I have no idea, though I remember the night before.
It was a school night, and I was up very late working on a paper for English. I remember looking at a clock reading 3:00AM and thinking, “I was born exactly 18 years ago.”
Went to school the next day, turned in the paper, got yelled at for falling asleep in Calculus.
My high school graduation ceremony.
I just checked a calendar and it fell on a Thursday in 1985, but I can’t remember anything special for 18. The special birthdays I do remember are 21, 30, and 41.
It was on a Saturday in May, 2000. I went to the big cheap pub in the town centre, from about lunchtime. My friend got me a whoopee cushion and a fake dog turd. The waiter who took our food plates away borrowed the fake turd to frighten the chef. I wore a big badge saying it was my birthday. All my friends were there. I carried my passport on me to prove I was finally 18, and I didn’t get carded all night.
I saw my ex-boyfriend and I got angry and kicked a wall. We all caught the last bus back to my friend’s house where we stayed up to wee hours drinking, smoking, and the rest.
Heh. Good times.
Mine sucked. It was my freshman year in college and I had fallen down a flight of stairs and hurt my back and I couldn’t stand up or walk. My friends all came and threw a party in my room but thanks to the painkillers I barely remember it. We had a do-over birthday two weeks later and that was lots of fun but it wasn’t quite the same.
I smoked a cigar and rented a porno movie.
Seriously, I did.
Nothing special. I had just moved to a town where I knew no one and of course I was too young to drink, so I couldn’t even go to a bar and try to meet people.
I had just moved back to California and started JC after dropping out of high school. Poked around the antique stores in Ventura and had Japanese for dinner, where my Dad managed not to say anything shitty to me which was a Birthday Miracle. We had raspberry pie at home afterwards. I had just quit smoking (well, temporarily) so tobacco wasn’t a factor.
It was actually a pretty good birthday and I bought an old miniature copy of the Strange Case Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, which I still have.
My 18th birthday was the day after I got dropped off at college. Freshman orientation was the week before classes, so I spent my birthday playing name games with my new hallmates, then the RA brought out a cake for me my mother had left.
Mostly I felt sorry for myself that it was my 18th birthday and I had no friends yet. Pathetic!
I had my first legal beer with lunch. Just one though because a couple of hours later, I went to work–I was working a summer job as a swing shift parking lot attendant. Nothing special really; after lunch, it was just another day.
I was sharing a cheap apartment in the university area of town with a friend, so we had a party. Things were going well, but later in the evening we discovered that some cash was missing from a drawer in the bedroom. This was very depressing, because we knew everyone at the party – not everyone was a close friend, but everyone was someone we were at least friendly with. Shortly after, another friend arrived and made some remark that I found hurtful (possibly about my hair – it was the 80s is all I can say), so between that and the stolen money, I spent the rest of the night crying in the bathroom. The somewhat funny thing is that other people remember that as one of the great parties of our teenage years. I do look back on it and laugh when I think about what a drama queen I was, crying in the bathroom all night.
My birthday is on Christmas, so I went to mass, ate a Christmas dinner, and went out to a movie with my family. Nothing different from my 17th or 19th.
Got on a bus to go to the MEPS station. Next day I got on a plane to go to Basic Training.
So my 18th birthday was my last day at home. Last time to see my family. Best day of my life.
Mourned the death of Groucho Marx.
Ha- that would’ve been me but for my severe myopia. I could have gotten a waiver, but something shiny came along and I got distracted, and I often wonder what my life would’ve been like if I’d joined the Air Force as I’d planned.
Ah, my 18th birthday, perhaps the funnest day of my life thus far. I got shot in the chest and splattered blood all over the ceiling.
Wait, let me elaborate. I was in the school play-- Had, in fact, gotten the part only three weeks before, when the biggest role who didn’t have an understudy quit, and the other guys in drama, knowing I was good at memorizing lines, asked me if I wanted it. The first night of the play, we had some fake blood in a baggy in my shirt pocket, with the plan that when I was shot, I’d clutch my chest and break it, but it didn’t work. So the second night, my birthday, we kept it in my upstage jacket pocket, and I slipped it into my hand just before the shot and squeezed it as I clutched my chest. It turns out that you don’t need very much blood in one of those things-- The last thing I saw as I was falling was blood dripping off the ceiling lights. The audience loved it; I don’t know why we didn’t do it the same way the next weekend.
Then, after the play, we had a party backstage with all of the drama folks, and after that, I had my two closest friends over at my place. One of them gave me a booster pack of Magic cards, the last one of which turned out to be the rarest card in the edition at the time.
The next morning, I got together with a bunch of my buddies from Boy Scouts at a field near my house, where we ran into the neighborhood kid who had been my primary bully back in 9th grade, and a bunch of his friends. We played a pickup game of football, and the other guys totally trounced us, but did so completely fairly and cleanly. I never had trouble with him after that.
Surely you’ve included your Darling Marcie in those plans. 
February 18, 1978 - I was in Navy ROTC at University. The guys threw me the best party!! It was out at someone’s house. We drank a lot of beer, listened to music, danced, etc. etc. It was definitely one of my better birthdays. They had decorated with a Valentine’s theme. I kept one of those cardboard hearts for the longest!
And no, you pervs, I wasn’t the only female there.
August 24, 1981. I went to a restaurant with my brother and his then girlfriend Susan, whose birthday was also that day. We ordered mixed-drinks together to celebrate.
I got on a plane to come home from Mexico. The resort was all inclusive, but you had to be 18 to drink. I was also horribly sunburned.