My friend Charles has been drafted to deliver a speech at a Quaker wedding. As a result, he has been searching for appropriate quotes and inspiration.
He sent me this today:
“There is a part of us which from childhood is absolutely alone. When we fall in love we imagine we have found an ultimate assuagement of loneliness. This is not so. In a true marriage or a near friendship what in fact is found is a companion in loneliness.”
Suddenly I’m just dragging my bike up three flights of stairs. We can’t leave our bikes in the basement anymore, because someone broke in to our building and stole Nate’s wheel.
I’m cursing this mystery criminal as my ankles are scraped by pedals and handlebars hit my ears.
And next I’m on the couch in my room, wrapped in a blanket. Stella curls up at my feet. I know I should feel guilty. Or sad. Maybe somewhat heartbroken. But really, I feel better than I have in a long time. I mean, I feel awesome. Amazing. Wow. Read the rest of this entry »
Two hours later, I’m in the same spot.
Sitting still is not one of my talents. I’m uncomfortable, to say the least. I refuse to let myself move, despite the pain in my tailbone. Any sudden movement on my part could turn into a frenzy of privacy invasion.
Sure, my foot is filled with pins and needles, but even the slightest shake could propel me over toward Ryan’s desk. And then–quite suddenly–the drawer will fly open, forcing me to search for notes from strange willing women.
My concept of the geography of everything west of Western is hazy at best. Maybe I’m just not traveling that far. Or perhaps alcohol reals does grant me bicycle superpowers. Regardless, minutes later I’m sailing through Humboldt Park.
It’s never a good idea to be alone here after dark, especially when one is smelling like malt liquor and wearing a mini dress. But in the daylight, the park is filled with big trees, surprisingly lush lawns, and duck ponds. Even the playground equipment is shiny and safe. Families barbecue and couples sprawl out on blankets. Happy, healthy children run in circles. It could be the nicest park in the nicest city. But as soon as the sun hits the horizon, all wholesomeness flees the area. Scariness invades. Read the rest of this entry »
I know I posted this on the Print Liberation blog earlier this week…but I am so obsessed with this song. I can’t get it out of my head…and I’ve spread it to Janelle. So if you haven’t checked it out yet, now’s your chance.
The party is in a completely gutted house in the Ukrainian Village. All part of the gentrification process, I guess. The walls and floors are covered with plastic sheeting. Burning cigarettes and cups of cheap beer are tossed around with abandon. Conversations reverberate through the empty rooms, while a few random clip-on lights provide a tiny bit of illumination. I feel like I’m in a weird dream. The theme is “social anxiety.”
Oh, yeah, that’s right…I get really nervous at parties unless I’m under the influence of drugs and/or alcohol.
As if Cheryl’s reading my mind, she pulls a bottle of Jim Beam out of her bag.
“Ha! I’m glad you remembered…and you didn’t even get chintzy with the Osco brand.” I offer her a cigarette in exchange. Read the rest of this entry »
I’ve spent the past two days in stomach flu hell…I’m happy to say that I have gotten through it without getting even the tiniest bit of puke in my hair. And Janelle has been delivering an endless supply of liquids to my bedroom.
My brain is still a little scrambled (and boy, does my head hurt)…so there won’t be anything too exciting appearing here until tomorrow night at the earliest.
xo
Amanda
P.S. During a consult with WebMd (my doctor of choice), I learned that two of the most commonly searched “ailments” on the site are “getting wasted” and “frequent masturbation.” Read the rest of this entry »
As part of my plan to continue acting as if I don’t miss Ryan, I agree to go to a party Friday night with Cheryl.
I would rather spend the night lying in my bed, chain-smoking and listening to Elliott Smith records, but I don’t want Nate to say to Cheryl, “Hey, does Amanda seem depressed to you?” Read the rest of this entry »
Previously, the best way to go about getting into my Hello Kitty underwear was to crack open a bottle of Andre (extra classy AND economical) and throw Enter the Wu-Tang (vinyl, of course) on to the record player. Read the rest of this entry »
I’m convinced that something is wrong with my contacts. Everything appears foggy and dull. This morning, I coasted through a red light on Ashland, because it seemed green from afar. I struggled with my bike lock because I could barely make out the key. I’m squinting to see the screen on my computer at work. The mirrors in the bathroom reveal my face in fuzzy greyscale.
I’ve tried everything: Visine, opening the blinds near my desk, even borrowing a lamp from the receptionist.
random grace/me photo to break up the text on this page.
If you’re not being exposed to enough of my narcissism here at frightened by bees, never fear…As part of my new position as “Resident Literary Handywoman” at Print Liberation, I will be regularly contributing to their blog.
My work there will be different than the content you find here; think hip hop, weird shit I see on the internet, art stuff, and maybe some books I’ve read.
The flames are so hot, I can feel my skin beginning to cook. I refuse to look at my arms, because I am certain they will be the golden crispy consistency of the rotisserie chicken at Jewel-Osco. “We’re all just meat, “ I say to no one.
The wooden floors are slippery under my socks. My mom obsessively waxes each room every Sunday. We don’t go to church because we’re atheist. Instead we observe the Sabbath with an agonizing day of housework.
I try to run across the living room, but I just slide. If I fall I’m done for, so I focus all of my energy on keeping my balance. “The key is to move as if I am ice skating.” Never mind the fact that strangers heckled me at the ice rink on State Street last winter because I fell every 15 seconds. Read the rest of this entry »
My glass is empty much faster than I intended. I turn to Cheryl. “I’m going to walk home now.”
