So...you guys covered the music part, right? Right? Awesome. (Eric just keeps me around for the diarrhea jokes.) Here's my Sasquatch weekend in four vignettes.
Personal-Sized Pizza, Extra-Large Shame:
It was humiliating enough sitting at a picnic table outside the media trailer, hot and alone, eating my Domino’s* personal pizza. The pizza was lukewarm and encrusted with tar and sadness. It had “ham” on it. I finished the pizza, and shifted my weight to the side to swing my leg over the bench. At this moment, I realized I should have checked my watch, for it happened to be WORST THING EVER O’CLOCK. As I leaned to the side, toward the very edge of the bench, the entire picnic table and bench apparatus TIPPED OVER SIDEWAYS AND PITCHED ME TO THE GROUND IN A TANGLE OF SHAME AND DIET COKE. Hey, everyone on earth! Check out the amazing 900-lb woman! I detected the smell of a Domino's personal pizza somewhere within a 200-mile radius, so i had the sheriff saw the wall off my double-wide and haul my brontosaural girth over here so I could stuff this tarry grease-puck in my face! Oops! Not knowing what else to do, I panicked and yelled, “I’M SUPER DRUNK RIGHT NOW SO I DIDN’T EVEN FEEL IT.” The worst part is that that wasn’t even true.