The Shower

Well.  It's been an interesting couple of weeks.  Getting into the swing of things at my new job, which, though it pays well enough, is boring as fuck.  Making some improvements around the apartment, and trying to get myself together for Christmas, which I hate.  I'm sure there will be at least one angry post about Christmas, Christmas shopping, fad toys, my bitchy sister, or all of the above.  But today, I'm talking about my shower.


Everyone has to shower.  If we don't, we smell bad, and repulse people.  While repulsing people isn't necessarily a BAD thing, being smelly, grubby and itchy is.  I shower typically daily, when I get home from work, because I have a dirty job, and I also have masses of very long thick hair that takes a billion zillion years to dry.  I could speed up the process with a hair dryer, I guess, which I may or may not still own.  I honestly don't know.  I can tell you that I never DID own one until I got a longhaired dog, though.  But I digress.  The shower.


I like my showers to be a relaxing experience.  I love the warm water pouring over me, the white noise from the fan, the steaminess, everything.  I even have speakers in my bathroom that I can hook my Zune up to so I can sing and not take a break from actively annoying my upstairs neighbours while I attend to the necessary task of showering.  I also have a wall-mounted candle holder in the shape of a tree that holds 8 tea lights, so I can even have a nice candle-lit bath or shower if I want.  However, I also live in an apartment building, which means I cannot be in complete control of the water temperature.

I'm pretty sure everyone has had this experience.  You're in the shower, rinsing your hair, using the back brush, jerking off, whatever your shower routine is, when all of a sudden your nice warm shower betrays you.  Everything's fine, then all of a sudden someone's washing machine or dishwasher kicks in, and the spray goes from comfortably warm and steamy to JESUS CHRIST ICICLES!!  Once you recover from that unpleasantness, which may or may not involve slipping, hitting your head on the wall or faucet and/or possibly ripping down your shower curtain to escape the arctic blast, you manage to get back into your shower groove and are just starting to trust the water again when some jackass in the building has the nerve to flush his toilet.  Then once again, suddenly the water temperature has a major mood swing.  Only instead of Jesus Christ Icicles, you get MOTHERFUCKER MOLTEN LAVA!!  This is usually the point where I pull out the serious cuss words and as long as I don't have a head full of shampoo or conditioner, at this point my shower is officially over. 

Sometimes, just out of spite, I like to flush my toilet or run my dishwasher or washing machine when I know my upstairs neighbour is in the shower.  It's my bitchy, passive-aggressive way of getting revenge for having to listen to him and his wife having boring, mechanical, practically SCHEDULED sex every Wednesday and Sunday nights, as well as that one time he tried to pull off some DIY plumbing one summer evening when I had a friend over, the end result of which was a rain storm coming through my bathroom ceiling and culminated in one of the most surreal moments in my entire life.  Maybe some day I'll get around to telling that story.