Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Kitchen Sponge

He always seems to have money for the little things in life. He doesn't blink at dropping $25 for a nice wine. He'll be the first one to pick up the next round when he's out with his friends. And, he'll spring for a cab ride home if he doesn't feel like walking. However, when it comes to his kitchen sponge, he never seems to pay more than 11 cents for the one thing responsible at making his kitchen semi-clean.

It's little and yellow, about the size of a s'more. But, I want s'less of this sponge because it is terrible at the one thing it should do: clean. It's a lightweight yellow foam square that's not absorbent; it just pushes soapy water around like a bitchy hall monitor. I think it's made out of the same material used in red clown noses which is fitting because I feel like a clown using it.

There was a thin strip of green abrasive material on the top to scrub pots and pans, but half of it has dissolved. All that's left of the (formerly) gritty side is a raggedy strip of gnarled plastic half falling off, like a bad toupee. It doesn't clean anything, much less greasy pots and pans. 

I used it once to scrub a lasagna pan and it was so ineffective I wanted to strangle it. When I asked it to get tough, grow a sac and tell that burnt cheese to fuck off, it looked at me, shrugged, and said it wasn't his problem. What kind of reaction is that? I expect my sponge to kick ass in a four-wheeled truck waving an American Flag and blasting early Metallica, not sitting around and debating Sigur Ros' back catalog whilst sipping herbal tea. This is bullshit!

When I looked under his sink for a different sponge to use--maybe something ergonomic, something with some grease-fighting heft--I saw a plastic bag containing about 15 more of the same square yellow foam jobs. It's terrible sponges for as far as the eye can see. And, that just makes me sad.

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Kitchen Sponge

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Things In His House That Make Me Sad: Protein Shake Mix On Top Of His Fridge

From our reader Samantha, who is totally fucking grossed out by protein power shake mix on top of his fridge.

I live with a male roommate who's a nice guy but can't get a date. Today I found a bunch of Lean Body dietary supplement powder packets in our kitchen and I recoiled. What drives men to do drink/buy protein shake mix like this? Especially guys who are over 30, have a heavy reader's physique, and don't work out?

Does lifting the shake to his lips produce muscles overnight or make him feel more like a man? I can't stand when I go to a guy's place and see a giant jug of GNC's Man-POWER over his fridge. He really wants to display this so prominently? It's not something to boast about.

Not only should no guy ever be proud of this, but he should also hide it, like in a hole in the backyard.

Oh wow, this has never happened to me. Luckily, I date scrawny squirrels who probably couldn't carry that huge jug without assistance. And, if he was to roll it into his house somehow, he definitely couldn't plunk it on top of his fridge unless he devised an elaborate pulley system. He'd be hunched over the kitchen table with a protractor calculating angles and velocities and it just sounds like a big hassle.

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: Protein Shake Mix On Top Of His Fridge

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Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Shower Curtain

This shower curtain in his bathroom is probably one of the most gruesome things in his house. It looks like a crime scene: It's stained, torn, and somehow rusted. HOW DOES PLASTIC RUST? The metal hooks on top of it are all scraggly, like old cavities. What did he do to it?

There isn't a liner, just a thick plastic sheet that looks like it's been in his house since the Nixon administration. It used to be white but now it's a yellowish-brown shade that could described as "heavy smoker's teeth."

Shower curtains are, like, a dollar. Can't he just grab a new one? Should I get one for him? Would that be weird? Are we even in that stage where I can buy him stuff like shower curtains for his house? I don't want to touch the thing because it's slimy and it smells like moldy armpits. I have no idea what kind of toxic stew is growing on it.

Something about it just looks unsettling. If it applied to be in the army, it'd be rejected for being mentally unfit for service. If this shower curtain took the bus, people wouldn't sit within two rows of it. If it added you as a friend on Facebook, you'd ignore it, block it and hope that it forgot that it added you so it wouldn't ask you about it the next time you ran into it on the street. And, that just makes me sad.

