So, the day I have been waiting 21 years for is less than a week away, and I have no idea how I am going to celebrate.

“Why don’t you think of 21 creative ways to celebrate and write a column about it,” a friend suggested.

Not a bad idea, I thought. So I began brainstorming and made it all the way to No. 3 before “Baywatch” came on and I got completely sidetracked. (No. 1 — Drink. No. 2 — Stalk 12-year-old girls on the Internet.)

Then I had the idea of Plan B. I would e-mail 21 of the most oddly influential people in my life and invite them to share ideas on creative ways to celebrate my birthday.

Only about half of the people wrote back in time, but there were more than enough good ideas.

Rob Wiese, president of GSB, suggested I “join Jeremy Williams, the president of the ISU Snipe Hunting Club, and the rest of the club for a snipe hunting expedition into the wilds of Story County.”

I have no idea what snipe is — but it sounds fun.

Brent Monson, my high school journalism teacher wrote: “I think you should come back to Urbandale High School and admit to your principal that, ‘Yeah, maybe Local H wasn’t just a regular rock band that could easily play at a high school event.'”

Never.

Nick Lindstrom, my disc jockey partner, suggested “lighting poop on fire and putting it on other people’s doorsteps.”

He called the shit poop.

Nick also mentioned “go to Las Vegas and show everyone how money you are,” “go cow tipping,” “streak Welch Avenue” and “have a pajama party with lots of chicks.”

Heather McClure, assistant Arts & Entertainment editor and my own little Monica Lewinsky, also mentioned Las Vegas, but wrote that I should “fly first class; drop a quarter in the slots; ask Jimmy Buffet to accompany you to a ‘Girls, girls, girls!’ show done Vegas style, get turned down by 21 showgirls (realizing that even showgirls know they can get it better); convince Jimmy he needs to be in the Veishea concert and come home.”

She did make a point of noting that, “If you can get Jimmy for Veishea, your winning will far outweigh your losses.”

Carter Moss, my big brother, was just as confident in my Mac Daddy skills. He suggested I “hang out with the last 21 girls who have turned you down for a date.”

Thanks, brother.

He also added “have a party at People’s and ask the Nadas to play your 21 favorite 80s songs.”

Todd Bandhauer, quarterback of the Cyclone football team, shared a great alternative to bar-hopping. “Go to Hy-Vee at midnight and hang-out at the meat market,” he wrote. “You’ll find a better selection, and it’s open all night.”

Drew Harris, the Men’s Sports editor, suggested I “ask Marcus Fizer out on a double date with Tim and Beverly Floyd for an exciting night filled with dinner, dancing and karoake.”

To the hip, hop, a hip, a hip to the hip hip hop and you don’t stop.

Amanda Fier, the Women’s Sports editor and Drew’s little Monica Lewinsky, submitted the idea to “demand 21 pencils from your readers and have them delivered to the Daily office.”

She also wrote that I should “see if you can get 21 free copies at Copyworks.”

I was thinking more along the lines of applying this same philosophy at Blondie’s, but Copyworks will do.

And finally the best suggestion comes from People’s Bar and Grill owner Tom Zmolek, who wrote “Here’s something not to do on your 21st — don’t try to be He-Man and do 21 shots. Take it from a guy who has seen it done more that anyone else in this quaint little community of ours — it’s not impressive.”

Tom, virtually an expert on the subject, also gave a few other ideas worth sharing.

“Go to the bars that you have been going to for the last two years and tell the doorman or bartender that you are finally 21, and you’ve got the ID to prove it now and how cool you are that you had fooled them for so long or how great your fake ID was that you never even got busted by officer Oxley even though you had given it to him on numerous occasions (that really impresses the bar staff and especially the police).

“Have your friends play stump the bartender, with some stupid concoction like ‘a mexican rolling truck tire’ that just happens to be a mixture of tequila, rolling rock, diesel fuel and tar, that you must drink while being held upside down by the ankles by two friends, through a straw, through your nose, after the drink has been ignited (no blowing out the flame).”

So, when the weekend roles around, and you see some naked kid running from your porch with a lighter, 21 pencils and a snipe gun, keep one thing in mind — it wasn’t his idea.

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Corey Moss is a junior in journalism and mass communication from Urbandale.