Stephanie and I started our week in historic New Bern by stalking docents and judging their sub par historical reenactments.
I give New Bern docents a "D". In one old house, a woman was supposed to churn butter and give us a tour, but instead, she was sitting down, smoking a cigarette and kept insisting that we were twins and telling us about current 2007 events rather than pretending that it was 300 years ago like Stephanie and I had driven 500 miles to see.
Therefore, Stephanie and I had to steal period clothing and pretend to be old ourselves. When the woman wasn't looking and not giving the tour like she was supposed to, we went upstairs and tried on the clothing on display and played with artifacts.
This is Stephanie being a ghost:
This is me being a ghost:
The next night, we went looking for real ghosts on the Beaufort Ghost Walk. Despite the guide's insistence that we would see ghosts and be SCRATCHED by them, we didn't see any dead people there but there were tons of kids and babies, which I hate.
This is BlackBeard's house. Supposedly, it's haunted by one of his 13-year-old wives and her little friend. There's almost two orbs, but not really.
The next day, we went to Fort Macon. Fort Macon is the lamest and most boring fort I've ever been to. They only had two battles there, and one of them was gunless. What the fuck? The Union won the gunless one.
This is a picture of me in the upper rightish corner sizing up a cannon right before I tried to climb it and it scraped half of my third nipple off.
I am not a very good climber. The last time I climbed a gate to get into a locked playground, I ripped my pants open and everyone saw my butt. Then this time, half of my third nipple fell off. I was only two feet off the ground when I'd sustained the injury.
Blood was everywhere around my armpits. Stephanie didn't have anything to help me and she wouldn't look at it. The only thing I had to stop it was a maxi pad, and it was a night-time one, one of those super-long ones. I had to strap it around myself and walk out like that with a long maxi pad over my boobs while red necks, old people, and boring people judged me. I think it was the fort getting back at me for calling it boring and lame.
This is me forcing Stephanie to take a picture of it. Notice the armpit stubble and the crazed look in my eyes. That's how you can tell that I'm happy.
This is a close-up of it.
It's hard to see, but half of it was hanging off and scabby. After we went to the beach, it looked like a tiny hermit crab. Now it's almost gone. The fort did me a favor because I couldn't afford to get it removed. Now I call Fort Macon "Dr. Macon" and maybe I'll go back when I have to get my third penis removed. It also looks like a tiny hermit crab.
We spend a lot of time on our vacation in the cemetery. This is the Old Burying Ground in Beaufort. There's only room for one grave left but it's taken.
This is a picture of the grave of the little girl who was buried in a barrel of rum. Apparently, she haunts the cemetery. If I were her, I'd just be drinking!