I’m Covered in Bees

Posted by on Saturday, August 6th, 2005

Dear Diary,

Today I stayed awake for several days in a row.  I got to my favorite place in Pennsylvania, set up my temporary tent, avoided the unwashed masses, and wandered around like an eeejit until I found Bodwin and Keegan, snuck down to an empty field very early in the morning, wandered around some lovely wooded hills, rounded up some uppity tables and, um, moved them to areas they would find more comfortable, encouraged them to feel secure and remain faithful, and then found Dog and Bannon wandering around laughing about their own version of the same dance.  Then we sat around laughing at other folks with no night-vision at all looking for tables and cursing at the ones they found, which were strangely difficult to move.  Then we walked back to the soon-to-be-baking-plain, and I gave the boys a very big bottle of vodka, which may or may not have kicked their narrow behinds.  And I retired to my tent for some lounging, but no sleep.  Never sleep.  And then Adon and Llyr showed up and made lots of noise.  And then we woke up the neighbors who were silly enough to try to camp next to us, what with our guffawing and our shouting and our general tendency to hog all of the fun.  HAR HAR HAR.

And then some really dumb people slowed down my day by thinking there was any use in arguing about how much land my friends and I planned to use.  And then I got my way, like I do, and all was well.  And then I drove down to Mid-High-Boggia and started unpacking.  And then I was covered in bees. 

Seriously.  I. was. covered. in. bees.  Well, yellowjackets.  I don’t recommend it.  They had decided to move into the sacred "Crazy Lanea and Skutai’s Ancestral perfect 10×10 leveled spot with the spirally edged paths and the kitchen area all marked out and the green sky and general wasp-less loveliness" without checking with the park rangers.  Anyway, I chucked the tent poles off the roof of my truck and that got them riled right up.  Whoops.  So. Covered in bees.  The first sting was kind of funny, and I made with the witty "Ooooh, you want  a piece of me, Mr. Yellowjacket?  Ok, sure, I upset your Queen.  Go ahead and make with the bravery and the stinging." banter.  The second sting was annoying.  I started sauntering down the hill towards the guys saying things like "I’m covered in bees."  They thought I was joking.  They know Eddie Izzard.  A few of the little buggers were stinging my shoes so fervently that it looked like they were trying to breed little Yellow Jacket/Expensive Israeli sandal love-children.  So I sat down and Bannon reminded me to take off my kicky toe ring and lovely, Ottuell-made wedding ring before it was too late.  There were still lots of bees around.  A couple of the fellahs circled me smashing yellow jackets, and I threw those expensive Israeli kicks very far away from me so the stingy, shoe-fetish-having lust-muffins could have the alone time with my shoes they so clearly craved.  And then I took a lot of Benadryl and declared to all who could hear that I refused to go into shock of any kind, because it would be downright tacky to ruin anyone’s vacation that way.  And then I was Benadryl dumb for a long time.  But still no sleep.  Exclamations like "don’t go over there unless you want to be covered in bees like Lanea was!" abounded.  No one with allergies was stung.  In fact, I was the only one they got for days.  It’s good to be the Queen.

And then we lit some nests on fire.  We found six around our camp.  Please know, dear readers, that I am still the tree-hugging dirt-worshipper you know and love.  But those bitches had to die.  It was me and mine against them and tharn.  So first wasp bombs.  And then the burnination.  And then more wasp bombs.  And more burnination.  And a little target practice, to get our point across.  The boys were all very helpful.  They are my heroes.  I finally struggled against the Benadryl haze just enough to get really weepy and embarrass Dog and Bannon into telling me not to cry.  To which I responded "I’m a girl!  I’m supposed to cry now, boys!  Frankly, they may take back my uterus, I was so tough when the actual stinging was happening."  Which soothed them appropriately.  And then I prepared temporary accommodations, because I knew we really needed to set more yellowjackets on fire before I could put my canvas tent up, and that I didn’t really want to set my tent on fire again (one million choruses of "Tent’s on fire" were enough last time around, thankyouverymuch.)  And I had to explain to many people what had happened, and all of them agreed that burnination was the only option.

And after the temporary accommodations were built (read "earth-pimple of dome tent nastiness") I started thinking long and hard about just how dangerous it would be to drive to a hotel with that much Benadryl in my system.   And then, thankfully, I turned around and saw Richard coming down the hill a whole day early.  He killed some more bees for me, and he loved his hat (another story for another day), and assured me that all of the evil evil vespids would be gone and that it would be deadly stupid to drive.  And then those crow-heads made something lovely for me to eat and patted me on the head and tucked me in, and I think I slept for two years or so.

It was the best day ever.

Filed in Celtic | 6 responses so far

6 Responses to “I’m Covered in Bees”

  1. Jaymeon 23 Aug 2005 at 9:59 am 1

    Welcome back!

  2. Lissaon 23 Aug 2005 at 10:15 am 2

    Oh, dear. Welcome home. Hope the rest of the trip went better!

    Hope to see you soon!

  3. Nannyon 24 Aug 2005 at 12:34 am 3

    The boys won’t take your uterus, they know you were tired and that it was the benedryl and that the bees were bursting your Pennsic bubble and that you wanted to set your tent up and start having fun. But they came to your rescue just like boys are supposed to do. Boys are good sometimes. They’re not stinky all the time. Yea boys! Bad bees! I’m sorry they ruined the first couple days of your pennsic – that really sucked! I guess the bee book won’t be your favorite anymore and when Etainne talks about the bees in her head it will have bad memories!

    Looking forward to hearing more stories.


  4. lellaon 25 Aug 2005 at 5:02 am 4

    To paraphrase, Though they be but small, they are fierce. You can’t live with yellow jackets when they get their dander up. But the shoes? It must be Karmic. or the jam on the rubber soles?

    One whole summer a nest of yellow jackets lived in our wall. At night, no one but a darned fool would do this in the daytime, they would line up like little soldiers at the edges of the hole next to the beam, little heads peeping out if you tapped on the wall. They moved out eventually, but it was fun while it lasted.

    Grats on the publication M’Lady Lanea…

  5. laneaon 25 Aug 2005 at 9:10 am 5

    The vespids didn’t actually ruin anything but a few hours–it’s all good. It was a story to tell at the beginning, and someone has to get hurt every year, so I took one for the team. The stings were better than the sprained ankle last year. Anyway, I actually felt really guilty killing the yellow jackets (when I wasn’t revelling in their demise, of course). Had they been honey bees, well, they wouldn’t have been nesting in the ground where my tent goes in the first place . . .But had they been honey bees I would have found a new spot for the tent, but seeing as the vespids are actually ok in the mid-atlantic, I thought I was justified in all the killing.

  6. Charlieon 26 Mar 2012 at 10:52 am 6

    Did you know that yellowjackets won’t fly at night? So when you go out in the middle of the night and set their crazy-ass giant nest in a pile of cedar shingles on fire, they’ll form up, walk over, and attack you from the ground.

    Seriously. At some point you’ll feel a sting on your leg and look down to find the first wave has crested your boot tops, and you’re standing in a sheet of angry, crawling wasps. Little bastids are dedicated.

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