10:03AM- You wake up early, because you need to get a start on the most epic day of your life: YOUR 21ST BIRTHDAY. Who cares that you’ve spent the past three years on campus pretending to be of legal drinking age? This day is all about LEGALLY going to the bars and blacking the fuck out. Game on.
11:45AM- You’re finally ready to leave the house and get your day drinking on at lunch, wearing your 21st birthday tiara, sash, and anything else that will leave no doubt whatsoever that it is, in fact, your birthday.
11:52AM- Gladly present your ID to the server when she asks you to prove you’re old enough to enjoy the ridiculous passionfruit margarita you just ordered. Suck it, bitch.
12:40PM After having consumed about three drinks and exactly five bites of food, you’ve got the perfect day buzz going. Everyone is throwing around hurtful phrases like “pace yourself” and “slow down.” Fuck them. This is your day, and they can’t tell you how to live it.
3:06PM- You’ve officially gone past the point of no return. You are day-drunk. You’re happy, you’re loving life, and you’re unsure why your sisters are trying to put you to bed to “rest up” before you hit the bars tonight.
3:28PM- You’re passed out on the couch in the informal living room. Nobody even bothers trying to get you to move, because it’s your 21st birthday, duh.
6:52PM- You’re rudely woken up by your sisters. They’re urging you to get up and rally because IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY. Fine. You’ll move.
8:59PM- Somehow, you’ve managed to get out of your day drinking hangover for long enough to shower and get your shit together. You’ve moved into phase two of your birthday outfit: the most adorable party dress ever, the highest pair of heels you can find, and of course, your birthday sash and tiara.
9:07PM- Mandatory pre-game with your entire family. You, your big, your little, and your grand little are all celebrating your successful exit from your mother’s womb by ripping shots of vodka. This is key, because your grand little couldn’t even get a fake ID for the night. Even though you don’t really go out with her, she must celebrate your birthday.
9:24 PM- Obligatory group pictures: family pictures, birthday girl solo shots, bestie pictures, roommate pictures, pictures in the foyer of the house, pictures in front of the house, pictures of you next to your fake, and finally the subsequent picture of you next to your real ID.
9:58PM- Arrive at the bar and hand the bouncer your ID while screaming “IT’S MY BIRTHDAY.”
9:59PM- Get confused about why the bouncer gave you a weird look for at least 45 seconds. Later realize it’s because you’ve spent the past two years getting into that bar as “Michelle” when your name is Sara. Oops.
10:17PM Commence taking your birthday shots, which are being handed to you by everyone you run into.
11:45PM- Run into your ex, who wishes you a happy birthday. You understand he meant, “I love you, and you look really pretty,” by “happy birthday!” so you make out with him.
11:58PM- Your sisters ambush you and demand you detach your tongue from your ex’s, as you’d been incessantly bitching about him three days prior.
12:07AM Resume shot-taking, because it’s the only thing that will assuage the pain you’re feeling after your almost-reunion with your definitely douche ex-boyfriend.
12:36AM- At this point, you’re standing on the bar (or trying to), announcing to everyone that IT IS YOUR FUCKING BIRTHDAY. You will have no memory of this in the morning, but the pictures on Facebook of you on top of the bar in a teensy dress and mega high heels will serve as a reminder. Oh hey, standards.
1:15AM- You’ve spent the past ten minutes yelling at the DJ to play your favorite Britney song, and you can’t fathom why he hasn’t made the entire bar sing to you by now. You decide to try and take his mic to tell everyone to sing, “Happy birthday” to you anyway.
1:22AM- After convincing the bouncer you were just really excited about your birthday, you’re allowed to stay in the bar on the grounds you don’t approach the DJ booth.
1:58AM- Require those who are still standing to take one last shot with you before last call. This, of course, you will not remember either.
2:17AM- You’re blackout crying on the cab ride back to the house with your bestie. You don’t know what exactly you’re upset about, but your bestie has deciphered it has something to do with your ex boyfriend, Victoria Beckham, or your anthropology lecture.
2:34AM- You’re carried into the house by your roommates, because you just tripped and fell face first on the sidewalk trying to get out of the cab.
2:38AM- The chapter president has woken up and come downstairs to see what all the noise is about. She considers lecturing you, but once she realizes you’re crying over how much you love your friends and not the fact that your sidewalk burn makes you look like Harry Potter, she decides against the punishment for the night.
3:17AM- After being carried to bed and placed in a safe position by your sisters, you’re knocked out.
1:39PM- You’re woken by a screeching noise. What is that? Why is something so terrible and loud happening next to your ear? Oh, it’s your phone. Why is someone calling you? Oh, to see if you’re still alive.
1:42PM- Without moving from bed, you text your bestie asking her to play hangover fairy.
1:47PM Your BFF arrives at your door with a Diet Coke and two aspirin.
1:52PM- You go back to sleep, because you spent the previous night drinking triple your body weight in well vodka. You decide that drinking legally isn’t actually all that different than drinking illegally was, but resolve that being 21 is still better than being 20, even though your hangover begs to differ.