Proud to be a mutt

I am a mutt. Not in the genetic sense, seeing as my parents are both white-as-the-part-of-the-Israeli-flag-that-isn't-blue Jews, but in the sense that I am half Uber Responsible and On Top of Her Shit Goody Two Shoes, and half It's Five O'clock Somewhere Get Me a Ketel One Dirty Martini Extra Dirty Please Party Animal.

Look at the facts: I've always gotten good grades. I wore a suit every day to work for 3 years. I pay my credit card bill in full every month and have been doing my own taxes for years. I don't have a tattoo and don't want one. I don't even have second holes pierced in my ears. On the other hand, I can think of only 2 people in the world who are less likely to turn down a night of boozing than I am. I like to go out, meet new people, and make the occasional bad decision (my responsible half ensures the "occasional" part). This side of me is to blame for doing things like funneling beers at 5 AM the night before Thanksgiving or dancing on bars in Cancun.

Finding a balance between the two is delicate art. Because more often than not, partying comes at a price. Literally. And it pains me to the depths of my soul when my responsible half makes me turn down trips to Vegas (June 09) or the Dominican (August 09) or spring break (ALL FOUR YEARS OF COLLEGE) because it knows I can't pay for it. It sucked this past semester knowing that my classmates were all out partying and I was stuck passing hors d'oeuvres (I just double checked my spelling of that and for the first time ever I GOT IT RIGHT. BOOYAH) at some fancy function making way too little per hour because yo, I need that cash money.

Sometimes, even my responsible side acknowledges that there is going to come a day when my party side has to be put away. When it will no longer be socially acceptable to act the drunken fool in public. And though I'm only 26 and thus that time is NOWHERE NEAR, I can't deny that it's approaching. I need to get it all out of my system so that when the time comes for my better but less fun half to take over full-time, I can hold a proper funeral for the vodka-guzzling half, knowing that it led a full life and that I can always remember it with pictures and stories.

And so I had an internal debate today.
Smart half: "You may have some leftover cash from working last semester, but you'll soon have to start paying back your student loans. DUN DUN DUUUUUN!"
Crazy half: "But...but...vacations! Fun ones!"
Smart half: "But nothing!"
Crazy half: "Come on, I can't do this without you. Even YOU like to have a little fun."
Smart half: "Oh, you're right. I'll pack the patron and the low-cut shirts."

And that, my friends, is how and why I booked my plane tickets to go to NEW ORLEANS FOR MARDI GRAS. THE MECCA OF RIDICULOUSNESS AND FUN.

For 4 days I will do nothing but drink hand grenades and hurricanes while stuffing my face with beignets and po'boys and pralines. And then some more hand grenades.

DID I MENTION THAT I'M GOING TO NEW ORLEANS FOR MARDI GRAS?

I can feel my liver gearing itself up already. This is one excited mutt.