When it comes to birthdays, there are two kinds of people: The people who avoid mentioning their age at all costs and the people who spend all month celebrating their general existence. For some of us, it’s kind of a huge deal. I’ve never understood people who say things like, “OMG I don’t want to turn X years old. That means I’m ancient.” Wrong. It means you just have one more shot to take that night.
If you’re anything like me, you love celebrating your birthday because it’s literally a day of you and your friends praising your existence without being considered conceited. You expect the entire day to revolve around you, and you only. All of your friends post pictures of you on social media giving you strings of compliments. People you forgot existed even wish you happy birthday on Facebook. So yeah, you’re kind of a big deal.
When you were a kid, birthdays were the shit because you got presents and a perfectly frosted cake with your name on it. Now it’s exhilarating because you get to place a plastic tiara on your flawlessly hairsprayed head and listen to people yelling, “Go shorty! It’s yo’ birthday!” while you throw back blow job shots. Regardless of how old you are, this day is dedicated to you, which means everyone showers you with attention. And who doesn’t love that? When you were younger, your family members were the ones who gave you birthday spankings. Fast-forward to now when you are in your birthday suit receiving them from your sometimes-boyfriend during the birthday sex, which by the way is the best ever. Counting candles on your cake while people sang to you was cool and all, but now you’d rather count how many jäger bombs you can consume before spewing rainbow vomit all over the bathroom floor of the bar that just sang Happy Birthday to you.
It’s an unwritten rule that this is the one day of the year that everyone has to do whatever the fuck you want for 24 hours. Sure, presents are splendid and all, but what you really want is people to worship you day and night. Your wish is their command. If you want to get mani/pedi’s, your posse is required to be there. And if you crave to stuff your face with Olive Garden breadsticks, they’ll drive you. Your sisters also have the duty to upgrade you from Plain Jane to Kate Upton before you strut out the door. Not to mention, they ALL have to be your personal photographers for the entire day so you don’t miss a candid. And what kind of friends would they be if they didn’t make you a cake? Friends worth ditching, that’s what kind. And of course, one of the best, most essential reasons to keep your sisters by you all day is so you will never have to worry about who is going to DD, because it sure as fuck won’t be you.
Once you’re all pampered up and ready to go out, you insist that everyone on your radar needs to buy you a drink. It won’t happen, but it’s good to have birthday goals. Literally every bar is basically obligated to sing you happy birthday. And this is the only night when it’s acceptable to repeatedly scream at the top of your lungs, “IT’S MY FUCKING BIRTHDAY! LET’S TAKE SHOTS!” Once you’ve had enough of those liquid death threats, it becomes time to scope out who will be Mr. Right Now, which won’t be too hard because for some reason guys love a birthday bitch. Basically, you can make out with as many guys as you possibly want without being judged. However, your friends still need to make sure you don’t go home with some sleazebag because you don’t need to get a STD on your birthday. That’s just setting you up for a bad year.
Whatever the birthday, you basically get a free pass to do whatever the fuck you want with no charge. “It’s my birthday!” is literally the most credible excuse possible for any deed you want to act on that wouldn’t be deemed socially appropriate any other day of the year. You hold absolutely no liability over any of your actions, and it’s perfectly chill. Just sit back and enjoy the birthday sex, shots, cake, and social media posts. It’s your fucking birthday and nobody is allowed to blow out your candles except you.