Category: outdoor adventures

Princeton: Not just an ivy league school.

~ Lkvy ~ 1 Comment

It’s a small town in the Okanagan that captured our tourism dollars because it was starting to get dark. I’d reserved a hotel room in exotic Langley. Initially, Jordi and I would spend the night in Vancouver, but hotel rooms cost $400 per night. Langley was marginally cheaper at ~$300, but it was conveniently just off Highway 1.

At 8 p.m., we were three hours away from Langley. After convincing the hotelier in Langley over the phone to waive our booking fee, Jordi asked me to find new lodging before the sun disappeared.

Unbeknownst to Jordi, I’ve slept on a mat in a coed dorm room in Beijing. I’ve slept in a windowless room in Airlie Beach where the only alternate exit in case of fire was a porthole in the ceiling. The Hostelling International accredited hotel in Ghent had black mould in the showers. I’ve stayed at the bizarrely named “Sparkling Dolphin Inn” in Kyoto, where the chairs wore baby socks.

I am a connoisseur of dumpy lodgings.

I pointed to a building just off Crowsnest Highway. “But that’s a motel!” exclaimed Jordi.

???

Continue reading “Princeton: Not just an ivy league school.” →

Back alley owl attack.

~ Lkvy ~ 3 Comments

Happy Halloween! So far, the ho-humiest Halloween yet. They did not even hand out fun-sized treats at work today! I realize how weirdly entitled this is: I don’t even care for cheap chocolate. How am I supposed to get into the mood for Halloween in such an uninspired work environment? One of the mechanics wore a Jack-o-Lantern costume. I threw on my Senior Proctor NXIVM stripe path scarf for a few hours in a futile attempt to instigate a conversation. Everybody else in the shop was a disappointment.

There was a corn on the cob on the salesfloor. My grocery store checkout clerk was Toad. I noticed my landlord now has a moustache: unsure if Halloween related.

Last evening was spooky enough anyhow.

Continue reading “Back alley owl attack.” →

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.

Continue reading “Waxed out.” →