This is an epic tale of a Girl and a Bee.

It is Tuesday night; the streets are loud with laughter from the nearby bar. I sit in my bedroom, music blaring through my broken ear buds, and I decide to write.

This evening I walked across the city to listen to Bill Viola speak. He was supposed to inspire me, make me a young artist eager to create, and give me hope for the rest of my life. Instead he spent his time reciting Japanese death poems, reflecting on his experiences with Facebooking the Dalai Lama, and how a woman decorated museum statues with her scarves. Nothing related to his films being played on the screen and I walked out more excited to leave than anything. I was disappointed. I wanted to be enlightened. I wanted to be taught. I wanted to have an experience to tell my Grandchildren (okay, actually, maybe I did not really want that, but it was a good idea at the time.)

My sister, Gabrielle, back in Salt Lake, wrote me a message today saying that a bee attacked her. When asking for details, I realized how entertaining the story was. Although she is in pain, she gave me permission to blog about it and share it with you. Let me give you a background fact: Gabrielle is afraid of bugs. When I say afraid, I mean, she hates them above anything. They terrify her, torment her, and they recently developed a passion of attacking her. Now that you know that, imagine the most beautiful girl ever telling this story. Her words are italicized, while my exaggerations are not.

I was sitting at the table doing my homework like the studios student I am. And well he, the large bee who was the size of Godzilla, was flying around my head whispering threats in my ear like a devil sitting on my shoulder in a cartoon. Dad hit him away twice. Naturally, the bee got angry. So angry that steam was flying out of his little nostrils. He latched onto my nose and stung me and then bit me. Like the way Edward bites the pillows in the intense sex scene in the last Twilight book (cannot wait until I see how they produced that in the theater.) We, being my Mother and Father and I, couldn’t get him off.  I would hit at it hard and then mom hit at it. Then mom punched at it (well she punched at the bee, that happened to be on face, so there for she punched me, which might explain the broken nose (kidding) but do not call parent/children control, because I know she was only trying to help save me from being eaten alive by this ferocious beast and that she really did not mean to smack her knuckle sandwich into my nasal passages. I wonder if a similar incident happened to my sister and that is why she couldn't breathe and had to get surgery.. hmm) and it came off!!!!! I cried like a five year old. I put ice on it, because we had no more bags of frozen peas and I was not going to put a frozen chicken breast on my eye (because that would just be wrong on more than one level) and when I woke up this morning my eye was swollen in the corner. I looked like a fat Asian/American but only on one side. So then I cried and didn’t want to go to school but dad made me because he doesn’t understand that swollen eyes are not in anymore. That was so last season when Snookie got in a fight with JWoww at the club at four in the morning because JWoww said that Snookie’s hair was too big to sleep with Ronnie and that she was sick and tired of Snookie’s spray tan getting all over the couch.

Wasn’t that just heart breaking and incredibly funny to you? I hope Gabrielle knows that I give my deepest sympathy to her, but it makes for an enjoyable story. It is almost epic enough to be made into a seven-book tale and placed on the shelves next to “Odysseus.” It made my day. After listening to such an slow, sleep surrendering, speech (check out all those S’s) it inspired me to not only stay away from bees, but to write on my blog.  

Goodnight : ) xoxo