For those poor unfortunate souls (read: sober) who are unfamiliar with the beloved inebriated holiday, allow me to fill you in on the wonder that is Green Beer Day.

Green Beer Day occurs at my college alma mater, Miami University, on the Thursday before kids take off for spring break. Traditionally, the day of debauchery begins at midnight, when all the bars close and the frats open their doors, serving only green beer, green jungle juice and green Jell-O shots. At 4 a.m., restaurants welcome the already ragged collegiate populace, providing much-needed sustenance in the form of green eggs and ham. By 6 a.m., the bars reopen, serving only green beer and green mixed drinks. If it is possible to die from a copious amount of green food dye, the entire Miami University population should be tested.

Stumbling into your first class Thursday morning, your face is sure to be as green as your tongue. Unlike other school days, on Green Beer Day the point is to go to class drunk. You drag your inebriated behind from building to building, and during breaks between classes, you head back to the bars to continue the party.

I loved Green Beer Day.

I know this will upset some folks. They will throw up their arms and speak to the dangers of binge drinking and alcoholism. And I agree with you. I do. But Green Beer Day isn't loved because of the alcohol consumption. That can happen any weekend. It's loved because it's an experience — one of those special little events that apply to your life for only a glint in time.

Of course, there are some who try to keep Green Beer Day on life support. We saw those sorry sacks every year. Without fail, the bars on Green Beer Day would have a few old Miami alums who had congregated on campus with their college buds for a walk down green beer memory (loss?) lane. My friends and I lamented about how lame they were to show up at their old stomping grounds to drink.

"Get over it," we thought. "You're old — far too old for this."

I said I never wanted to become those pathetic people. I was wrong. I want desperately to be that pathetic — balding head, bulging belly, green tongue and all!

College, for me, was so quick and perfect that nearly a decade out, it's hard to even know whether that time was real. I haven't made new friends like the ones I had in college — the kind you would lie down in traffic for. I haven't had drama or high stakes or scares or loves like the ones I had then. Everything was over-the-top. Everything was do-or-die.

I am not the person I was in college. I wouldn't want to be. But there are days when I miss the heck out of her. She was silly — insanely, obnoxiously silly. She ran instead of walked. She laughed loudly without attempting volume control. And every once in a while, I want to be her. I want to act recklessly. I want to have a green tongue.

Green Beer Day represents all the crazy things I did back then and cannot do again. Correction: shouldn't do again. I still have the option of urinating in the public bathroom sink instead of waiting for a stall to open up, but seeing as now I'm always toting around diapers, this seems even less respectable. Though I still could go clubbing, I've been told that no matter how much I bedazzle my BabyBjorn, rockin' out with a baby in tow just isn't sexy. Sure, I'm always up till sunrise, but now the reason is far less rock-'n'-roll and far more boob-'n'-stool. And the only strange men I call in the middle of the night to plead for them to come over are the pizza delivery dudes.

Life has changed.

I'm not complaining. I'm obsessed with my child. I'm in love with my husband. And I have a job I adore. But every once in a while, it'd be nice to wake up with a green tongue.

I reached out to my college core, wishing them a happy Green Beer Day. They responded by throwing around dates for a get-together.

O behold the power of Green Beer Day — bringing together 30-somethings a decade after the last of their alcohol-laced green drool hit their pillows.

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