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! That I Don't Really Hate this Post

Given that this blog is called 'I Hate!' it would be weird for me to post something that I do not hate, but thanks to the brilliance that is 'Best of Craigslist', it looks like I may have found my soulmate (assuming the anonymous post that I am going to re-post here momentarily was written by a dude). The similarities between the opinons (and pet-peeves) of Mr. Anonymous and myself are striking and normally, I would have assumed that this fellow (whoever he may be) read my blog and jacked my opinions (the tone is SO similar, it's borderline ridic), but this post was written in 2007, so that scenario is not even possible. Read the post below and tell me we're not on the same wavelength. It's f-ing eerie. Or maybe we're the only two reasonable people in this f-ing city... Regardless, I'm in love!

best of craigslist > new york > NYC SUBWAY RANT: JESUS CHRIST!
Originally Posted: Mon, 6 Aug 14:33 EDT
NYC SUBWAY RANT: JESUS CHRIST!
Date: 2007-08-06, 2:33PM EDT

OK, I have been riding the subway every day for a lot of years. When you start riding, it doesn't take a much time to see all sorts of characters. At first, these people sightings might be somewhat shocking or even funny, but you begin to grow used to the pants less, toothless, yelling, drunk, cracked out, stinky, sweaty, and perverted characters that ride the subway. They really don't bother you much; in fact I welcome a little cameo from these guys once in a while. After all, it is part of our city culture. That said I have compiled a list – a spilling of my mental Rolodex of the people I share the subway with on a daily basis. These are the monsters I can't get used to and won't accept. They annoy the ever-loving piss out of me. Thing is, I never see these hooligans all at once, but I do see one at least once a day.

- Lady that fans herself with a piece of paper in the train car with broken a/c: Look lady, the air is hot. Not just your air but everyone's air. We are all breathing in each other's nasty hot breath and germs and here you go creating a gust of hot wind. This does not cool you down and it is especially fucking annoying when the car happens to be stuck that day, all is silent and we are forced to listen to the flip flopping of your paper up and down as you breath in and out deeply. So fucking ridiculous.

- Chinese guy with yellow nails and a bag of chicken feet: Dude, I'm not even kidding, you are nasty as hell. No one likes a set of long man-nails near them EVER and here you are wrapping those daggers around the center subway pole nearly slicing innocent bystanders as the plastic bag of chicken feet sways near your legs. Oh yes, and what are you going to do with those chicken feet anyway? Take advantage of us poor unknowing customers by grinding them up to use as filler in the next batch of HAPPY FAMILY from the local Jade Garden? I mean Jesus.

- Asshole with the sunglasses on: OK, there is no sunshine on the subway. This is not the L train pal. You sit there with your black as night shades on clearly staring at people for as long as you please. That's just wrong. Your probably staring at the lady's tits who is standing above you or even undressing some poor middle schooler with your eyes. Not only are you taking ample amounts of time to fanaticize about unsuspecting riders, but you look like an idiot doing it. This is especially worse when you also chew gum with an open mouth like a friggin' cow. You are drawing attention to yourself now and I can tell by the direction of your neck muscles that you were staring at me! Lady on the 8:30 F train Monday morning - you know who you are!

- Jerk that leans over you to look at the subway map: OK, your ball sac is 2 inches from my face. You don't care do you? Even though you've traumatized me and I lean back in my seat to shy far far away from your jewels, you lean in closer to get a better look at where to transfer from the E to the D train! Yuk man, have some manners. This is worse when you are sleeping with your head in your hands and wake to find a pants slacks covered man bulge in your grill.

- Ghostfarter: OK, I know it may be hard to hold it, but if you had diarrhea this morning of course your farts are going to reek! I mean the train is crowded with little ventilation yet you subject us to the rotten remnants of your ass-meal. This is inconsiderate and nasty! Hey if one clipped out, OK - it's happened to the best of us but you try to move around a bit and circulate. Don’t just stand there and poof out stinker after stinker while you read your paper! I'm talking about the well-dressed guy in the suit or the one hot chic on the train, it was probably you!

- Asshole with the book bag: If your bag more than 3 inches off of your back for god's sakes put it in front of you toward the floor! This is common knowledge!! I can't tell you how many times some retard with a book bag extending 3 feet tall off his back has decided to turn around and talk to his friend or bend down to tie his shoe and clock me one without knowing the difference. Yeah, that was me who bumped you on purpose. I hate you!