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Shower Curtain

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Things In His House That Make Me Sad: Weird Candles

Seriously, it smells like an apple's scrotum in here

Why does it smell like a locker room filled with rotten apples in here? Oh, that's his candle? He's trying to make his house smell like this on purpose? Oy vey.

I don't hate all candles, just stinky, old, dusty, disfigured ones that punch me in the face with their stench. Who wants to smell spiced apples when it's practically summer? At least make your shitty candle seasonally appropriate. Throw me a clean linen or sea breeze, dude!

Where did he get it? Maybe it was a present from a co-worker at last year's Christmas party? Or, maybe his sister gave it to him for his birthday? Who knows?

I can't imagine him picking this thing out himself. Wait, let me picture it; there he is in Bed, Bath and Beyond sniffing the lot of 'em, trying to find the perfect house candle. That's kind of cute.

And, it's kind of cute to picture him fishing around for a match to light the thing before I came over. And, it's kind of cute to picture him tilting the candle to light the wick thinking, "Man, I am turning the romance in here up to 11! Wait 'til she gets a load of this. This is really gonna set the mood."

See? Right there when he mentally articulated "the mood" is where this candle thing became gross. What's next, massage oils? Barry White on the stereo? How about he lights some incense too so I can overwhelm ALL of my senses with these cheezy seduction techniques. It's like he learned how to woo a woman from reading the classified section of an alt-weekly newspaper. Yikes.

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: Weird Candles

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Things In His House That Make Me Sad: Weird, Random Foodstuffs In His Cabinents

Rooting through your cabinets is a total free-for-all: Nothing has a label on it. Rolled oats are in unmarked mason jars. Bags of lentils are piled on top of one another like Jabba the Hut's chin. Who knows where or how any of these foodstuffs were secured.

A sticky bottle of apple cider vinegar is cemented to the shelf. A jar of olives has DUST on it. A bottle of imitation vanilla looks like a victim of a violent mugging and your garlic powder has congealed into a hardened rock.

Is this your kitchen or a Dharma Initiative bunker because everything looks like it's been here since before Britney shaved her head. For all you know, these were the remnants of the last tenant. They probably just came with the apartment.

I wouldn't use anything in here to bake anything. I wouldn't even cook a dirty bomb in here. I wouldn't even cook meth! If your kitchen were a show about cooking anything, it'd be called Breaking Sad. Not that I make it a habit to cook bombs or meth, but you get the point.

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: Weird, Random Foodstuffs In His Cabinents

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Things In His House That Make Me Sad: A Clackity Dell Desktop

Oh my god, I hate your computer. No one owns a Dell on purpose unless you're an NYU student in 1997. Just typing my username into Gmail feels like I'm playing a sticky instrument. Ewwww!

Does this piece of shit only run Internet Explorer? What, do you have a Yahoo! toolbar too? I feel like I'm at a temp job using this thing. I'm trying to check my email and I keep getting these flashing alerts about Norton being expired. I hate this!

This must have been a hand-me-down from an uncle or something. Maybe it was swiped off a curb after someone tossed it. There's no way that you walked into a store and willingly purchased this machine in the past five years. Tell me that you didn't willingly purchase this.

Don't give me that look. I'm not a computer snob, I swear. But, if the computer world was likened to transportation, using this computer feels like taking a Greyhound bus cross-county with no pee breaks allowed. It's just gross.

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: A Clackity Dell Desktop

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Things In His House That Make Me Sad: Elaborate And Bizarre Computer Setups

This is what I have, computer-wise:

• one Mac laptop  
• one power cord

This is what he has:

• two monitors
• two keyboards
• a desktop computer that he built himself
• a laptop that works
• a laptop that doesn't
• two sets of speakers
• a mouse
• external hard drives up the wazoo

Why does he need so many electronics? Is he trying to stop the DiVinci virus like in Hackers? Is he trying to create the perfect woman like in Weird Science? Is he trying to fortify the compound during a hurricane like in Jurassic Park?

