Chris told me early in the week that he'd take me out to a quiet dinner at Montage (under the Morrison bridge for you Portlanders). We walked all the way there singing Moulin Rouge songs at the top of our lungs, and when we arrived there was a whole group of friends there waiting: surprise
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WOOOOOAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!
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Washington strip clubs don't serve alcohol. Which is lame-ass.
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