I survived Bourbon Street. More specifically, my liver survived Bourbon Street. The inordinate number of Mardi Gras beads in my hotel room this morning was a testament to the number of Crown rocks, Hurricanes, and Abita Turbodogs that were consumed sometime between yesterday and sunrise. It wasn't a fairytale Valentine's Day and certainly not the one I would have had with EL, but it didn't hurt as much as it could have thanks to that nifty little liquid the Irish invented.
i’m sort of worried about you… are you alright? maybe you’re just busy with work, but wanted to ask, none-the-less.
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