Slowvannah ramblings

On tours we went on down in Savannah, they referred to the city by a different name: Slowvannah. ‘Cause things move slower in the south.

I’ll pause while you do whatever you need to with that last sentence.

Ready? OK.

We learned the reason for Monday morning call-ins is often the “Slowvannah Flu.” And we even got to try the Slowvannah Flu Shot.

See how excited everyone looks?

We drank well in Savannah. Especially because we could take our beer pretty much anywhere we wanted to. Done with the bar but not your drink? No problem! Take the drink to go!

And while we did make a few pit stops, most of the bars we found down there were cool enough to hang around in for a while.

Our Haunted Pub Crawl on the night of the roommate’s grand ol’ birthday was just what it sounded like. We went to or by haunted locations and stopped at a few different “haunts” (see what I did there?) for a beer or other drink or just a sit down.

One in particular was a “get-me-out-of-the-rain-er.” And we were told about the whiskey shot with the pickle-juice back. Yep. Just what it sounds like. And my three girls were brave enough to try it. Shot of whiskey, shot of pickle juice.

Here’s the before:

And the afters…

Also new and different: I ate meat in Savannah. And while it tasted good at the time, afterwards and until about, yesterday, my body was like, WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL DID YOU DO!

Basically this was my internal organs:

Yes, my internal organs call me Kate.

And I’m Presbyterian Pescetarian again.

But back to the bars.

I’m jumping around some, but our Haunted Pub Crawl was really cool besides the rain.

This is our tour guide, Rhett. Yes that’s really his name. I took Sammi’s picture with him later. She held his musket.

Don’t get dirty, I’m being for real, look:

After the pub crawl, though, and again the next night, we found our home away from home – a Scottish bar named Molly McDonald’s McDonough’s MacPherson’s. The name gets fuzzy after a few drinks.

Sam whooped my ass at darts before befriending (and losing at darts to, HA, vengeance! sorry, bff, i love you!) the owner, Dan, who we’ve decided she should marry and get us a yacht and a summer home in Savannah. He used to be a doctor. And now owns the bar. And has a killer Scottish accent.

Here he is talking about our yacht plans…or something…with Rebeck and Jered.

And, here is Jered’s scotch flight. Because you have to drink scotch at a Scottish bar, don’t you? And why not drink as many as possible?

Pretty.

That’s all for now, but before I go, I leave you with something that you’d think was inspired by an afternoon of our city tour plus beer but really was just because my friends are my friends.

We found hats.

We are the cutest…