Category: DIY

Television! Teacher, mother, secret lover.

~ Lkvy ~ Leave a comment

Jordi helped me break into my dad’s house a few weeks ago. I stayed outside on the front lawn while he entered the house using my spare key. Moments later, Jordi trotted out of the house, cradling a bunch of goods in his arms. He told me he’d scored a bunch of spark plugs. But why? I didn’t ask for spark plugs. I didn’t even need spark plugs. I looked at the so-called spark plugs and recognized them as cheap MEC bike lights. Wonderful. Thanks, Jordi.

Fortunately, all this happened in my sleep. My dreams are usually a mishmash of recent events, conversation topics, and things I’ve seen. The appearance of MEC bike lights happened in reserve. Just now, Jordi asked whether I still had the rear bike light I’d borrowed from him over a month ago. I recall returning it to him ASAP, but I had a medley of cheap rear lights in my bike stuff bin and gave those to him.

Continue reading “Television! Teacher, mother, secret lover.” →

Waxed out.

~ Lkvy ~ 2 Comments

My candle count remains at three.

Mom used to have a collection of candles that rivalled a Catholic church. When I was little, I’d dip my fingertips in the melted wax that pooled around the wick of the candles. Mom did not like this. She forbade me from having candles in my room, but this was out of concern that I’d set the house on fire. Even into my teens, this candle ban was imposed upon me.

Jordi didn’t throw me much of a pity party when I shared my candle-deprived childhood with him. He made a face when I described my proclivity for dipping my fingers in hot wax and determined that it wasn’t a “kid thing,” as I insisted, but a “Laura thing.”

Please back me up in the comments.

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It’s raining plums.

~ Lkvy ~ Leave a comment

Now that my home address begins with a letter denoting which suite I live within the house, it’s been a minor source of amusement seeing where my parcels end up. So far, only Canada Post has gotten it right once. Still, they dropped off my Lego order next to the door to the house’s sauna. DHL has been the most incompetent of them: the delivery proof for my POC Sports order was a blurry cardboard box in front of a white wall. Not only could it have been placed anywhere around the house, but also it could have been any other white house. I was hoping to share the crappy photo here. Alas, it appears that DHL has since deleted it. Out of embarrassment, probably.

Instead, here’s a photo of my completed Lego build:

Continue reading “It’s raining plums.” →