There isn't one square inch of free space on his desk to even put my beer down. I'm just trying to check my email and I think I accidentally set off a warhead. What kind of Wargames shit is this? Oh god. I think something is beeping at me. Which monitor should I be looking at? Yikes!

The only good thing about his computer setup is that it usually has the most comfortable chair in his apartment. It has cushions on it. And wheels. And it spins. Besides that, everything about his computer area is dusty and complicated. The Borg has less wiring than his computer console. In fact, I'm afraid to cross my legs because I might dislodge some wires under there and inadvertently blow the entire thing up. And, that just makes me sad.

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: Elaborate And Bizarre Computer Setups

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Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Hand-Washed Dishes

I spy with my little eye: the milk you drank yesterday with your lunch...in the bottom of my glass.

It was sweet to offer me a beer, even if it's 11am on a Sunday. I couldn't resist because you seemed super excited to pour me a frosty libation in a stolen pint glass. So despite feeling like hot garbage after last night's Hasselhoff-esque beer and burger jam session, I'm going to drink this cheap beer with you and even propose a toast for proving last night that you DO in fact know all the words to every song in The Little Mermaid. Bravo.

But, as adorable as you are, I simply cannot choke down a PBR with milk residue floating in it. A quick survey of your sink shows an ancient sponge that--I'm going to assume--smells like rotten Indian food, a bottle of hand lotion that you most likely mistook for soap, and a towel on the stove top serving as your "drying rack." I notice a dishwasher but you tell me it's broken and upon further inspection, I can see a deflated beach ball wedged inside. Fair enough.

At least this problem is easily resolved: I'll pick up a new sponge (or twelve) and a big ass bottle of Palmolive and teach you some moves from the Mary Poppins playbook. We all know how much you love Disney.

But first things first, let's start with a fresh beer. Just the can is fine. Thanks, doll.

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Hand-Washed Dishes

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Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Fucking Bike In His Fucking Hallway

I get that he rides a bike. Fine. That's great. However, I can't stand how this bike is always in my face as soon as I step through his door. It's the worst because his hallways are super narrow and passing by this bike feels like I'm in a Japanese subway car during rush hour. I gotta make sure my valuables are secured because I feel like the bike is trying to pickpocket me as I walk to the living room!

Without fail, the handlebars--or, as I like to call them, the ovary-impalers--jab at me as I squeeze by. The pedals stab at my shins like a midget ninja. I hate it! Fuck his fucking bike in his fucking hallway. 

I know there's no where else to stash it because we live in a city and it'd probably get stolen in about half a minute if he locked it to a tree outside, but it doesn't mean that I should have to endure this pat-down courtesy of his ten-speed. And, that just makes me sad.

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Fucking Bike In His Fucking Hallway

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Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Dirty Laundry Heap

I would rather watch the depressing ad about abused animals with the Sarah McLaughlin music playing in the background on repeat than look at his dirty laundry heap chillin' in the middle of the room. Are hampers that hard to come by in these parts? It's like an X-file in there!

I cannot believe that you invited me back to your place knowing that this was plopped in the center of your bedroom. It's like if Pizza the Hut was made out of t-shirts and boxer shorts instead of pizza. And, it's repulsive. It's might even be alive; I'm not entirely sure and I'm too afraid to investigate.

I'm trying not to stare at it because who knows what terrible, evil things lurk inside. I even cupped my hands over my eyes and averted my gaze when you joked, "And, this is where the magic happens!" when we entered your room. The only magic you did was to make my interest disappear. And, that just makes me sad.

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Dirty Laundry Heap

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Things In His House That Make Me Sad: Low Beds

If I roll over and am eye-level with your shoes, it's a problem. I hate this low bed. It's useless! I am not a fan of kneeling down to go to sleep. I like a normal bed at least a few feet off the ground. That's just me. If you can't stash a plastic bin from the Container Store under your bed, it's too low!

I'm not sure if you have something against box springs or have a fear of heights or what, but this low bed is bumming me out. It's unpleasant to wake up to your dog licking me in the face like I'm a bowl of kibble. I'm lower than your dog; it's weird! Your dog is laughing at us. 

