Way Too Weird to be Fiction

This may explain why I’m still single
(aka My Kill Room)

Originally published in short form as “My Life in My Lar” on

My friend, Laslo from the City, convinced me to put mylar on my walls and ceilings.

“It retains heat. After all, it’s a survival blanket.”

Laslo is well aware of my five-year odyssey to keep my 100-year-old barely insulated cottage warm. Not only do I experience Siberian winters where I reside, I’ve no money to do the professional job that energy inspectors recommend. You know the type: free surveys under the guise of a potential contract. I like getting the free survey. It helps me find the spots where I missed with the caulk gun. Yet, I can’t do the surveys anymore - the guys do talk with one another and know my tricks by now.

Mind you, if I had the financial resources to winterize my cottage in the fashion those energy inspectors recommend, it would be far easier and cheaper to tear the damn place down and build a palatial mansion.

Instead, I use whatever resources are at hand: hay from nearby farms and rigid foam insulation pieces from construction cast-offs for the wealthy. And let’s not forget a dollop of creativity. My cottage has nearly one ton of caulk for every crack and seam inside and out. Let me tell you, all this has made a difference.

So, when Laslo suggested mylar, I did a little research online. That’s when I came across bubble wrap as insulation for windows. All you need is a little water in a spray bottle to act as an adhesive, your choice of bubble wrap and voila! window thermal insulation! Before I knew it, I ran the twenty miles to the nearest hardware store and bought two bolts of pink bubble wrap.

From the outside, the pink bubble wrap on the windows gives the place a nicer look than the jaggedly cut rigid foam insulation pieces propped outside the baseboard of my house. In fact, all that’s missing from the picture is a broken sofa and perhaps a refrigerator on the porch. Which explains why my neighbors in their McMansions aren’t entirely thrilled to have me in their midst.

From the inside, well, you can’t see outside clearly which is why certain windows are bubblewrap-less. It doesn’t matter: I wrapped almost every window up in plastic to help block the winds off the lake.

Should you get this far down in the story, you might ask yourself (should you be a recurring reader of this blog) many questions including: how did she put these things up with V E R T I G O?

Carefully. Let’s say I fell each time from the step ladder which is why it took me so far four months to do something which should only take four hours.

Meanwhile, Laslo texted daily. “Did you get the mylar yet?”

He refers to the eight packages of the large-sized mylar blankets ordered online from China. Online, they cost a paltry $1.20 each with no shipping fees. It did take a month to get here, though. Guess it was a long boat ride from China.

Finally, I received them. “Hey, Laslo, they’re here!” I texted with even an emoticon.

“Put them up on the far walls of your bedroom and living room,” he advised. “And also on the ceiling.”

The ceiling was the deal-breaker. I started with the bedroom and managed to get the double-sided tape all over me, my hair and yes, the mylar blanket while falling from vertigo - luckily, on top of my bed.

“Laslo, no fucking way will I put it up on the ceiling anywhere else. I may kill myself,” I wrote.

Then, every day he texted, “Did you notice a difference yet?”

“Laslo,” I patiently texted back each day. “It was 50 degrees last night.”

With a deflated emoticon, he wrote, “Okay.”

Laslo has a keen sense of humor. This may be another one of his elaborate practical jokes. I can never tell with that man as he acts as stoic as a Sphinx. And then it hit me - there’s no way I can ever bring anyone to my home, esp. a man: with the bubble wrapped and plastic shielded windows, rigid foam and hay surrounding the house and now the mylar blankets on the walls and bedroom ceiling, well...

As a gift, another friend made me a tin foil hat with antlers:

Nope, not even a little crazy. Eclectic, that’s the word. Eclectic.

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