Things in His House That Make Me Sad: The Lack of a Window in His Bathroom

We've reached that point where it’s acceptable for me to engage in activities in his bathroom and maybe, maybe even leave a few items in there. I’m not gonna go all How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days on him and cram Costco-sized boxes of tampons everywhere, but I’m pretty sure a toothbrush and a razor are acceptable. This interesting turn of events leads to me occasionally getting ready at his place, which in turn, has led me to VERY MUCH notice his lack of a bathroom window.

I’ll be primping and pampering and hair-drying all up in there to look special for our date/bar outing/whatever when I am reminded of why I hate blow drying my hair – it gets so fucking hot in this grease fire of a bathroom. Normally, I could just open up a window and--bam, airflow yo!--but NO. Now not only is the mirror fogged up from my shower and his, but the hot air from my hair dryer is turning his tiny, little, sad bathroom into a full-on sauna.

It looks like a neighborhood haunted house with dry ice “special effects” mingled with some middle-aged lady’s dream spa day up in this bitch. How’s a girl suppose to look her flyest when she can barely even breathe? Instead of my tresses looking Charlie's Angel-esque replete with soft curls and glossy sheen, my locks looked like an agitated cat's tail. I'm getting upset all over again just thinking about it. 

Let’s not even get started on the lighting going on in this place. First off – there is none, save for one glum like, five watt light bulb flickering hopelessly above. This whole room looks like its part of a horror movie set. I’m not completely convinced he didn’t steal this right off the set of Carrie or "American Horror Story."

While I can appreciate the cinematic greatness of well-crafted movie sets, I cannot appreciate the way I exit this bathroom panting like a dog. This bathroom is claustrophobic and I you can bet your bottom dollar that I will blame his ass when I inevitably die of heatstroke.

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Things in His House That Make Me Sad: His Lack of Glassware

When I asked him for a glass of water and he handed me a shitty red Solo cup, I took a preemptive pause and a deep breath before gingerly bringing the plastic cup to my lips. This, combined with the paper-plated Hamburger Helper resting precariously on my lap, was not doing him any favors in the Pleasure Town department. Have I mentioned that we weren't at a backyard BBQ yet? No, we were in the middle of his kitchen. Why we were eating off the type of plates sold in the same aisle as toilet paper, I had no idea.

Fuck these dishes in their plastic face!

I'm not a religious person, but I started praying like hell that he wasn't still using the same cups from college and just givin' 'em a spin through the dishwasher every now and then. (Confession: I washed solo cups in the dishwasher in college. It wasn't acceptable then and it sure as hell isn't now.)

How does a grown-ass man, with a grown-ass job not own real cups and plates? His reply, "These do the trick." They most certainly DO NOT, my friend. I think surely he owns at least a few real cups and plates. I flung open the first cabinet to my right and what did I find? Paper cups, napkins, and plastic silverware. It looks like he just raided some poor family's Saturday picnic spread. Someone--an ex-girlfriend, his mother--must have purchased him at least one IKEA dish set at some point in his life, right? RIGHT?

I start flinging open cabinets like I was expecting to find Ryan Gosling hiding within, but instead all I saw were assorted items not even meant for the kitchen. One cabinet was actually full of paperwork! Paperwork for Christ's sake! Does he not own a desk? A filing cabinet? A binder left over from his 10th grade history project? Maybe if he actually had room available in his kitchen cabinets, more kitchen-like items would exist there.

Instead, when all was said and done and the Hamburger Helper was getting cold and all the cabinets had been thrown open, I'd found a total of six shot glasses in his kitchen. That was the extent of his glassware: six shot glasses, all with stupid sayings written on them like, "It's Beer o'clock" and that "One Tequila, Two Tequila" crap and that just makes me sad.

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