But anyways, I wanted to give some awesome wise words of wisdom since that's the tradition in the family. When Middle Sister turned 21, the plan was for an all-out bash in Vegas. She had never been, so my wise words were Vegas blocks are about a mile long. Stripper heels will not work. FYI. There may have also been words on Don't take the strip club flyers they hand out, don't lose anyone, don't steal Mike Tyson's tiger, and DON'T GET ARRESTED.
Baby Sister, that last part applies to you too. While that'd make great blog fodder, your mug shot might be next year's Christmas card. So watch it...
What I want to do is tell you about my 21st birthday. Well, what I can remember from it. It was super long ago. Annnnnd I may have been completely shnockered.
In a land far, far away, there was Mrs. Wookie (although barely with Mr. Wookie - I think we may have been dating a year-ish). It was tradition in the town to go to the local Mexican place, have your picture taken, and staple it on the wall. Each time I'm there I reminisce. Oh, the fashion (what was I wearing?) Oh, the weight gain (seriously, excessive drinking packs on the pounds!). And oh, the hangover (no amount of preparation can get you through a true 21st birthday extravangza).
Parents, you can skip this if you'd like. You're welcome.
Dinner was uneventful. I did receive these "anti-hangover" tablets....that didn't do shit. My advice: Embrace your hangover. You EARNED it. The official shot from the restaurant is (of course) tequila, served from a little man statue, where the tequila is released from....its penis....and you just take the shot. No one wants to be a bitch. Just take the shot.
We did bar hop, I kinda-vaguely remember all those. I do remember spilling a drink at my favorite bar though. Baby Sister, I totally empty'd a near full Scooby Snack in the corner booth by the front door at Clodfelter's. Now you know that for when you visit. Don't let history repeat itself.
It was a terrific, debacherous night. And I have my ride home to thank for that.
This cute, young future Mr. Wookie was my loving ride home. Even when I hung out the window, slurring at the top of my lungs, "It's my birthday!!!!!!!!!" How did he stay with me? Umm, well I'm slightly older, so of course I bought him beer. That's probably how.
I was put to bed sometime I can't remember. Then I woke up mid-sleep, with severe intentions to barf. Holy shit, I'm going to blow! Well, I didn't. I just had the spins. Wonderful. So I proceed to pass out on the bathroom floor...in my underwear only...for the world to see. But somehow I have a brief moment of clarity and know my roommate needs to shower in the morning, I should probably pass out somewhere else (true story). So I Army-crawl my ass into the hallway. Still rockin' just my underwear.
Mr. Wookie comes over the next morning to see me still incapacitated in the hallway and at least covers me up with a blanket while I deal with the billion gremlins trying to chisel their way out of my skull. That was the worst day of my life. But the best. I've never had a hangover to beat it. And I've tried. It was amazing. And worth every gulp of painful Gatorade to swallow. Oh, and sisters, my post-hangover meal was Togo's. I love them for that and will continue to give them my service.
Parents, you can continue reading now.
Baby Sister, I repeat DON'T GET ARRESTED. Don't wind up on Burnside at 3am because someone has GOT to pee on the side of a building. Oh, does Voodoo Donuts offer birthday donuts? I could use some time in Portland, with Baby Sister, and our livers. Anyone care to join?
But happiest birthday. I hope you remember most of it. Just not all of it.