Absolutely! Here’s a hilariously nostalgic and chaotic blog post from your point of view:
Big Hair, Bad Decisions, and Boozy Brilliance: The 80ās Pub Crawl with Anne Bowman
Let me take you backānot to the actual 1980s, but to a night that felt like it was ripped straight from a John Hughes movie, dipped in neon, and shaken with three shots of tequila. It was the 80ās Pub Crawl, and I was rolling deep with none other than Anne Bowman: my partner in crime, my fellow fashion disaster, and the only person who could rock leg warmers like it was a competitive sport.
šø The Arrival: Shoulder Pads and Shenanigans
We showed up dressed like weād raided Madonnaās closet and wrestled Cyndi Lauper for accessories. I had a mullet wig that looked like it had survived a tornado, and Anne? She had crimped hair so voluminous it needed its own zip code. We were walking, talking tributes to Aqua Net and questionable life choices.
The first bar was already bumping with synth-pop and people who clearly hadnāt stretched since Reagan was in office. Anne ordered a drink called āThe Thrillerā that came with dry ice and a glow stick. I went for āThe Purple Rain,ā which tasted like grape soda and regret.
šŗ Dancing Like Nobody Had Knees
By stop number three, we were fully committed. Anne was moonwalking like sheād trained with MJ himself, and I attempted the wormāwhich looked more like a confused caterpillar having a seizure. A guy in parachute pants challenged us to a dance-off. Anne accepted. I cheered. We lost. But we lost with dignity and a lot of sweat.
Every bar had a theme. One was decked out like a VHS rental store. Another had a Pac-Man arcade machine and a bartender dressed as Prince. At one point, Anne tried to order a drink using only quotes from āThe Breakfast Club.ā It worked. She got a free shot and a standing ovation.
š¼ The Flashback Fails
We ran into a guy who swore he was born in the 80s but looked suspiciously like heād never seen a cassette tape. Anne grilled him with trivia: āName three members of Duran Duran.ā He panicked and said āDuran, Duran, andā¦Steve?ā We walked away.
There was a karaoke moment. Anne sang āLike a Virginā with the confidence of someone who had never heard the song before. I backed her up with interpretive dance that involved a lot of finger pointing and pelvic confusion. The crowd loved it. Or they were too drunk to care. Either way, we got high fives.
š§ The Snack That Saved Us
Around midnight, we found a food truck selling grilled cheese and Capri Suns. Anne declared it āthe most 80s thing since shoulder pads and Reaganomics.ā We sat on the curb, eating like victorious warriors, surrounded by people in neon spandex and eyeliner that defied gravity.
We talked about life, love, and how we were definitely going to feel this in our knees tomorrow. Anne tried to convince me to buy a fog machine. I almost did.
š„ The Aftermath
We woke up the next morning surrounded by glitter, glow sticks, and one mysterious Rubikās Cube. My mullet wig was in the sink. Anneās leg warmers were on the ceiling fan. Our phones were filled with blurry photos, questionable dance moves, and one video of Anne trying to explain the plot of āFootlooseā to a bouncer.
It was glorious.
The 80ās Pub Crawl wasnāt just a night outāit was a time-traveling fever dream of fashion, friendship, and fermented fun. And with Anne Bowman by my side, it was pure, chaotic magic.
