B
Baboso
Guest
Originally posted by Scipio, circa 1998 or so, but too good not to repeat:
1. Secure a date. You must be discriminating. She can make or break your weekend. The attributes you seek are attractiveness, coolness and a general willingness to have multiple depravities visited upon her in a La Quinta hotel somewhere off of the interstate. She should remain smiling and cheerful as you engage in drunken brawls, vomit in her purse and lose your student ID on game day. Daughters of football coaches, chicks from small towns in West Texas, women who work with the mentally retarded and old steady girlfriends are excellent candidates for OU weekend. There’s nothing more sublime than laying your head in a girl’s lap while she holds ice to your eye and listens to your drunken rambles about how OU weekend resembles China’s Cultural Revolution, that a tiger shark could defeat a saltwater crocodile in a fight and that you would someday like to be nicknamed “Johnny Waterski.” Every now and then you should say,”Aaaah. Baby, I’m so sorry about your purse...and the fights....and for headbutting that cop’s horse in the balls...” At this point, she should sigh and pat you sympathetically. She should also smell nice.
2. The Drive. Locate a friend with an SUV. Make him drive. Serves him right, rich little bastard. Now you and your date can sit in the back, drink vodka and Gatorade, and, along with his date, make fun of his driving. The chicks must be told in no uncertain terms that no, they most certainly cannot listen to Ricky Martin or Bono and that Bob Marley and Jimmy Buffett will be just fine. You should stop in a gas station in Hillsboro and purchase beef jerky and pork rinds. Wiping your hands on your date’s hair is gauche. What do you think the upholstery is for?
3. The Drinking. Quarter pitchers at the Across the Street Bar. This establishes a steady-state baseline drunkenness that you can count on throughout the night. This is topped off with jagermeister shots. Jagermeister, though a foul cough syrup, is well documented for its ability to make you into a complete *** who believes that even the gravest of social offenses are extremely clever good fun. Fortunately for you, your drunken audience also believes this. At this point in the night, a girl from Houston Memorial named Missy or Mitzy or Traci (with an “i”) will probably become sick. Ask your date to hold her hair for her in the bathroom. It’s simple courtesy.
4. The Fighting. The guys in your group should walk from bar to bar in the West End taking up as much space on the sidewalk as possible. The OU guys coming towards you (who are doing the exact same thing) should be met head on—slipping a shoulder or saying excuse me as you stubbornly collide is bad form. When your shoulders inevitably meet both parties should act incredibly aggrieved and put upon by the arrogant bastard who bumped them. Witty repartee like “**** you” should be exchanged. As soon as this heard a crowd will magically appear and a brawl will ensue. Girlfriends shriek, bottles are thrown, people throw ludicrous haymakers that miss by a country mile and the cops arrive in force in about a minute and a half. Then you and Cletus, the OU guy, both have to pretend you weren’t fighting while you put your arms around each others shoulder in congenial fashion. We were just wrasslin’ you explain. Our bloody noses? I don’t know. It’s pretty dry weather, officer. Do you have some chapstick?
Later, you try to take a cab back to the La Quinta but you can’t remember which hotel you’re staying at. Everyone keeps bitching at your date: “Hey, I thought you were from Dallas...where are we?” Finally she confesses: “I’m from Plano alright? We never traveled past the strip mall because we might run into minorities or something. I’ve never actually been to Dallas.” The kids from Houston suburbs nod knowingly while the Austin people exhange weirded out looks.
After the third hotel, and as Akbar the cab driver grows increasingly angry, you recognize a certain Denny’s and you all rejoice that you’re home. After another fifteen minutes of trying various rooms (221, 122, 121, anything with 1’s and 2’s in it) you can finally relax. After a shower, you may attempt bouncey-bouncey with your date if you’re, ahem, up to it. Passing out on top of her in flagrante delecto is considered bad manners. I personally don’t see the big deal.
5. The Game. Half the crowd in orange; half the crowd in crimson. Sooners walk around with upside down Horns and you see thousands of RV people wearing muu muu’s, suspenders and Sooner Nation t-shirts. They scream a lot but you can’t really understand them. You should sneak in a flask of Jim Beam. After the game you see Cletus, the fightin’ Sooner from the West End, and you both greet each other as long lost pals. He’s staying at the La Quinta too. Y’all hang out that night and he’s a great guy. Pity you had punch him for deciding to go to OU.