- Lady that hugs the pole on a crowded train: Are you fucking blind!?? There are other people riding the train with you jerk but yet you proceed to make sweet love to the silver pole. Can we maybe hold on for a second TOO so we don't break and ankle??!!! Then, when we ask you to move you PRETEND you don't speak English. Real nice. Why don't you walk to work with a broomstick and hug that you shitbag.

- Nail Clipping Fool: This means you regular business guy with no regard or oblivious Asian lady. Jesus Christ, does anyone have manners?? DO NOT CLIP YOUR NAILS ON THE SUBWAY! I should be making signs for god's sakes! Not only are we subjected to the resonating sound of your clipping but your nail shrapnel is flying every which way and hitting men, women and children. This is by far the most disgusting thing ever. I'd like to take a free shot at your gut while fellow train riders hold you up.

Location: NYC

I HATE! When People Don't Hold Doors

I really love it when someone lets a door slam in my face. Like I really fucking love it. I'm in no way exaggerating when I say that I get a door slammed in my face at least once a day, sometimes more. The usual culprits are businessmen (whose tailored suits would wrongly suggest that they have at least an iota of etiquette). Often, foreign-language-speaking-tourists are to blame. (Look, I know America is one of the most hated countries in the world [thanks G.W.!], but come on, you can't blame the language / cultural barrier for everything! And by the way, everyone is on to you about supposedly not knowing how to tip.) But the majority of the time, it's just oblivious assholes, New Yorkers, fingers glued to their Blackberries and iPods, who can't take the time or exert the energy to extend an arm and hold the door for the frazzled girl with the monstrous purse, venti coffee, and overloaded weekend bag. (Yep, it happened to me this morning!)

And you know what? It really baffles me, really boggles my mind. How hard is it really to hold the door for someone? Unless you're a paraplegic, this shouldn't be an issue. It shouldn't even command a second thought. It should be a natural instinct, a second nature, if you will. Even if I'm not aware that there is someone walking behind me, I'll still hold the door open a few extra seconds, just to be sure I don't inadvertently slam the door in some unwitting person's face.

Fuck that nonsense about New Yorkers being rude; rude has nothing to do with it. Rude is when I drop my Blackberry on the subway and it lands under another, seated rider's feet and that person doesn't even move a muscle to attempt to bend down to retrieve it for me. Holding a door open for the person behind you is common fucking courtesy. Plain and simple. And no only is it common courtesy, but holding the door for the person behind you also helps promote efficiency, productivity, and the flow of movement. Listen to me! I'm mounting a case for holding doors based on a platform of efficiency. That's how you know humanity is in bad shape!

Hold a door. Prevent a senseless nose job.

I HATE! Improper Yoga Etiquette - Part Deux

The solution is obvious. I should probably never go back to yoga. I simply cannot escape the weirdos. It seems that the yoga studio I attend is a mecca for everything I hate in life. I'm beginning to feel like every time I attend a class, I discover something that is newly infuriating. The thing is, I do actually like the practice of yoga as an form of exercise, given that I've recently found myself to be substantially less motivated to do anything vigorous (save my weekly soccer games). And this really sucks because I just can't seem to escape the seemingly mocking torment of some of the utterly ridiculous behavior I've been witness to during yoga.

Example #1: Excessive and Continual Passing of Gas by Girl on Mat in Front of Me

We all have the same bodily functions. I get it; I can't knock an escaped fart here or there, but look, if you're having some severe intestinal and/or bowel issues, it's probably best NOT to attend a class where you have you ass in someone else's face for the majority of the time. I think that makes perfect sense. If I was having problems with my plumbing, I would 100% avoid yoga at all costs until the issue had been cleared up. I would be utterly mortified if I had the misfortune to accidentally let one rip right into someone's face. Apparently, though, this isn't necessarily common sense.

A few weeks ago, I attended a yoga class during which, the girl on the mat in front of me kept farting - not once, not a few times, but continuously throughout the ENTIRE CLASS. And, pardon the expression, but this gas-passing sounded rather juicy in nature - like there was something chronic going on. Initially, I gave this girl the benefit of the doubt, assuming that her undoubtedly sweaty hands / feet were making weird noises against her rubber mat, but as the noises continued, it became painfully obvious what was going on. And I couldn't believe it! Have a little decorum - and if not on your own behalf, at least avoid yoga for the sake of everyone else cooped up in that hot, sweaty room with you.

