There is an unspoken motto amongst my friends, a rule to live by if you will: Don't Make a Mistake. Ever. If Jimmy Valvano was to give us a speech, he would tell us: "Don't fuck up, don't ever fuck up." We have undoubtedly weeded out some of the thinner-skinned girls from our friend group: the ones who early on said something amazingly stupid (or even mildly annoying, we're not too picky), we made fun of her for days on end, and that was that. It's like our own form of twisted Darwinism. Don't say stupid things, and if you do, then be prepared to take your verbal lumps. Survival of the fittest, bitch. It is common knowledge that anything stupid you say or do will be used against you for as long as it is funny and/or appropriate to the situation. The statute of limitations is until you're dead.
This is why we still make fun of St. Aubyn for saying "Really? Really? Are you serious? Orrrrr no..." in a high-pitched voice, even though he hasn't asked that series of questions since the year 1999. This is why every time a cash tornado booth comes into the conversation (it happens more than you'd think) I get ridiculed, because in 1997 I mentioned to Brother and Bergman that if I was ever in one of those contests, I would just put on a velcro suit (you know, because dollar bills stick to velcro.) There are countless other examples.
At the time this story occurs, Smapes had been dating Fundy for a couple of years already. She is fully aware that anything even the slightest bit questionable on her part will lead to a week's worth of ridicule, minimum (we were rough on Smapes, but only out of love. We wanted to make sure Fundy had a keeper.) It is the last day of finals, and she is alone in the computer lab, furiously typing away on an unknown project. Suddenly two people come strolling into the lab. These two people happen to be Noles and Horp.
Smapes, for lack of a better term, freaked right the fuck out. One simple click of the minimize button would've saved her years of grief, but instead, she panicked and thought maybe her punishment would be more lenient if she just came out and showed them what she was working on. Wrong. Dead wrong. It was a drinking itinerary. Or, as she had titled it, "Drinking Iternary."
It was a spreadsheet, filled with different bars, approximate times spent at each bar, and even a comment section, for what Smapes anticipated the action to be like at each bar. I haven't seen it since we moved out of Culligan (one of the biggest regrets of my life is that we didn't save it) so the times and locations might be off, but I know the comments are spot on, and this gives you a general idea of the "Iternary."
Cuckoo's Nest____9:00-10:30___Good times
Sledster's_______10:30-11:30___We'll see how busy
Joe Black's______11:30-12:45___Ohhhhh man too drunk
The Hub_______12:45-1:00____Who are we kinding* we won't make it here
*Yeah, she typed 'kinding' instead of 'kidding'. Result of this single, tiny, one-letter typo: 3 years worth of us replacing 'kidding' with 'kinding' in every conversation we have with each other. I told you, we're brutal.
When I think of the iternary, I just picture someone in the group wondering how long they should stay at Sledster's, and Smapes casually saying, "Ohhh, I don't know, we'll see how busy." Or looking at one of her friends at Cuckoo's Nest and nodding contentedly, saying, "Good times. Good times." Or maybe someone mentions The Hub sometime during the night and Smapes busting out laughing and shouting, "Ohh who are we KINDING, we won't make it there!" As everyone else joins in the laughter. Or else Smapes frantically trying to round everyone up, screaming, "Hurry up! HURRY UP! We're supposed to be at Joe Black's in 3 MINUTES!!!"
So not only does Smapes show this to Noles and Horp, she lets them print a copy of this little gem and bring it back to Culligan, where it had the same effect as if a couple of wolves brought back a dying gazelle to the rest of its starving pack. I still remember the first time I saw it. It was like the first time I heard The Beatles, combined with the time I got my first boner. We immediately hung it up on the living room wall, kind of like proud parents who hang up a child's art project on the fridge, only if their child was handicapped and just drew a picture of a puppy setting a Christmas tree on fire.
So my original point in re-telling this story was because I was going to make my own drinking itinerary for this coming weekend when I'm back in Grand Forks for Ike's wedding, pretty much just so I could show it to Smapes and see her reaction, but about 30 seconds into it I realized it could never be better than hers, so screw it. You get this story instead.
Also, special props to Skye for the birthday party she threw Lane at the Unfred Estate on Saturday. I haven't had that much fun at a party in a loooooong time, minus the part where I passed out by the campfire and got rained on at 5 a.m.
