Survival Guide to Aspen Heights’ Pool

author-pic at Oklahoma State  

It’s nearly summer, which means we’ve got a few more weeks of decent weather before Stilly turns into the Sahara. As any student knows, Aspen Heights has a bomb-ass “private” pool where Cowboys from all walks of life get silly in the sun, but it comes with a few stipulations. We’ve taken the liberty of hacking together a survival guide that’ll make your Aspen pool partyin’ less Bear Grylls and more Bear Chills.

 

Preparation:

Perhaps the most important step, proper preparation is essential for a day spent replacing your blood with alcohol. Those who aren’t familiar know that Woody and his band of merry-men, despite the torrent of drunken, verbal hate, reluctantly hold down order as wristband-Nazis. The solution? Aside from obviously borrowing a friend’s, wear a matching-colored Livestrong band. Don’t have one? Bust out the Sharpie and draw that shit. Even if the security guards realize it’s a poorly-drawn band, their hate of confrontation will turn their heads the other way.

 

 

Pool Procedures:

To start things off, if you thought it was okay to wear cargo shorts as a bathing suit, go TF back to Norman. For those of us that aren’t total goon-trons, crack open some brews you undoubtedly purchased at the V-Lo coming in, and chug a beer each time someone replays a song. After the first ten repeats, it may be getting difficult to dodge the constant volley of footballs flying through the air, which means it’s time to transfer to the venereal disease and urine broth that is the hot tub. What’s important here, is that you douse yourself in something high-proof afterward, to act as an antiseptic…God knows you’ll need it.

 

Aftermath:

If done right, you’ll be unable to find your car afterward. Which is good, since your drunk ass certainly shouldn’t drive. Ask around, and with any luck, there’ll be a continuation of the pool party somewhere in Aspen. Walk with someone to the whichever gingerbread house-looking place it is, otherwise you may find yourself wandering the streets of Crested Butte and Breckenridge wondering how the hell you ended up in Colorado. If you’ve no such luck finding a party, the putting green makes a surprisingly comfortable bed, suitable for drunken comatose.

 

There’s only so much time before the Aspen Heights pool becomes inhospitable from broken glass and turns to what we can only assume is primordial soup. Follow this survival guide, so you can give Scrooge McWoody the bird, and bask in the sun like a drunken reptile, or some shit.