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I know you all think I haven’t updated because I’ve been so overcome with grief over the demise of the marriage of my favorite crackheads, Bobby and Whitney(and you have no idea how upset and saddened I have felt over this - no more songs about chicken and biscuits, no more poop talk from Whitney, and no more Bobbi Kris). But actually, Scott was here for a few days, so I’ve been very busy with looking for ghosts, making out, seeing craptastically bad movies, staring at the sunset, watching excellent reality tv, and tiring that poor man with my raging libido.

We went to the Queen Mary that last time he was here, but we realized that there were parts of the boat you can only see when you go on the guided tours. More specifically (and much to my horror and fear), the ghost tour.

I have a well documented fear of anything involving any kind of freaky, supernatural shit. I don’t watch scary movies, I don’t really read scary books, and I wasn’t too excited to hear him say that he really wanted to go on the ghost tour. But because I’m a good long-distance girlfriend, I went anyway. I did tell him that if anything happened, he wasn’t going back home, because if I wasn’t ever going to sleep again, neither was he.

The first tour we went on was called “The Ghosts and Legends Show”. The operative word there is SHOW, because that’s exactly what it was. It was led by this turd named Colin, who tried his best to channel Rod Serling and freighten the crap out of us, but it was a little too hokey. However, that doesn’t mean I didn’t have a kung fu grip on Scott’s hand, and didn’t flip out when I realized we were in the dark in a boiler room and were forty feet under water at the very bottom of the ship, where it was dead silent. I know that they designed it and lit it for a scary effect, but I’m a sissy, and it still scared me.

Shutup.

The second tour’s name escapes me, but it should have been called “The Here’s Where Andria Shits Her Pants And Has A Panic Attack Tour”, because that’s almost what happened. This tour was a bit more serious, and less show-y than the first one. I still made Scott hold my hand the entire time, and happily, there was less pitch-blackness than on the first tour, so at least I could see the shit that was scaring me. The scariest and most freaky part of the whole thing was when they took us to the first-class pool, which is closed off and empty. I took a picture, with my flash, and this is as good as it got.

It’s fucking creepy as hell there. I was more scared there than at any time of the entire day, and I just kept praying to god that the fucking tour guide would move us on to another “haunted” part of the ship, but she didn’t, because the strongest vortex (the space when the ghosts pass through the afterlife to now) on the ship was in the changing stalls by the pool, so we had to go see it. There were six of us on the tour, and she told us to pair up in the stalls.

Scott and I were standing in the first stall. There was a couple across from us, and a young girl and her father on the other side. The tour guide then said “The most activity happens in this changing stall that these people are in.” Want to take a guess which fucking people she pointed to?

I should point out that at that moment, I was completely petrified.

She said that people complained of feeling scratches on the back of their neck, feeling like they were being pushed out of the stall, and that one person actually came out and FOUND scratches on her neck. I think it will surprise none of you that I started feeling itchy and fidgety, and that I swore I could feel things that weren’t there (I think I must look insane at this point). Scott, shithead that he is, was loving every minute of it and giggling at my obvious discomfort (and, in his defense, I would be doing exactly the same thing if the roles were reversed).

The rest of the tour was less traumatizing, and I was a little more than happy when we were done. I know that it’s all exaggerated (if not completely made up) to attract tourists, and that they specifically go out of their way to make it as scary as possible - but it still freaked me out.

Shutup.

Ok. I’m tired now. Tomorrow I’ll tell you all why The Black Dahlia is one of the shittiest movies I’ve seen in a long time.

And I just watched The Dukes of Hazard, people.