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I like to think I've lead an interesting life. I'm sure I have to some degree. But since I wont really post things like poetry or writing or a lot of my art. But I can easily tell the ammusing stories that are my life. Here we go:

Why working for a german festival can suck:
Thanks to a bit of nepatism most of my jobs revolved around working for The PA German Folk Life Festival. Its 9 day long festival that takes two months to set up and about two to three weeks to tear down. Without sledge hammers. That was the previous boss.

Well I got hired to be set up crew because my brother was the grounds supervisor. I wanted to help him out any way I could and I was one of three girls on a primarily male crew, so I got a lot of jobs the guys wouldn't do. Like anything that involved patience. Cleaning, assembling, and painting. On jock (and I mean it in every sense of the word) was painting the floor and wondering why it didn't look like the color on the can...because he didn't mix the adhesive and the pigment that had seperated in the oil paint. He got to strip the floor.

Set up is fun, you play with tar, power washers, you move houses on trailers since we rent the ground and can't errect perminant structures, and you then crawl under the trailers and the houses they hold up and dig out the axels so you can sink them in the ground.

But the memory I would like to highlight is the painting. We all have phones and we get calls to go do something else in the middle of a project. I was stripping paint and in the process of repainting the structure as I tried to not encrouch on some seriosuly wicked spiders territory.

My phone goes off in my pocket and I jump a foot into the air. I was often left alone and there was nothing but the sounds of a stray bee and a car passing occasionaly. I tried putting my paint brush in my mouth and gingerly extracting the phone from my pants without getting paint on them. When I got it out I was fed up and just put the paint brush on the ground. My brother was calling:
"Schnitz, you might want to stop painting."
"Why, I'm almost done."
"Where are you?"
"By the bathrooms."
"Okay, go inside for a while."
"Now why would I want to-eeek!"

My brother is mister subtly when he shouldn't be. What he was trying to tell me is that one of our famous fast hit storms was racing across the grounds to where I was. Better yet, it came with HAIL! I was being testy with him when I got some in the butt. As I'm scrambling to get into the bathroom with my paint my brother is laughing into the phone at my exclimations of displeasure.
"Are you okay?"
"No!"
"Did it really hit you?"
"No, I'm fine, but its stripping my paint!"

More laughter at my expense. I tell you, my work was under appreacaited. But what were tantimount to quick squalls occassionaly made work, suck.

More History of the Festival next week in the tale of: The Crafter That Tried to Kill ME!