Doe a Deer

When Matt Coulter came to visit us for the second time in Dallas, and by "visit us" I mean he was here to interview and stayed in a fancy hotel and we just happened to have recently moved here, we met up with him for dinner and shopping. By "shopping" I really mean wandering through the giant and freakish Bass Pro Shop attached to the Uncle Buck's restaurant attached to his hotel. So random. More camouflage and fishing paraphernalia than I could ever imagine or want to ever see again in my entire life. That trip pretty much exhausted any desire to ever go in another one. Except for one thing:

Rows and rows of shitfaces!

Let me back up. In college, Blow (see below if you need to know who I'm talking about; she'll probably be referred to as Blow for the remainder of the life of this blog) and I used to play Spy Game late at night. If I gave away all the details, that would be giving away too many IU secrets. In short, we would put on dark clothes, sweatbands, and our sunglasses-at-night and sneak into our friends' apartments to see:

a. if they were still awake;

b. if they were still drinking; and

c. if they had anything random to steal (in a very nice friendly way).

On the night we found our forever-friend Shitface* at an apartment occupied by some of our guy friends, I think we also stole some mayo for Blow.

Shitface was in their bathroom leaned up against the shower stall. He was naked and had major head trauma. We scooped him up real fast and ran him home. The name just came naturally. 

Over the course of our senior year, we nursed him back to good health and dressed him up. We would take him to football tailgates and let him hang out at parties with us. We learned that he liked to listen to Nirvana and Cam'ron, and liked to play beer pong and George Bush war.

Two of our roommates, Carie and Katie, hated Shitface with a capital H. I don't know what you could really hate about Shitface, but they have always had serious issues with him. Blow and I, on the other hand, love him like our deer son.

He graduated wearing a light pink Indiana t-shirt tied up around his waist, colorful mardi gras beads around his neck, and a Bacardi pimp hat that was given away to Blow at the Blue Bird one night on his head. I was the lucky parent of Shitface during my three years in law school. He hung out in my closet. I wish I remembered the day I introduced Jeff to Shitface. I'm sure Blow was visiting. There was a real chance that he would break up with me on the spot. He didn't.

When I graduated, Ali and I talked about giving Shitface a proper death and burial. Neither of us could bring ourselves to do it, so Blow's brand new husband got Shitface along with his new wife. Matt has accepted Shitface with open arms, and has even added to his ensemble. He now has a piece of green camo wrapped around his chest, and hangs out most nights in their cozy garage (except when they bring him inside to play drums on Rock Band).

Shitface in the Coulter garage

Shitface and Blow - gangsta style

Back to present day. I walked into the Bass Pro Shop with Matt and Jeff, and immediately saw the rows and rows of shitface brothers lined up for sale. I almost died laughing and quickly sent a picture to Blow. I had never seen anything like it. When we were back in Indy in September, she brought Shitface over to Sheryl's so he could drink a captain with us and hang out.

Shitface reunion

 Props to poor Sher for putting up with our antics, and for accepting Shitface into her home. I think he'll be around for awhile.

*I know the language seems crude, but it really becomes quite endearing once you get to know him.