The Times They Are A-Changin'

Lots of changes are in store for The Sasquatch. First big news: I finally got a new job! Instead of spending my days bored off my ass at an aviation company while pretending to do intelligence analysis work, I now get to spend my days bored off my ass at a local university pretending to develop web pages and provide personalized technical support. Only now I get more money. All I have to do is wait out the remainder of my final two weeks at this job and I can move into my new position. This should mean the end of complaining about my job.

For a few months at least.

The Conto sounds like its running on its last legs. For those of you who don’t know, The Conto is my car. It actually used to be a For Contour, but the “u” and the “r” fell off a long time ago. So now it’s The Conto. The transmission feels like its about to drop out of the car each time it shifts and the car lurches forward in gasps and spurts rather than a smooth, continuous flow. Luckily I got this new job. Now I can throw all my extra money towards a new car and continue on my path towards quick financial ruin.

The play is done! Rather, the rough draft for the play is done. It’s called “Light and Song” and it weighs in at a brisk and happy 64 pages of useless filth and hopeless drivel. I handed it off to the director and several other key members. They are currently reading it with red pens in hand. I imagine by now they’re wondering why they thought it would be a good idea to let me write something, having semi-committed to performing it sight unseen. Regret is a sad thing, I’m sure, and I imagine they are even now crafting intricate plans to back out of their promises. But I anticipated their evil ways. I’ve backed up the play in so many different places that not even burning my house down would erase it. They have to do it now, no matter how much it sucks.

Ha!

A few months ago, I got the idea to compete with my roommate in a weight loss competition. “We’ll put in a dollar a day,” I screamed. “Whoever fucks up first forfeits the money to the other person.” Then my brilliance deepened. “Wait,” I screamed again, spit flying off my lips like hard rain. “If each of us goes a month without a mistake, we donate the money to a starving child. This way,” I reasoned, “If we succumb to our weakness and eat that large cheese pizza and a six pack of beer, we are literally taking the food out of a starving child’s mouth.”

“Brilliant!” he said. “Only let’s do a quarter a day since I’m poor.”

“Pussy,” I said.

This was over a month ago. We decided to wait until after the holidays since we’re both gigantic bags of lard and would not have been able to control ourselves in the face of such unabashed gluttony. In the interim, we were joined by 4 of our friends. So now, not only do we have to face the loss of money and jeering insults from one person when we fail, we also have to face public humiliation and the knowledge that we are taking a large ball of cash from a starving child in order to stuff your fat face. Fatty. The contest has been going for just over a week and a half now and I have already seen results. My jar of quarters is filling up quickly and every time I think “I should order a couple of large pizzas for dinner. And some French Fries. And a fried chicken!” I think of little Allondra and how I will likely end up in the deepest pit of hell if I continue on that sad path.

So I haven’t failed yet!

So there are a lot of changes going on here in Sasquatchville. Come see my play in June and you’ll likely see a skinnier, sexier me in a brand new car with large wads of cash flowing from my pockets like wine.

This is assuming, of course, that the mad winter grayness of February doesn’t drive me to suicide, followed by a voodoo séance to bring myself back to life, and then another suicide. These winters around here are almost enough to make me want to kill myself. Twice.