this one time, at band camp . . .

Just kidding. I've never been to band camp. I wasn't even in band. In fact, the only time I've ever been to camp is when I was in Indian Princesses.

Last night, I went out with some friends to celebrate Nancy's birthday. Which is tomorrow. It was great to see everyone, and laugh about "remember that time when . . ." stories. I don't think I've laughed so much, well, since the last time we all got together.

We went to this place called Therapy Cafe, first, because we knew the drinks were a little expensive so we were only going to stay for one. The place had a very Sex and the City vibe, which was fun, and the drinks were really good. Then we went to the Dublin Pub, because we were told that it was basically McMurray's (home of most of our "remember that time when" stories) but bigger. And it was much more trusting of its customers, because we were given actual GLASSES. At McMurray's, we only got plastic cups, and last year they stopped serving beer in bottles. Apparently, college students cannot be trusted with glass.

It was awesome of Nancy's boyfriend to be our DD, too, because I'm sure driving 6 notoriously loud girls home after a night of drinking isn't at the top of his to do list. Add in an endless supply of karaoke-esque songs courtesy of Nancy's XM radio, and the obnoxious factor gets even higher.

When we got back to Nancy's apartment, we watched Mean Girls and debated on whether Lindsay Lohan has fake boobs.

The answer? A unanimous yes.