I HATE! The Lack of Bathroom Engineering

Is there such a thing as a bathroom engineer? This afternoon, it crossed my mind that there must be someone whose job it is to design the lay-out of public restrooms. The official title of said profession, I am unsure of, but with these people, I have some serious, serious beef.

Let's walk through my grievance together, shall we? You go to the restroom, finish up in the stall, wash your hands, and then reach for a paper towel. Has anyone else noticed that paper towel dispensers are almost ALWAYS mounted on the wall at an elevated height? Seems like not such a big deal, right? THINK AGAIN. Imagine this: you reach up (with your dripping wet hands) to turn the dispenser handle, wave your hand under the motion sensor, pull the towel down, whatever, and then all of a sudden, you realize that gravity has kicked in and water is rapidly dripping down your arm and into the sleeves of your shirt. For some reason, this irks the shit out of me. Having beads of water sliding into my shirt sleeves really bums me out. OK, I'll be honest, it actually infuriates me. (And, for the record, even if it's seasonly warm month and I'm not wearing long sleeves, having droplets of water gliding down my arm is not any more pleasant.)

So this brings me to my main point: why, can't these (seemingly allusive) bathroom engineers come to their senses and realize that paper towel dispensers should not be elevated, but in fact, be adhered to the wall at hand-level at least. If I were to design a bathroom, I would actually situate these dispensers lower than hand level in order to ensure that the excess hand-washing-water dripped off the hands and onto the floor, and not off of the hands, down the arms, and into the shirt. Is this not common sense?

P.S. If anyone knows someone who is employed as what I'm referring to as a bathroom engineer, please let me know. I'd love to contact him or her with my suggestion.

I HATE! The Conspiracy that is Movie-Size Sodas

I just went to go see the Sex and the City movie and I will admit that I thoroughly enjoyed the film, except for the fact that I had to get up in the middle of it and run to the bathroom. Wanna know why? If not, stop reading now because I'm telling you anyway. I felt like my bladder was going to explode. Yes, explode, and the cause of the impending bladder explosion was the huge Diet Coke (or as I like to refer to it, DC) I purchased at the concession stand before the show.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not blaming anyone except myself for purchasing the monstrosity - if you know me, you know that I can't resist a big frosty glass of fountain DC. But as I see it, there is clearly some sort of conspiracy going on here. The movie theatres push these huge sodas on you - the small is comparable to the size of my head and the large is mammoth, but such a value at only a quarter more - and then, by the time you've consumed even a fraction of the beverage, you have to run out of the theatre mid-movie to relieve yourself essentially screwing yourself out of seeing what could perhaps be an integral part of the movie!

Maybe I'm alone in this, but I'm not joking when I say that this happens to me every single time I go to the movies! Maybe it's my fault for having a smaller-than-average bladder. Can I get some consensus on this? Conspiracy or do I simply need to exert some will power and avoid big frosty calorie-less beverages?

I HATE! Apartment Hunting in NYC

I'm dieing a slow and painful death and apartment hunting in New York City is the reason why.

A couple months ago I decided to leave my current (and very cushy) living situation in order to move in with two of my very best friends from college. I was greatly looking forward to the move because I do not feel comfortable in my present apartment. I have no ill will against my current roommates; the motivation behind the move was that these two girls are two birds of a feather and very close friends, and while I was no stranger, I simply felt left out - left out of their conversations, left out of their household shopping trips to Target, etc. I did not feel that the apartment was truly my home and therefore, my morale suffered. I decided that moving in with my two of my best gals would be the perfect remedy and since the decision was made, I've been eagerly looking ahead to our May 1st move-in date.

But much to my dismay, it hasn't been all roses and daisies. I GROSSLY underestimated the level of difficulty in finding a new 3 bedroom apartment. I've spent countless hours on the phone with brokers and apartment owners inquiring about apartment listings and trying to arrange viewing times. I've sent 3,290,247,325 emails to apartment listings on Criagslist - most of which went SO VERY RUDELY unanswered. I've dealt with a few real estate companies who have tried to make me pay to just see apartments.

I now know that when a lisiting claims to have 3 bedrooms, this does necessarily mean the apartment has 3 real, already constructed bedrooms. I've become all too familiar with the term "3 bedroom convertible" - a term that should read "This apartment has only TWO already-built bedrooms, but could fit a third if you wanted to spend $1500 to build an additional wall. And by COULD, we mean it's possible to create another bedroom, but you won't be able to fit anything more than your bed inside and you'll feel like you're living in a shoebox."

I can't even count how many times I've been duped by such verbal trickery. DAMN YOU "3 bedroom convertible"!

