Phase 1: The first shot.

The worst part of the night. You're holding that shot glass, hands slightly trembling; you inhale, exhale, and take the shot. Your throat burns like hell and you immediately reach for the much needed chaser to relieve the horrible feeling. Though you regret your decision, you continue on anyways. At least it gets easier.

Phase 2: Walking into the bar.

You and your friends finally get into the bar, frat party, house party, whatever. Macklemore's lyrics "Walk into the club like whaddup, I got a big c*ck" is basically about this moment. You're all dressed to the nines and you’ve got a nice buzz. You think that the arrival of your crew means that everyone else is now #blessed by your presence and the party can really start now. But the jokes on you -- probably no one noticed.

Phase 3: Hitting the dance floor.

You finally have the courage to hit the dance floor with your friends. You're really into the music that's playing. You believe your moves are super sexy, maybe even Beyoncé-esque, and are going to attract all the members of the opposite sex (or same sex -- one love, y'all), but in reality you look like this:

Phase 4: I'm drunk.

The moment you've been waiting for. It finally hits you. You're ready for the night to take you anywhere. You're ready to go across town to another party that you hear is better than the one you're at, stay out until the sun comes up, or go home with a complete stranger. The world is your oyster and you can most definitely shuck it.

Phase 5: I'm f*cking wasted.

You have a feeling that one extra drink will push you over the edge, but you choose to take another shot anyway. All of a sudden, you can't walk straight, can barely see, and have no idea where you are. The simplest of tasks now seem like futilities. It's time to sit down, drink some water, and sober up.

Phase 6: The drunchies.

My favorite part of the night. All you want is a whole pizza to yourself. Or a bucket of fried chicken. Or a huge sandwich. Or maybe some ice cream. Or half a bag of semi-stale potato chips. Or Nutella finger-spooned out of a jar. You don't honestly even care what it is. You just want some form of nourishment and you want it NOW.

Phase 7: Somebody please get me home.

All of your friends have somehow disappeared. It seems impossible to find an Uber to take you home. Even if your apartment is within walking distance, you find that summoning the strength to get there is unachievable. You want to be in your bed under the warm covers, but sleeping on a park bench may be easier. Can teleportation please be a thing right now?

Phase 8: The morning after

You wake up in the morning to the sunlight burning your eyeballs and your head pounding as if someone is putting a jackhammer to it. You have smeared makeup all over your face, your breath smells like something died, and you're still in your clothes from last night. The questions you immediately wonder are: "What the hell did I do last night?" "Where did all my money go?" and "Will this feeling ever end?" Well, my friends, the hangover will soon fade, but the shame you probably inflicted on yourself last night may haunt you forever.