Last night a group of friends and I went out for dinner and a movie. And by dinner and a movie, I mean a shitload of drinks and Reno 911: Miami. At some point in the night (after drinks, after the movie, and back at the bar for round two) conversation turned toward the topic of people that we hate, and that, naturally, led to the decision to egg their houses. In anybody else’s hands this sentiment would likely have fizzled away into the night, as is the sad fate of many drunken plans.

However, we are professionals. (At drinking, anyways.) One thing led to another, which led to another round of drinks, followed by a trip to the supermarket, and ended up with 36 grade A eggs in our possession.

After the victim was chosen (not my pick. I don’t hate anybody. Too much damn effort.), we loaded up, took aim, and rained a blitzkrieg of eggs down on our chosen target. Given, we were about 6 drinks and 2 shots deep (at least, I was) and we more or less decorated the perimeter of our intended target than actually nailed it.

(Dear god I’m glad only a handful of people read this site, by the way.)

While I was busy admiring our handiwork (I was actually beaming…I can remember the feeling, exactly) my “friends” were hauling ass down the street, while the neighbors began making a commotion. Oh yeah. That whole “running away” part. Guess I kinda forgot about that. But I was driving, so the joke was on them, suckers. (Don’t think about me being ever so slightly intoxicated and driving. Just don’t.)

After we recovered from teenage hysterics (Oh my gosh, do you think anyone saw us?!) long enough to buy beer at 7-11, we decided to call it a night, because really, where else could the night go after such a marvelous spectacle of idiocy?

I headed home, decided a chocolate martini was called for (hey, sometimes I like to feel like a lady), and pursued drunken telephone antics (for which I’m half proud/half cringing about today…such is my life), and slept fitfully until 7am.

For my 4 hours of crappy sleep (thank you, snoring pit bull) I actually hurt way less today than I should. And in a mere 37 minutes I'll be on my way home, to bed, for a ridiculously long nap.

God I love getting away with it all.

This email exchange about an upcoming cruise took place earlier today between my mother and I. It explains oh so many things (like "where I get it from"). Read from the top.

From: Mom
To: Joey
Hi, see attached. Some things you need to know about this cruise: we will be squished in the cabin (if mom goes and you share with me & Pauline), there won't be any privacy, there is a whole bunch of their relatives going and it will probably be crazy busy, this trip is not about what we want to do, but hanging out with them so we will have to go with the flow. As long as you can be tolerant and flexible it could be a lot of fun; they are fun people.

From: Joey
To: Mom
They serve alcoholic beverages and subscribe to the “buffet” style of eating, right? Then I’m a-ok.

From: Mom
To: Joey
Yes they do, but you pay for all alcohol and it adds up quickly!

From: Joey
To: Mom
Oh. Crap. That may affect my decision. Can you smuggle it in?

From: Mom
To: Joey
Well, I smuggled in some small bottles of wine last time & didn't have a problem. I guess if they found it they would just take it away. Carnival cruise lines is the cheapest one and it is mostly college kids who take this cruise and they get pretty rowdy, so I'm sure they have seen it all.

From: Joey
To: Mom
Oh, I could show them something new, all right. And by something new, I mean reading on a deck chair. In the shade. We’ll see. I can tell you’re doing your best to persuade me not to go. Someone wants all of the smuggled booze to themselves.

From: Mom
To: Joey
I would love for you to go as long as you can go with the flow; I know sometimes you can get irritated when things aren't the way you want them, and that may be the way this trip goes. As long as you are o.k. with that I think we could have a lot of fun.

***

I still haven't made up my mind about going. "Crazy busy" and "pay for drinks" aren't exactly what I want to hear when I'm planning a vacation. And no privacy? Fine, as long as everybody is ok with me openly breaking a small handful of laws in our shared room. Isn't that the whole point of sailing in international waters in the first place?

1. See Ghostrider. So not my choice. I'll be renting The Notebook for revenge. Not because I actually totally love it, or anything.

