So you have a birthday party. At this party are multiple best friends, and friends you've had for years upon years. You're also entertaining an ostentatious new girl from Chicago, a beautiful woman of science who admit she's had a crush on you, the roommate of same. Soon-to-be superspies. That guy you met at your first meeting to the GSA over the summer. Those couple folks you were once squeezed awkwardly with onto a couch. Oh, and did I mention that cute guy who you were so certain (a) you'd never learn the name of? (b) once you did, never talk to? (c) once you did, never spend time around? (d) once you did, never become friends or (gasp) lab partners? is also there? At your birthday? And you're doing the party thing while he's talking to the guy you met at your first meeting of GSA and one half of the awkward couch couple?

Prediction has no teeth.

It was stellar, folks, really, the best birthday on the adult record. Yet sitting here now, I'm more and absolutely enchanted by the fact that he's intimately acquainted with my favorite, favorite Fleetwood Mac song.

And I got drunk, but I regret nothing.