Example #2: Being Told Not to Chew Gum By Instructor of Equal Age

I do not go to yoga to be bossed around by the instructors. When I get bossed around or told what to do by someone who does not have authority or seniority to do so, I get angry and getting angry is counterproductive to the underlying goals of yoga. Unfortunately, most of the instructors I have encountered manage to piss me off in one respect or another, but I deal with it because yoga is good for both my physical and emotional well-being and stability. Generally speaking, I have found some qualm about every single one of them; i.e her voice is too squeaky, she doesn't stop talking for two seconds, he speaks in monotone - I'm falling asleep, she goes around 'adjusting' only the males in the class, etc... My most recent encounter, however, takes the fucking cake.

I'm doing my poses, minding my own business, chewing some recently purchased Orbit Sweet Mint (my fave), when this asshat instructor (who one of my roommates refers to as an 'Abercrombie model turned hippie-yoga instructor'), comes over and begins to adjust my pose while uttering the following phrase: 'It might be easier for you if you spit out that gum.' Pardon me? Pardon me? I was in shock. Who did this guys think he was? First of all, he was, most definitely no more than a year or two older than me at that and secondly, when did yoga instructors get free rain to boss their 'students' around like they're fucking teaching remedial middle school math?

Example #3: Things Not to Wear to Yoga 101: Full Make-Up, Jewelry & Halter Tops

The very same day I was forcibly regressed back to middle school, I happened to look behind me while in downward dog and noticed that the woman holding that spot was wearing not only an excessive amount of jewelry (big, dangly earrings, chunky necklace), but also a full face of make-up (perhaps even complete with false eyelashes), AND a halter top (that wasn't haltering anything, if you catch my drift). I'm assuming that this woman must have been trying to impress someone because there is really no other explanation as to why you would show up to yoga decked out with rings on your fingers and bells on your toes. I'm convinced that this woman had some sort of ulterior motive because she wasn't even following the flow as everyone else was; she was totally doing her own thing, which included some pretty complicated poses. Clearly, this woman was not an amateur.

Fact: if you've come to yoga with make-up on, you'd better believe you'll have sweated it clean off before the class is finished. Jewelry could only be an additional annoyance, banging all over the place as you're flipping your head upside down every 3 minutes, and the halter top... I wouldn't even begin to know how to make sense of that. There is such a large margin for error there; I can't comprehend it.

I HATE! Expensive Salads

Sounds a little funny, right? But it's not. This is a serious issue and it's taken me a long time to realize just how detrimental expensive salads have been to my psyche and the toll they've taken on my young, fragile, and financially-insecure life.

Here's my thought: everything that is found in a salad (save eggs, various meat products, croutons, and some other assorted accoutrement) come from the earth (and technically, even those exceptions originate there at some point - take a look at that food chain). This ultimately means that you could theoretically grow all salad ingredients in your backyard, on your farm, or in your window planter. And this is precisely why I cannot understand why salads can cost so much. I could grow all of this shit in my backyard, wash it, cut it up, throw it together, spritz it with some dressing (I just love those Wishbone Salad Spritzers), and bring it to work for lunch instead of dragging my ass downstairs to pay $12 plus for a wonky salad with wilted brown lettuce and ingredients that have been sitting out unrefrigerated for hours on end.

And this nonsense about charging PER ingredient? No, no, no, no, no - completely unacceptable. I could buy an entire avocado for the $3.50 they charge me for the spoonful of browning mush they have the nerve to call guacamole. And if you're going to charge for croutons, at least have the decency to go with the high-end toasted garlic croutons, not those bullshit croutons used to make gloppy Thanksgiving Day stuffing.

Of course, I could probably never actually bring myself to go through the laborious process of growing my own veggies (hating dirt and not having even a window box are probably both serious initial setbacks), but I'm just saying, it's totally possible. I guess that's what these salad places are banking on.

I HATE! Inappropriate Use of Text Message Abbreviations in Non -Text Settings and AIM -Speak in General

emdemas3: kewl

emdemas3: hahahaha

emdemas3: i HATE when people type kewl

emdemas3: and skool

emdemas3: and l8r h8r

This past weekend, my roommate and I had the pleasure of watching a film which should be considered by all to be a truly significant piece of cinematic brilliance: Bring it On: All or Nothing starring Hayden "I have really fat upper arms for such a tiny girl" Panetierre and Solange "I know this is as good as it's going to get for me" Knowles - Smith. Really an excellent, excellent film.