2. Lunch and shopping with my mother and the boyfriend's mother. I wonder how drunk I can get beforehand. (Irish coffee: the hooch of stealth morning drinkers.)

3. Girl's night. I don't know why I insist on calling it this. The name brings to mind drunken bachelorette parties or mid-30s housewives desperate for nightlife validation. I guess "Girl's Night" just sounds better than "My friends that are girls, but guys can come too, I'm not Nazi about it, let's have some drinks, some shots, and get kind of messy night".

Regardless, there will be girls, there will be alcohol, and god willing, there will be drugs. (Hi mom!)

4. Homework galore, that somehow has to fit in with getting drunk Sunday morning (outing with the moms) and Sunday night (girl's night).

I don't know about you guys, but I'm seeing an A+ in my future.

I just paid for my afternoon coffee (must…make it….to the…weekend) entirely in change.

Surely though, that has to be less annoying than paying for it by credit card, right?

At least it was 7-11 coffee (and therefore just over a buck in change) and not Starbucks (for which I would have needed an entire roll of quarters. And I like to keep that in my purse for whacking bad men with).

A quick word about 7-11 coffee: awesome.

In an effort to compete, I suppose, with the plethora of coffee shops now dominating every corner, 7-11 first brought out flavored creamers. Delicious, but akin to a BB gun in terms of strength. They jazzed it up with powders (cinnamon, chocolate, vanilla), but still, small guns. Next came the hand grenades, in the form of flavored syrups (even some sugar-free ones – which means you can have triple the normal amount!).

And then, (dramatic pause) the big guns. The canons, even. Mini-marshmallows, whipped cream, and chocolate syrup. That you put on yourself. Meaning, as much as you want. Seriously, is anyone not amazed, nay, overjoyed by this? I know it’s no secret that fast food is traditionally cheaper than healthy fare, but there’s something about shelling out $1.29 for something that contains about 75% of my daily allotment of calories and roughly 350% of my daily allotment of sugar. It makes me feel like a winner in the game of “how unhealthy can you possibly make this” contest. (I play that game with salads, too.)

First place, every time.

My site, much like my car, has not been properly functioning lately. Unlike my car, though, I don’t care all that much about the site. (It has yet to yield me free drinks, although I did get some cool stickers out of it once. True story.) However, I finally got around to (re: had a painfully slow night at work) updating a few sections, and if the trend of me neglecting my work continues (it give that a good chance) then there will likely be other changes coming soon.

Back to the car. The car that I love. If you’re not familiar with the story of its demise, skip down a post. Though the Nova recently died a sad, painful (for everyone else on the road that I so horribly cut off) death, she is all set to rise from the grave, stronger than before (though without a zombie’s penchant for brains. I hope. We’ll see if I kill anyone when I get it back. At least I can blame it on the car). A match for my old engine couldn’t be found so I had go a few steps up the ladder and get a bigger one, oh darn. Here’s to getting 9 miles to the gallon to my previous 11.

Once the engine was installed, I received a phone call from the mechanic, who had “good news” and “bad news”. Whenever the mechanic give you this line you just know that the bad knew is going to far outweigh, and definitely outcost, the good news. It’s usually something like “Good news, I replaced your windshield wipers! Bad news, your transmission is shot”. Luckily, I have a mechanic who knows how to handle this kind of situation. The good news? The (43 cubic inches larger) new engine is installed, and working fabulously (my word, not his). The bad news? (Witness his genius in the phrasing, which managed to make me smile, and, I’ll admit it, giggle a bit, despite being bad news.) The Nova is now too powerful to be stopped. It seriously has too much muscle. Of course, since my mechanic sees being able to stop a ton of steel as a priority (whatever) he’s recommending that I upgrade from drum to disc brakes. (For the non-car people out there, that’s upgrading from brakes that take half a city block to gradually slow down and don’t quite ever fully manage to stop completely to brakes that work.)

So, more time, and more money. But also, more muscle. (Gosh I sound butch. Awesome.)

I can’t wait.