Poo and roofing tar

I have blisters on my feet. This somehow makes me proud…probably because I acquired them while doing a lot of work today, work that was invigorating and semi-creative. I also acquired a whole new layer of dirt after shedding the one that encrusted my body yesterday. This wouldn’t have been a problem had I not just shaved this morning…the dirt highlighted the hair folicles perfectly and now I have these brownish dots all over my legs, which are a lighter brown. From dirt, I mean. My skin is still as pale as ever. One of the maintenance guys said to me today “My legs are all white from chalking the remote lot. I look like one of those pale sickly folks who never get any sun.” He then took stock of my legs and his eyes got wide and he said “Oh. Uh. I mean…” I had to laugh. People think I’m going to freak out if they insult my legs. Trust me, I don’t care. I’d rather be pale than cancerous.

I spent a good hour today assembling the “artwork” in our home winemaker’s pavilion. They’re nothing more than a lot of little laminated posters I put together explaining various wine terminology and providing information on how to start up as a home winemaker. It’s funny, people think making wine is hard. And to a certain extent it is rather difficult. You do have to know what you’re doing in terms of your brix, your primary and secondary fermentation methods, your racking periods, your oaking, etc. But once you get the basics down, it’s kinda easy. There’s a rhythm you get into after a while and you develop a sense about things. Now I’m not saying my mom and I are master winemakers. Hardly. But we can churn out a really mean syrah. Betcher ass we can.

Tomorrow is looking to be the usual frantic rush that Fair Thursday always is. Gates open at 2pm this year instead of noon, and the joint gets jumpin’ almost immediately. Heart is playing at seven and Kevin’s band is doing a jazz ensemble thing in our building at six. I will most likely be there from six tomorrow morning until ten at night when my building closes. During that time we are having judging (fresh flower arrangements and cut flowers), followed by a mad dash to rearrange and ribbon everything. There’s a huge mess o’ marigolds and pansies mom and I have to get in the ground by noon, and dad is going to help us out by finally getting our wine barrel ponds up and running. We have these ponds out in front of our building with wine barrel waterfalls feeding into them. Every year it’s a struggle to get them operating properly because some asshat stores the barrels wrong during non-fair time and they dry out and start falling apart. This year we’ve had to resort to roofing tar as a sealant. And shit is still going all leaky on us. Dad is at his wit’s end. This is the first time he’s had vacation during the fair week and I think he finally realizes what a crunch it is. Today him and mom got in a fight over something minor and dad hopped in his car and took off, returning an hour later all calm and bearing caramel macchiatos.

The only real blah part of the day was when I discovered that the maintenance crew had painted the bathroom floor and I was forced to resort to the Porta-Potty encampment for my evacuation needs. I picked a john near the very far end of a row, one that was in the shade and sure to still be totally unviolated by the carnies. I hopped inside, latched the door behind me, and as I was dropping trou, I happened to glance down and there was the HUGEST pile of shit I have ever seen staring right back at me. I swear to god the thing had eyes and it BLINKED at me as I gawped. Honestly, the carnies must have been erecting a poo pyramid to the Gods of the John. I was already committed to my bladder and had no choice but to hover and let loose. I was afraid that if I sat down, the pile would rise up and there would be poo-to-cheek contact. It was vile. VILE I SAY! I mean, who uses a pit toilet and doesn’t cover their tracks?

Thankfully when the need to urinate arose again a few hours later, the paint was dry and I could go back to using my hermetically-sealed ladies’ loo. You never ever truly appreciate a clean restroom until you’re forced to do without.

And now it is bedtime. Five AM comes early and I’m going to need to make time to stop at the local coffeehouse for something strong and sugar-filled if I expect to get through my day tomorrow. Wish me luck and whatnot. I might bring you back some cotton candy if you’re nice.