It's like we're camping but without s'mores and without the knowledge that when we're done camping, we're gonna get to sleep in a nice, comfy bed. And, that just makes me sad.

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: Low Beds

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Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Teensy, Tiny Kitchen

Oh my god, how do you cook anything in here? It's like trying to cook a meal in a dollhouse. Your kitchen is small, narrow, and uncomfortable, like a Chinese finger trap. Two people can't even fit in it at once. We all have to take turns like we're waiting in line at a deli.

The "stove" is little more than a hotpot with a door which burns everything we try to bake in it. Since the one square foot of countertop space has a coffee maker, toaster, and a dishwasher rack piled on it, there is literally nowhere to prepare food. What is the point of this kitchen if you can't even prepare food in it? It's failing at the one thing it's supposed to do!

If I try to grab a beer from the fridge, I end up having to say "excuse me" or "sorry" a minimum of three times because I keep banging into you. It's like a mosh pit every time I want another High Life. It's madness.

This small kitchen is a drag because we will never be able to prepare a meal together. We'll never be able to put on my iPod and dance to Motown music while the pasta is cooking. And, we'll never be able to do that thing where you are making tomato sauce and you put a bit on the spoon and ask me to taste it to see if you need to adjust the seasoning. And, that just makes me sad.

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Teensy, Tiny Kitchen

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Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Upstairs Neighbors

I swear to God, your neighbors must be wearing brick shoes and they all have to be at work by 7am seven days a week. Seriously, I can hear every little squeak they make above us. It's torture! How do you sleep like this? There's an entire family above our heads squawking around like angry turkeys. It's like they're re-enacting scenes from Children of Men up there!

Why do they have so much to say this early in the morning? How many times do they have to traverse their apartment? I can hear every movement they make. And the worst part is that you're immune to it. You're deep in REM sleep as I'm trying to stuff a pillow over my face to drown out the sound from the traveling circus above our heads.

Wait! Are they blasting "O.P.P."?  *checks watch* It's 8:04am on a Saturday! WHO THE FUCK ARE THESE BRICK-SHOED, NAUGHTY BY NATURE-LOVING PEOPLE AND WHY DO YOU HAVE TO LIVE UNDER THEM?

I can't deal with your upstairs neighbors. And, that just makes me sad.

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Upstairs Neighbors

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Things In His House That Make Me Sad: The Cracked, Hardened Bar of Soap In His Shower

Let's put it like this: if I was on the subway and this soap sat down next to me, I'd get up and move to another subway car. What the hell are you doing to it? It's hardened and cracked, like Charles Bukowski's nose. This soap is basically a country song in soap-form; it probably has a drinking problem and hasn't talked to its kids in years. Oh man. It has more streaks in it than the quad on campus during homecoming week.

First of all, lathering is out of the question. It's like running into your ex with his new flame; it will be uncomfortable for all parties involved. And, it's totally unbreakable, like an everlasting gobstopper. It's probably mutated into a higher life form by now. It even might be half-robot. Who knows?

I hate this bar of soap. I refuse to use it. Just put it out of its misery (i.e. throw it out.) Splurge for a bottle of body wash. That's what all the kids use these days. Cracked, hardened bar of soap, you're the child actor of the soap family that's grown up to have a meth habit, tried to rob a bank and had a tell-all exclusive story appear in People. You are old news! You must be shunned! And, that just makes me sad.

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: The Cracked, Hardened Bar of Soap In His Shower

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Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Lack Of Decent Mirrors

So, let me get this straight: I'm supposed to apply my eyeliner using the back of a Pulp CD as a mirror. Riiiiiiiight. Why aren't there any decent mirrors in this place? Are you sitting shiva? Are you the Beast from Beauty and the Beast and you can't stand to see your reflection? This is nuts!

I hate putting on makeup at your house. The only mirror in here is in the bathroom and it's dusty and streaked, like Hank Moody's Porche. Not to be a diva, but this mirror situation isn't working for me.

