Well, to say the least I survived Mardi Gras. I have to admit- going to New Orleans for Mardi Gras should be on everyones bucket list. You just HAVE to. You won't see people like that anywhere else. You also can't get Po-Boy's or Hand Grenades.
I made friends, lost identification, tried to run away, saw painted shirts (on women), saw men wearing thongs, got hit in the face with beads, and laid a blue monkey to rest in a Miller Lite box.
I used to be the little girl that loved fairy tales, and fairy tale endings. Now, people are shocked that I might have once thought about what I want my wedding to be like. So shocked, they think I'm lying. I used to believe that endings in The Notebook could be real, and that someday I'd find something like that. As I grew up a bit (mind you I'm only 21) I became more realistic. I opted for comfort and safety, instead of excitement and passion. Today, I have someone who fits all of those roles, but what I've grown away from I have to fight hard to find it. I live in fear of my own passion. I just wish I could rewind a little bit, move back through all of those crappy heartaches, and still believe in those fairytale endings.