only one to experience the gloriousness that was this singer’s voice?  No, that would just be wrong.  In fact, when I was listening to this sweet serenade of Rick Astley’s wonderful hit song, I was thinking, “you know who would really enjoy this?  Everyone!”  So, that’s when I hit record.  You’re welcome!

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Not that anyone asked, I’m sure, but immediately after this stirring rendition of the song, the gentleman decided to perform an encore.  That was pretty much our cue to flee the premises.  I don’t think we could take that . . . twice.

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