For instance, without a full-length mirror, I can't tell if my outfit looks presentable. When I get to work and take a good look at myself in the ladies' room, I realize that I could be Shakes the Clown's understudy! My shirt is askew. My buttons are buttoned weird. One pant leg is tucked into a sock. I'm surprised no one hauled me off to a mental institution because I clearly resemble an extra from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.

As a head's up, this is totally your fault. Seriously, they have mirrors at Target. They're not expensive. Invest in one.

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Lack Of Decent Mirrors

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Things In Her House That Make Me Sad: Her Irrational Hatred of Curtains

Speaking of issues with the windows in the house of a member of the opposite sex, what is with your unreasonable hatred of letting me sleep in? I'm not even talking about really sleeping in. Just until 9am would be fine with me. But every single one of your giant, Eastern-facing windows is covered with some fragile half-doily, half-wax paper looking shred of fabric. Sure, it may appear refined according to the most recent issue of Martha Stewart Living, but holy hell, woman, sometimes I want to sleep past sun-up. What are we, Amish? I'm half-surprised you don't have a pet rooster just to complete the theme.

In the middle of the summer, the light comes beaming into my eyes with the intensity of a hot laser at something like 4:45am. I feel like I'm under a magnifying glass. I was comfortable under your blankets a few minutes ago, but now I feel like an ant that an enormous child is trying to set on fire in his backyard.

So please, have some consideration for those that don't want to wake up an hour and a half after finally getting to sleep. I've got a hangover and the last thing I want right now is a blinding brightness that penetrates my closed eyelids. Get some real curtains. It doesn't have to be the wizard-shielding variety in The Wizard of Oz/ high school play opening night-grade heft, but really, ANYTHING--even blinds--would be better than this.

Things In Her House That Make Me Sad: Her Irrational Hatred of Curtains

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Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Drafty Windows

My teeth are chattering, my toes are little toe-shaped popsicles, and I can see my breath when I exhale in your living room. If I listen hard, I'm pretty sure that I can hear the wind rushing in through the cracks around the window sills. WHY IS IT SO COLD IN HERE?

I get that you're trying to keep your heating costs down, but couldn't you get your Home Depot on and affix plastic sheeting around your drafty windows? Throw me a winter preparedness bone, here!

A rubber glove would provide more insulation than these flimsy, drafty "windows." Are they made of Saran Wrap? I'm considering stripping down and flinging myself into a long, hot shower to warm up, but the thought of having to exist in your freezing house with wet hair makes me want to cash out my (paltry) 401k and buy a one-way ticket to somewhere tropical like in Stella Got Her Groove Back. (I've never watched the movie but I imagine that a guy's cold house might have been a component to the plot.)

I'm like Raymond BURRRRRR in Perry Mason. I own a horse named Mr. Ed and my name is WilBURRRRRRR! I'm John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever and I'm dancing to the song "BURRRRRRRRn, baby, BURRRRRRRn."

In other news, I'm still cold. And, that makes me sad. *shiver*

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Drafty Windows

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Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Crusty Tube of Toothpaste

I'm not sure if there's some secret boys' meeting where they pass out these dank toothpaste tubes to everyone with a Y chromosome, but it's alarming how often I've come across them. I'm not sure if this toothpaste tube went out drinking last night or what, but it has a serious case of cottonmouth going on. It's so crusty and dehydrated, it looks like an Ishtar extra.

It's clear that this is a communal tube. You can tell because of how haggard it looks. Honestly, it looks like a topographical study of the kid in Mask's face. Maybe a mouse uses it as a punching bag? Maybe it was in crash test dummy's pocket? Who knows? I have no clue why it's so mangled. It has more dents in it than Dom DeLuise's ass! 

