I turned 21 in my first college apartment junior year. It was a Wednesday.

I had my first sip of alcohol the previous year: a house party in my boyfriend’s basement initiated me with Mike’s Hard Lemonade and lemon drop shots (shooting vodka and chasing it with a lemon wedge covered in sugar).

The night of my birthday, I went to TGIFriday’s with a friend of mine from church who was 22 and regarded alcohol like me: an occasional indulgence. I ordered my favorite, a Long Island iced tea, served in a glass that could only be described as a bowl on a stick. It was watered down, I didn’t even catch a buzz. We had a great dinner too.

My mom bought me a premixed mudslide in a bottle for a birthday present. It was a glass bottle – I still have it – and I use it for meter food (read: change for the parking meters).

I had a party at my apartment a few days later, my fridge was stocked full of Mike’s and other like drinks. My underage sister came down for the festivities – she was by far a more experienced partier despite being in high school.

I enjoyed being 21 – and not having to pay someone else “handling charges” to pick up liquor for me. I was never a big drinker or partier – I’ve never blacked out and all the crazy stuff I did in college and beyond I did stone sober.

Every now again, though, I would love to tie one on, like the old days.