1. Secure a date. You must be discriminating. She can make or break your weekend. The attributes you seek are attractiveness, coolness and a general willingness to have multiple depravities visited upon her in a La Quinta hotel somewhere off of the interstate. She should remain smiling and cheerful as you engage in drunken brawls, vomit in her purse and lose your student ID on game day. Daughters of football coaches, chicks from small towns in West Texas, women who work with the mentally retarded and old steady girlfriends are excellent candidates for OU weekend. There’s nothing more sublime than laying your head in a girl’s lap while she holds ice to your eye and listens to your drunken rambles about how OU weekend resembles China’s Cultural Revolution, that a tiger shark could defeat a saltwater crocodile in a fight and that you would someday like to be nicknamed “Johnny Waterski.” Every now and then you should say,”Aaaah. Baby, I’m so sorry about your purse...and the fights....and for headbutting that cop’s horse in the balls...” At this point, she should sigh and pat you sympathetically. She should also smell nice.
2. The Drive. Locate a friend with an SUV. Make him drive. Serves him right, rich little bastard. Now you and your date can sit in the back, drink vodka and Gatorade, and, along with his date, make fun of his driving. The chicks must be told in no uncertain terms that no, they most certainly cannot listen to Ricky Martin or Bono and that Bob Marley and Jimmy Buffett will be just fine. You should stop in a gas station in Hillsboro and purchase beef jerky and pork rinds. Wiping your hands on your date’s hair is gauche. What do you think the upholstery is for?
3. The Drinking. Quarter pitchers at the Across the Street Bar. This establishes a steady-state baseline drunkenness that you can count on throughout the night. This is topped off with jagermeister shots. Jagermeister, though a foul cough syrup, is well documented for its ability to make you into a complete *** who believes that even the gravest of social offenses are extremely clever good fun. Fortunately for you, your drunken audience also believes this. At this point in the night, a girl from Houston Memorial named Missy or Mitzy or Traci (with an “i”) will probably become sick. Ask your date to hold her hair for her in the bathroom. It’s simple courtesy.
4. The Fighting. The guys in your group should walk from bar to bar in the West End taking up as much space on the sidewalk as possible. The OU guys coming towards you (who are doing the exact same thing) should be met head on—slipping a shoulder or saying excuse me as you stubbornly collide is bad form. When your shoulders inevitably meet both parties should act incredibly aggrieved and put upon by the arrogant bastard who bumped them. Witty repartee like “**** you” should be exchanged. As soon as this heard a crowd will magically appear and a brawl will ensue. Girlfriends shriek, bottles are thrown, people throw ludicrous haymakers that miss by a country mile and the cops arrive in force in about a minute and a half. Then you and Cletus, the OU guy, both have to pretend you weren’t fighting while you put your arms around each others shoulder in congenial fashion. We were just wrasslin’ you explain. Our bloody noses? I don’t know. It’s pretty dry weather, officer. Do you have some chapstick?
Later, you try to take a cab back to the La Quinta but you can’t remember which hotel you’re staying at. Everyone keeps bitching at your date: “Hey, I thought you were from Dallas...where are we?” Finally she confesses: “I’m from Plano alright? We never traveled past the strip mall because we might run into minorities or something. I’ve never actually been to Dallas.” The kids from Houston suburbs nod knowingly while the Austin people exhange weirded out looks.
After the third hotel, and as Akbar the cab driver grows increasingly angry, you recognize a certain Denny’s and you all rejoice that you’re home. After another fifteen minutes of trying various rooms (221, 122, 121, anything with 1’s and 2’s in it) you can finally relax. After a shower, you may attempt bouncey-bouncey with your date if you’re, ahem, up to it. Passing out on top of her in flagrante delecto is considered bad manners. I personally don’t see the big deal.
5. The Game. Half the crowd in orange; half the crowd in crimson. Sooners walk around with upside down Horns and you see thousands of RV people wearing muu muu’s, suspenders and Sooner Nation t-shirts. They scream a lot but you can’t really understand them. You should sneak in a flask of Jim Beam. After the game you see Cletus, the fightin’ Sooner from the West End, and you both greet each other as long lost pals. He’s staying at the La Quinta too. Y’all hang out that night and he’s a great guy. Pity you had punch him for deciding to go to OU.