In addition, THIS CITY IS SO F-ING EXPENSE! It's enough to make me want to run screaming home to murderous streets of Philadelphia. Apartment hunting on a just-out-of-college, assistant's salary (or in my case HOURLY WAGE) is like having a bucket of cold water thrown in your face. Never have I more greatly appreciated the past 21 years I spent being financially supported by my parents.

Finding a three bedroom apartment in New York (and no, I know what you're thinking; we're not being uber picky - we're considering Brooklyn as well) on a budget is not an easy undertaking.

And on top of all of that, please consider that we are three young women trying to find an apartment that is pleasing to all of us. That includes finding a mutually acceptable location - one which allows us each to get to our respective places of work with relative ease. It also includes finding an apartment with three equally-sized and equally-windowed bedrooms. And while I don't give two hoots about the state of our kitchen (as I may actually be the antithesis of culinary master), my two roommates are, in fact, able to concoct meals for themselves and will need a working kitchen.

We also must consider bathroom size (we actually came across a bathroom so small, the sink was on the oustide), if the building has an elevator or is a walk-up (and if so, how many flights up - will), and if each of us will be provided with privacy (all three of us are wifed-up... in the sense that we all have boyfriends and will want to have sex without everyone else being able to hear every movement and every noise - NOT in the sense that we are each someone's wife. It would definitely be weird if each of us was married, but lived together without our husbands...).

Sorry - I'm back on track. Basically, I am going crazy. There is so much to consider and I can't even begin to explain how difficult it has been to try to coordinate three schedules in order to even just view apartments!

We started our search mid-March, in hopes of getting a leg up on the competition. I wanted to find an apartment as soon as we could so I wouldn't have to stress about it, but every broker I spoke to at that point told me that it was too early to look. BUT NOW, I am looking and brokers are telling me it's TOO LATE to find anything good. If i hear "Wow, you're really cutting it close" one more time, I am going to rip all of my hair out of my head. I CANNOT WIN here. It's impossible!

Jesus, I really needed to get that out of my system.

P.S. If anyone wants to give me an apartment, let me know. I maye be homeless in a couple weeks.

P.P.S. Did I mention that I was actually stood up by a broker this weekend? The dude was supposed to show me what I potentially thought could have very well been "The One" (the apartment, not the broker), but he NEVER SHOWED UP! Can you believe it? I feel like I'm hunting for my future husband or something.

I HATE! Gross-Smelling Soap

A few weeks ago, I wandered into the bathroom in my apartment to wash my hands (the likely culprit: Newspaper Hands), and instantly I notice that someone has just purchased a fresh bottle of foaming handsoap - which I LOVE...usually. I am a huge huge fan of foaming handsoap - Dial makes a fantastic version - it smells great and the foaming action has such a pleasant effect on me. Who doesn't like foam? Anyway, this particular bottle looked exactly like the Dial version that I love so much, so naturally, I assumed that it was the Dial, and pumped a generous pile of foam onto my hand.

Unfortunately for me, as I began to wash, I noticed that the soap was generating a very unpleasant odor. I'm talking really smelly. Totally disgusting. It kind of smells like what you are trying to wash OFF your hands after you go to the bathroom. I can't even describe it properly because I would never be able to find the words that would do this smell justice. It was simply foul - not what you want (or expect) your hands to smell like after a good wash.

So after realizing that this was NOT the Dial that I'm so over-the-moon about, I immediately ran to the kitchen sink to try to get rid of the horrible smell that the fake-Dial seemingly implanted into the fiber of my hands with dishwashing liquid. I scrub and scrub, but the smell DOES NOT GO AWAY! No joke! I couldn't believe it. I couldn't get rid of the smell!

Anyway, I came to the conclusion that whichever roommate had made the purchase, bought a Dial knock-off. And boy, was it a knock-off. The only way I managed to free my hands from the pentrating smell of the Dial knock-off was by spraying them thoroughly with perfume. What a waste of Issey Miyake!

Needless to say, I have not washed my hands in that bathroom since; I now prefer the kitchen's dishwashing liquid - afterall, it doesn't smell bad AND it gives my hands a streak-free shine.

This mishap caused many hours of wondering just why anyone would manufacture a soap, a product that's supposed to make your hands clean and smelling good - mind you, that smells bad?!?!? When you wash your hands, the reason to use soap is to rid your hands of the germs and possible odors that you might attract when using the restroom. Yes? SO WHY WOULD ANYONE MANUFACTURE A HANDSOAP THAT SMELLS LIKE WHAT YOU'RE TRYING TO WASH AWAY? And why would anyone buy it? Why?

Cleary, this is one of the great mysteries of the world.