My grandma's known for her tendency to schedule every vacation to the hilt, & after Week One at the new job, I was not feelin' a maxxed-out weekend. But because she graciously & uncharacteristically let me go back to the B&B to nap yesterday afternoon, I was awake & ready for our Fells Point GhostWalk, a tour of the supposedly haunted pubs in the Fells Point neighborhood, which has more bars per square mile than anyplace else in the country. It's also particularly historic - & is the place of Edgar Allen Poe's death! - so if drunkulosity isn't reason enough for you to visit Fells Point, you can talk yourself into feeling like it's of historical significance, as well.

A Twitter pal encouraged me to make a move, any would-be move-making was hampered by a few key points: A) I was on a tour with 10 other people, B) I was with accompanied by my grandmother, & C) I probably looked like I'd been sitting in the Splash Zone of the Shamu Show.** So no moves were made, though I did learn about ghosts who listen to polka music & ghosts who eat peppermints & ghosts that will repel you from the front stoop of they don't like you. So at least I gained some useful knowledge out of the whole thing.
Baltimore, I like you, & not just because you provided me with a cute, top-hatted man to look at for a full hour. I shall return.***
*That's from a Poe poem, guys. See what I did there?
**Please tell me someone out there gets my Sea World reference.
***If only to track down the cute, top-hatted man.