Of course, it always has a twist-off cap, which is the Monopoly game piece of his bathroom; it somehow manages to get lost pretty much within 30 seconds of me touching it. Not to sound like a diva, but is it too much to ask for a flip-top cap? And, does the flavor always have to be an unappetizing flavor of pasty chalk? Can you throw me a toothpaste bone and opt for a Vanilla Mint or a Crystal Wintermint? And, it doesn't instill confidence that the ingredients are listed in Spanish. Did you fish this out of a Chinatown dumpter or did you go to an actual store and pay for this with American cash?

If I have to brush with it, I put the tiniest smudge on the outermost bristle and try to repress my gag reflex as I smear it on my teeth. Regardless, somehow my breath manages to smell worse after I've used it. I'm telling you, this toothpaste fails at the only job it has! I'm like Donald Trump at the board room: "toothpaste, you're fired!" I'm hovering over the sink yelling at a crusty tube of Crest and that just makes me sad.

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Crusty Tube of Toothpaste

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Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Black Towels

I've finally conquered my fear of showering at his place. My game plan is to keep my eyes focused on the ceiling to avoid any glimpses of the grimy, soapscummy underworld below. Seriously, it's like Blade Runner's movie set down there. I'm even willing to let him see me with ratty, wet hair. I'm ready to finally make this leap when he throws a curve ball at me. Actually, he tosses it to me: the dreaded black towel.

Sure, it might be clean. It could have been washed just yesterday. But it also could have never been washed and who would ever be the wiser? I happen to know for a fact your mom does all your laundry and you haven't been home in over a month.

Your black towel is like a vortex of dirt; it goes in, seemingly disappears, but still exists in there somewhere. I know the reasoning of many dudes is that if you're using a towel to dry yourself off when you're already clean, why would you need to wash it? The only clue to how clean it is is to smell it and I wouldn't DARE go there. It probably smells like a mixture of subway floor and dog's breath.

The black towel can be used dozens of times and still look brand new. You see this as the beauty of black towels. However, I see it as the main reason this will be the first and last shower I'll ever take at your place.

I'm not sure about the logic behind these black towels. You claim to be a relatively clean person so I'm hoping their purpose isn't to mask dirt. So what is it then? Are black towels supposed to represent masculinity? I understand if you don't want pink towels or even yellow, but do you realize they also make blue towels? If you opted for pink or yellow towels, I wouldn't judge you. I'd just assume that your mom bought them for you like everything else in your house that isn't a part of your computer.

You don't need black towels to compensate for that Bridget Jones DVD you have hiding behind the rest of your movies or the Taylor Swift songs at the top of your most played list in iTunes. In fact, I'm going to think MORE of you if you dispose of the two black towels you've been rotating for a solid 16 weeks now. Can you at least do that for me because drying off with them feels like I'm drying off with Burt's unibrow. And, that just makes me sad.

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Black Towels

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Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Futon "Sofa" From Ikea

Whenever I walk into a guy's house and I see a futon, I let out a little whimper. I don't care how many pillows he tosses on the thing or how many blankets he drapes over the back, that uncomfortable piece of furniture will never be a couch. It's not even in the couch family. It's like a couch's second cousin's half-brother's roommate. I'm pretty sure they're not even friends. If the couch got married to a sofa, the futon wouldn't even be on the invite list.

For one thing, we can't lie down on it comfortably together. I mean, it's kind of hard to be relaxed with a huge metal pipe digging into my back. The pillows always slip through the arm railing thingy so we slide down like angel hair pasta through a colander. I hate that metal arm bar. Why didn't they make that out of something--oh, I don't know--soft? That one tweak would improve our time in his living room immensely.

I think a half-deflated air mattress has more cushioning than this "mattress." It's all lumpy from years of flopping around and it has weird stains on it that I don't that I don't even want to get into. GOD FORBID if we ever got in a tickle fight and I somehow landed facedown on the fabric. I would do everything in my power not to inhale because I know it will smell like pepperoni meets sweatpant crotch. *shudder*

This futon has got to go. It's basically like trying to watch a movie while lounging on a barbecue grill with a cloth napkin on it. And, that just makes me sad.

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Futon "Sofa" From Ikea

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