Anyway, I'm sure you know what the basic premise of this movie is: blonde cheerleader (Panties) leaves perfect high school scenario (head cheeleader, quarterback boyfriend, baby blue convertible VW Bug) when her father get's demoted (or something like that, I wasn't 100% sure what was actually happening here) to a job based in minority-centric part of town. Said blonde cheerleader is, initially, taunted by and at odds with the head cheerleader at her new, more ethnically diverse school (cue Beyonce's sister), but then, the two realize they can work together to kick Blondie's old team's asses (oh, Blondie's old friends and boyfriend all turn out to be skanks, basically) in a cheerleading competition hosted by Rihanna (clearly, her appearance in this film is something Rihanna undoubtedly regrets now that she has achieved multi-platinum success).

So, that, in a nutshell is the jyst. Moving on to my actual point. In Bring it On: All or Nothing, Panties and her troup of blonde lollipop-headed cheerleaders speak in text message. Yep, you heard me right; the entire first half of the movie (until Panties move to Crenshaw or whereever), consists of a rapid crossfire of "BRB!," "TTYL," "LMAO," and "OMG" as if these phrases were everyday speak. Jesus, it sounds ridiculous.

Watching that little gem of cinematic magic got me thinking about the use of AIM and text abbreviations, which are both equally unacceptable. When you're writing me a text or an AIM, do not write "kewl" - first of all, it looks like you can't spell and secondly, i thought the purpose of text and AIM abbrevs was so you could shorten the word and wouldn't have to type as many letters. "Kewl" and "cool" HAVE THE SAME AMOUNT OF LETTERS, dumbass! Thirdly, anyone who types "kewl" is automatically an A-Grade Douchebag.

While typing "skool" may save you the trouble of typing one extra letter, let's be serious, the time you save by doing this, does, in no way, balance out how retarded people assume you are because you typed "sckool" instead of "school". Moral: take the extra second to type the "ch". I promise, it'll make you a winner in life.

Finally, I have no comment on "l8r" an "h8r". I will never, ever, in my life spell a word using a letter to lessen the number of strokes I have to make on the text keypad. Yes, "l8r" is quicker to type, but boy oh boy, do you look dumb.

I HATE! Flakes (A Guest Post by Elizabeth Demas)

Since it has come to my attention that I am not the only one who often harbors inexplicably intense and adamant hatred toward specific entities, actions, and people, I have decided to open this blog to guest posts.

Don't worry, there certainly are some stipulations to this new feature. I can't just be having any Johnny Whatshisfacewhoiprobablyhate blogging on this site. Oooooooh no. Guest posts are limited to only those posts that I agree with and only ones written by people I like.

Below, you will find a particularly poignant post articulated by a dear friend of mine, Elizabeth Demas.


I hate tardiness, when people do not show up, don't return calls, texts, BBMs, emails, or don't RSVP. If there is one thing that I find to be excessively unpleasant, it is flakiness. To the perpetrator it may seem like an innocuous blunder, but to me, being unreliable is a fatal flaw, an Achilles heel if you will. It is the antithesis of decorum! If you can't muster up the decency to return a phone call or text, etc. then why do you have a cell phone? Stop saving your rollover minutes and call a bitch back.


Also, don't lie and say, "Ohhh, I never got your text." First of all, unless you still carry around your father's 28 ounce 1984 Motorola DynaTAC phone, you didn't lose my text; it didn't get slipped under a rug anywhere or get dropped between a sidewalk grate. Now, if you had any manners, you would kindly tell the person, "I am sorry; I made other plans", or, put it bluntly, "I don't like hanging out with you." Cut out the middleman, after all, isn't it better than hearing the same guilty pleasure song blasting from your cell phone over and over again or the excessive chirp of your text inbox.


Also, it really irks me when you make plans with a group of people, and one or two people do not show. Instead, they constantly text or BBM you all night asking you your whereabouts, but never actually show. Don't bother me when I am trying to have a drink. Seriously. The last thing I want to do is be typing over and over again the same address of a bar we made plans to go to 48 hours ago. All I want to concentrate on at that particular moment is drinking my Blue Moon, perfectly garnished with an orange slice.


Indeed, the irritation of a flake knows no bounds when it comes to my personal life. I always try to be on time and respond to people. In fact, it's one of the very few times I EVER adhere to a facet of the golden rule, "do unto others as you would have others do unto you." --ED