Savanahhhh

There's something askew in the space/time continuum in Georgia. I'm pretty sure this isn't the place where the universe collapses. It's just a place where it takes waaaaaay longer to get everywhere than it should, even without traffic, and the mileage signs are often wrong.

I stayed over outside Atlanta last night with Chris and her husband and adorable 3-year-old daughter, Jordan, who showed me all her dance moves and sang a lot of songs for us, and gave me her Tigger doll to hug. Chris says Jordan likes me. I think it's because I bribed her with chocolate.

We had a delicious home-cooked dinner (Thanks, Chris!) and a few too many glasses of sangria. This afternoon, I drove all the way down to Savannah only to fall in love.

It's just as beautiful here as I had hoped. The lovely little squares all over the historic district, the old homes, the huge old live oaks dripping with Spanish Moss (but don't touch! It's where chiggers live!)

Apparently, Savannah is lucky for me. I had booked a room at a B&B online (love those discount hotel sites) and got a great price on a nice room at a historic inn. My inn:


When I got here, the clerk said they didn't have the room available, even though it was advertised. So they upgraded me for the same price. Here's a picture of my room:

No, that's not a dead weasel on my bed. It's a faux-fur throw, thank you, in case I get chilly and would like to warm up in a politically correct way.

I'm on the third floor in what would be room 13 -- except that they don't call it that because people are superstitious.

I went to dinner at the Olde Pink House's downstairs tavern, which doesn't require reservations and has a piano player who knew many of the people in "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil" as well as, allegedly, Liberace. He plays all the standards, including, of course, "Moon River."

As I was leaving, a tour trolley pulled up right in front of the inn across the street, and I was able to hop aboard for a "ghost tour." The woman who did the tour was both funny and annoying. She took us past the infamous Mercer Williams house (from Midnight, in case you haven't read it/don't remember, but if you haven't read it it, stop reading my blog -- right now -- and go get a copy), and before I know it, she's pulling up in front of my B&B, telling us that it's known to be very haunted.

What's the most haunted floor? The third, of course.

About 11, as I'm walking back from the tour drop-off, I see groups of people gathered in the square in front of my B&B, looking up at it. More ghost tours. Someone in one of the tour groups said he wanted a picture of a ghost, so I flashed him some leg -- mine are as white as a corpse's. He took a picture. Drunken frat boy.

I'm tempted to try and freak the tourists out from my upstairs windows tomorrow night.

When I came in, I couldn't remember which room was fine because they don't have numbers, only names on the doors, so I was wandering around up here on the third floor, wanted a diet soda badly and not knowing where my room was, talking to Jen on the cell phone. Jen said "That's why it's haunted, because people can't find their damn rooms and they have no diet coke, so they just die, parched, out in the hall."

Tomorrow: A historic tour, City Market, maybe a dolphin-watching cruise and a piano bar.

Job update: Will know more mid-week this week. Things got messed up with the holiday, some family issues for the editor and some unforeseen staffing changes.