The Frisky’s Guide To Getting Drunk In Your 20s, As Told By Gifs

We’re embracing Sober January. And for good reason. The other night we had two glasses of wine at a work happy hour and woke up with wicked hangovers. This can only mean one thing: our lady drinker lifespan has come to end. Time to mourn the drinking days of our youth. After the jump, our drunk memories … may they rest in peace.

Age 13:
Break into your parents’ liquor cabinet with your best friend. Mix everything together in a giant pitcher. Add orange juice. Sneak out in to the back yard and drink it with your nose plugged. Projectile vomit in the basement. Fake like you have the stomach flu.

Age 15:
Attend your first house party. Drink tequila and water out of a big, plastic cup from the movie theater. Give your first blow job. Do all you can to prevent yourself from projectile vomiting on his dick. Vow to never drink tequila again. Or suck a dick again. Break the blow job vow the following year, the tequila vow at age 21 when someone shoves multiple tequila shots in front of your face.


 Oh yeah, we’ve said that.

Age 17:
Find friends who have friends who have hookups for Natural Light, Zima and Boone’s Strawberry Hill. Drink those as frequently as possible, which isn’t that frequently. Throw a party when your parents are out of town. A lot more people show up than you thought. Lock all the doors and let everyone vomit in the backyard. Hide in your house and watch the carnage. Get into bed a 4 a.m. Find a naked guy there. Vow never to have a house party again.

Age 19:
Land a job at a nightclub so you never, ever have to be carded again. Switch to 40 oz’s or Jack Daniels straight out of the bottle so everyone knows you’re one tough bitch who can hold her liquor. Drink as a performance. Drink to show off. Drink for sport.

Age 20:
Drink at bars where you know the bartenders — there are quite a few now. Go to the bar with the hot, Polish bartender who gives you as many free screwdrivers as you can drink. Puke in the bar toilet two hours later. Show up at your friend’s birthday party so bombed you get kicked out of the venue. Puke again in a gutter.

Age 21:
Break your vow to never drink tequila again, drink lots and lots and lots of tequila on your 21st birthday. Wake up the next day in a bathtub in a pool of your own vomit and realize that now that you are of legal drinking age, you’re kind of over it. Vow that you will never vomit from drinking again. You are unable to keep that vow, but you try your damnedest.

Age 22 – 24:
Experiment with “easier” drinks — something that will get you buzzed, but not bombed. Go through a pale ale phase, a vodka tonic with a splash of cranberry phase, a sake phase, dabble in two-buck chuck from Trader Joes even though you know nothing about wine.

Age 25 -26:
Date a rich guy/foodie/wine snob who takes you on an exclusive wine tasting trip. Learn how to do that obnoxious swishing thing. Learn about different varietals of wine. Learn what wines pair well with what foods. Hate yourself for knowing this stuff, but fall in love with wine.

Age 27 -29:
You break up with rich guy /foodie/wine snob but continue to drink lots of wine. On dates. With your friends. At home, by yourself.

You learn more about Italian wines. And South American wines. And French wines. You stop drinking everything else altogether unless you’re at a dive bar and the wine sucks and then maybe you’ll order a cocktail with vodka in it or a beer. Develop a taste for whiskey, because the men you go on dates with are very impressed with a girl who knows her Scotch. Turn that knowledge against yourself when you head out to the bar with friends on pickup missions.


Age 30 – 35:
Your wine tolerance declines rapidly in a Flowers For Algernon-type way. If you have two glasses or more, you might have a hangover depending on how much you ate or what time of the month it is. You might even puke or have serious digestive indignities.

The guys you date are more frequently sober, or don’t drink very much. Same with your friends. There are only one or two who can still pack away the alcohol and you don’t know how they do it. Everyone else can only have a couple of glasses because they have shit to do tomorrow morning, or worse, they have kids. Sober January now sounds like a welcome reprieve. You look at your younger, party-ready friends and think: