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Over-Celebrating Your Birthday. TSM.


The birthday of a sorority girl during her college years is typically more important than Christmas, summer vacation and every national holiday put together. I mean, HELLO, it’s the day we were BORN. Quite literally, we have graced those around us with our flawlessly beautiful, smart, philanthropic presence for yet another 365 days. You’re welcome. Since we’re better than the average person, celebrating the anniversary of our arrival into this world is not limited to just one day. Rather, it is standard to observe a “birthday week,” which kicks off after chapter on Sunday and lasts until the following Sunday when we’re in bed battling a residual hangover from a 5-day bender, wondering if we’ll ever feel like a human again. Mass e-mails have gone out over the list-serv, casually reminding the whole chapter that our birthday is coming up and there’s a pregame at someone else’s apartment (because why, on OUR birthday, should we have to pick streamers and glitter off of our own floor and wash used shot glasses that reek of vodka? We shouldn’t, duh). There are a few standard rules and regulations that go along with the birthday week that no sorority girl would dare break. Observe.

1. If our parents were stupid enough to conceive us 9 months before a day that falls during summer or winter break, the birthday week is automatically rescheduled to begin immediately upon our return (as if syllabus week wasn’t enough of a shitshow). We don’t have to spread the word or remind anyone (at least in addition to the regular texts, emails, and facebook events), as this is automatically understood.

2. On our birthday, we have the right to dress as slutty as we want. No self-respecting sorority girl would be caught dead in something she’s worn before, so we obviously go shopping for a new, skin-tight and possibly see-through black dress that barely covers our ass and gives us more voluptuous cleavage than Jessica Rabbit, because no matter how conservative (dare I say classy?) we might be, every girl is required to be the hottest slut in the room on her birthday. I may assign an especially observant friend to T&A duty, but if she wanders, fuck it. What’s that? I fell over the barstool and dozens of people saw my g-string? Well it was my birthday. Sorry I’m not.

2a. While we’re on the topic of dressing up for birthdays, we go all out. This means heels and hair higher than post-OC Mischa Barton, glitter on our décolletage, and the type of smoky eye normally reserved for prostitutes. It should be said though, that it’s ONLY okay to sport a tiara and anything that says “Birthday Girl” on it if it’s our 21st birthday and we’re are making our long-awaited legal debut at the bars or going to a hotel or somewhere fancy off-campus. If you just turned nineteen and are sporting a crown and obnoxious pink sash to a basement frat party, you’re tacky and I hate you.

3. Everyone has to do nice things for us for the entire duration of our birthday week as well as obey all of our demands. At no point should you disagree with us about ANYTHING and we get a free pass to be a bitch if something doesn’t go our way. We are going to give ourselves the entire week off from classes, so it’s necessary that you get our notes and explain to the professor that we are very sick with an extremely rare strain of the measles (which haven’t existed since the 1800s). Try to shield us from anything that could be even mildly upsetting because we have every intention of being drunk, dramatic, and unreasonable. It’s a good idea to make prior arrangements for our strong and manly guy friend to carry us home. Someone will need to. Oh, and lastly, and perhaps most importantly as a part of your sisterly duty, you NEED to make us a cake. No matter how expensive a gift you bought, this homemade gesture is necessary. Seriously, there has not been one sorority girl in history whose roommates/big/little/besties have NOT baked her a cake. We’re not going to eat it, fucking duh, but it’s the thought that counts.

4. A sorority birthday is a binge drinking competition for all involved. Expensive champagne? Present. Cheap vodka? Accounted for. Suspiciously strong mixed drink in a large bucket? God yes. It’s not just suggested, but necessary for us and our whole entourage to be obliterated before even leaving the srat house. Not to mention that everyone at the bar who knows us (and most people who don’t) are obligated to buy us a drink, and if we tell a guy to make out with us, he has to, because it’s our birthday and we said so. Oh, and if you don’t show up to the celebration? Expect to be shunned for at LEAST a week. Missing a birthday is personal because it’s like, a really special day in our life and the time it will take us to forgive you is directly proportional to our bitchiness and size of our ego. No one cares that you had an English Lit midterm the next morning. During subsequent speakers, service events and the next few chapter meetings until we decide to forgive you, you can’t sit with us.

So there you have it, the sorority birthday. Look amazing, drink your face off, and make sure everyone is singing your praises all fucking night (for all 5-7 nights, duh). Wake up next to someone else in your bed…hopefully it’s your boyfriend or your big. Take your time recovering and getting ready to do it all over again next year. Oh, and if you can actually remember your birthday, you didn’t do it right.

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