“Oh, wait…let me just finish this drink and close my tab. We should walk home together.” She illustrates her commitment by polishing off half of her drink in one long gulp.
I shake my head. “No, you’re having fun,. I just need some time myself, to think about stuff.”
She laughs. “I’m guessing that thinking about ‘stuff’ is the last thing you should do. But I know how you are, so I’ll see you at home in a little bit, okay?”
I give her hug and then summon all of my wits to maneuver my way through the crowd. Read the rest of this entry »
It turns out that this guy sitting next to us is from Detroit. He and Cheryl are planning that game of “Wait, do you know so-and-so? His brother went to school with me. “
I order a beer because I’m bored. It’s really the last thing I need right now, but I imagine that it will be indescribably refreshing. My mouth is dry. And either I’m too drunk to go on or I’m just not drunk enough to enjoy the act of social drinking.
Ryan and I have a fairly set schedule for hangout-time: Wednesday, Friday night (with our friends), Saturday night (alone together), Sunday during daylight. I find comfort in this. At least I never have to make myself crazy wondering when/if he will call/see me. Read the rest of this entry »
Look at the top of your browser window. I bet it says “frightenedbybees.wordpress.com.” Right? Right!
Okay, check this: type www.frightenedbybees.com into the little url field (or, if you’re lazy, click on the preceding link). Now hit the enter bar. Oh, heck…did you see that?! You’re still at my blog!
I want to put my head down on the bar. Not for a nap. I swear I am not tired. I just need a few moments to compose myself…and to stop the spinning. Several additional minutes will be required to mentally map the route back to my apartment. Because honestly, I am having a hard time remembering where I am.
But putting one’s head down on the bar is poor etiquette. Or at the very least, it will result in one’s expulsion from the establishment. I wouldn’t mind being tossed out the front door, because, well, then I wouldn’t have to search for the exit. But Cheryl doesn’t seem ready to go home. She’s talking to some guy that we might know. Read the rest of this entry »
The handsome fellow to the left is none other than Moe $$$, the youngest resident of the ranch.
Random facts about Mr. $$$ (aka Dollar Bill, Moe-zambique, Moe- Z, Little Man):
1. If I’m a little tipsy, I’ll start sharing my belief that Moe is the reincarnation of someone I knew earlier in my life. Marlyn backs up this theory; she thinks that anyone really wanting to get my attention would choose to reborn in cat form, since humans rarely capture my interest.
When I crawl out of bed, it’s almost noon. Ryan is still fast asleep.
I stand in front of the medicine cabinet mirror rubbing my eyes and trying to make sense of my dreams. Was Ryan awake during the night? Or was it one of those dreaming-I’m-awake-but-actually-I’m-asleep situations?
I put in my contacts and brush my teeth.
I walk out on to the back porch.
The lake is below, down an almost infinite number of stairs. Water stretches all the way to the horizon. For some reason I thought I might be able to see Chicago from here. I feel like I’m standing on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean. Lake
I originally posted “Bedfellows” (and yes, it’s entirely fictional) last summer. Recently someone approached me about a project inspired by/based on this story. After a re-read, I remembered just how much I love it (and trust me on this–I am my own worst critic).
I decided to re-post it for all of you new-ish readers. And maybe all of the beloved ye olde readers will also enjoy this march down memory lane.
xo Amanda
A few summers ago, I developed a habit of sleeping in the front yards of strangers.
Of course you are shaking your head in disapproval. So dangerous! Especially for a young woman!
I can agree that this might be true in every other city in the world, but in SE Portland, such activities are safe and almost reasonable. The entire quadrant is filled with friendly outdoor cats, idealistic young people, and lush lawns.
There is no way I’m going to allow myself to have a shitty weekend. We drove hours to get here. This can only be better than an evening spent at the fucking Rainbo, sucking down too-strong drinks and making quasi-meaningful conversation with semi-strangers. And I actually have an opportunity to wake up in the morning free of self-hatred and regret.
I turn on music and get to work in the kitchen. There are groceries to put away and sandwiches to make.
I feign the highest level of enthusiasm. The part of “Lighthearted Girl on a Weekend Getaway” calls for singing silly songs and telling awful jokes. For extra credibility, add giggling and impromptu dancing. A sprinkling of “when I was a kid” stories. Perhaps a few hilarious attempts at rapping. And endless smiling. Even the slightest down turned corner of the mouth will lose the audience. Read the rest of this entry »
Monday morning I spend no less than thirty minutes in the kitchen at work talking with my coworkers. Everyone is updating one another on their weekend activities.
My statement: “Oh, I just took it easy…went to a party, did some housework, you know…the usual.”
I assume that saying “Oh, well, I dropped some acid and then I took some pills and then I walked around the Loop ALONE at 3 am…you know, the usual” will not benefit my career. Read the rest of this entry »
Yay! You made it here. I know, I know…new things are scary…but you have to admit, this new jawn is a lot cleaner. Right? Right!
Some stuff: you can now follow specific story threads by using the “Categories” drop down box in the lower right corner. I’ll try to specify the name of any NEW story threads as they evolve. Read the rest of this entry »
I once drank half of a bottle of Joy dish detergent on a dare.
As I gazed at my sudsy vomit in the kitchen sink, I knew I would never again experience the slightest iota of pleasure from washing the dishes.
