Sometimes you think you’re knock, knock, knockin‘ on heaven’s door. Little do you realize that it’s the evils of life asking to come in. There comes a time in nearly everyone’s life when a person reaches a monumental turning point—age 21.

Speaking from recent, very recent experience, here is a little advice to all those who are not 21 yet and are getting excited by it. It’s not all that it’s cracked up to be.

Sure, you can have a good time, for about two hours until you lose your cookies because your friends (who secretly hate you because they’re buying you shot after shot) want you to have a good time.

It’s a great time. Until you have to get up and go to class the next day because a major project is due and you have to turn it in or your college career will be tossed down the tubes (like the drinks you had last night).

There are other more productive things you could be doing on the eve of your 21st birthday.

‘Rearrange the old sock drawer. Your socks can never be perfectly arranged too much.

‘Stick your finger down your throat and vomit. Voila, you have captured the essence of the evening.

‘Go to NIU President John La Tourette’s house and T. P. it. That way you can get thrown in jail for a stupid, sober prank and still be able to tell your grandkiddies you were arrested on the eve of your 21st birthday.

‘Watch Doogie Howser lose his virginity—you MUST have that one on tape.

‘Ponder whether Vice President for Student Affairs Barbara Henley has really earned the “for” in her title.

‘Think of new names for porno movies that have never been used, like “NIU Nymphettes.”

‘Start a game of 500 Rummy and play until you hit one million or die, whichever comes first.

‘Watch the Home Shopping Network and buy something. Buy something that you only could get by watching that stupid channel.

Hard to believe it takes 21 years of your life waiting to become that one age and when it happens, you spend the entire next day wishing you were dead.

The hype of being 21 revolves around people saying you cannot go somewhere. It’s Pandora’s box revisited if you are not careful.

Telling students not to drink would be really stupid. Let’s be realistic. Just take it easy. Don’t take that last kamikaze shot—you could drop a bomb on the tidybowl man.

It is at times like your 21st birthday that you learn who your real friends are.

If your friends really don’t like you, they’ll keep ordering you drinks like Cement-mixers that make you wonder who in the hell invented this stupid drink.

Ever wonder where they come up with names of drinks? Sex on the Beach—there’s a winner. How could a drink possibly be inspired by sex on the beach? A Screwdriver is a dumb name for vodka and orange juice (the screw part could work because your screwed if you drink too many of them).

Note: This column was written with a hangover. See everyone at the bars at 6 a.m. on Homecoming weekend.