The Things I Hate About The Home Remodel

A day short of a month ago I listed all the things I liked about the house remodel.  So it's long overdue to list the flip side.  But there are so many things that I hate about the remodel.  Where to begin?

1. That Father changed the wastebasket in my upstairs bathroom.  We had, for the longest time, just a small yellow plastic trash can that had a deep crack on its side.  And it did the job.  Why?  'Cause it's a fucking wastebasket to throw all your shit-stained toilet paper in.  But for some goddamn reason, after he threw out Grandmother and redid the whole bathroom, he sought to replace that perfectly functional wastebasket with a sleek, state-of-the-art stainless steel wastebasket.  That's all well and good, even though it is totally unnecessary when you note its sole purpose in life.  And it has a lid, so that the guests who we never invite over won't catch a glimpse of those streaks of shit on our used up toilet paper.  The lid opens with a foot pedal, which really pisses me off because I now have to multitask when throwing away my shit-filled toilet paper.  Who in the fuck has to use his heel and wait for the lid to open to dispose of his toilet paper?  This guy, right fuckin' here.  And whenever My Fucking Father rampages through the house with a mop, he pushes aside the wastebasket with the mop so he can clean the floor.  So whenever I go take a shit, I see the wastebasket pinned all the way back to a corner, way behind me and beyond my reach, so I have to fucking reach over and haul the garbage can over and put it close to my side so that I can touch the pedal with my heel in order to open up the can to throw my shit-filled toilet paper in.  Why am I working so goddamn hard when I'm taking a dump?!?!?!  What a stupid fucking decision.
2. The toilet paper role dispenser is now attached at a different place.  Before it was well within my reach against the outside wall.  But for some goddamn reason, the contractor who did this and My Fucking Father drilled the new holes closer to me -- way closer to me.  Now, instead of reaching out to get the toilet paper, I now have to reach back, really bend my elbow and crimp my shoulder behind my back in order to get it.  So imagine the tableau: I am reaching back with my left hand for my toilet paper, pulling that paper all the way across my body to pass it over to my right hand, wiping my ass, then stretching down with my right heel to open up the garbage can so I can drop the shit-stained paper into it with my right hand (this of course after I had to reach back with my right hand to nudge the wastebasket forward from the corner).  What the fuck was the contractor thinking changing the spot where the toilet paper dispenser connects to the wall?  Why did he have to fucking move it?  Finally, I say again: Why am I working so goddamn hard when I'm taking a dump?!?!?!
3. The clock on the wall is no longer there.  I don't know when or who, but one day they installed a small wall clock right above where the piano was for a long, long time.  It was a square-shaped clock with a picture of a loon in the middle of the number of clock.  And all it did was work, consistently and without any drama.  It ran on one single AA battery, and I don't remember if I ever needed to replace it.  Seriously.  Also, it was in the same place for many years of my life, at the end of the hall right above the piano.  That turned out to be a great place to put a clock; I learned that if I needed to know what the time was, I just had to go to our living room (that we never use) and look up and it'll be there, and it'll usually be right.  That's how it has been for years.  We even took it for granted; it was just there for us to keep track of the time.  But then My Fucking Father had the brick wall on which was ensconced de-bricked and painted over.  And he didn't put up the clock that did nothing except give us the time, every time.  Instead he put up these ... oh, I'll call them art pieces.  Nothing wrong with putting them up, but I don't know where the clock is.  My Fucking Father continues to change things around the house even though things worked perfectly.  And I still catch myself automatically looking up at the place in the wall where the clock was when I need to know the time and I get pissed off because I depended on it even though I didn't realize it till it was gone.
4. The new counter is too high off the ground.  I've blogged about this before: It's now a bitch to use it when I want to clip my toenails.  Still pissing me off.
5. The level of the floor is now different in the upper floor.  Part of the upper floors has a wood floor; the other half had linoleum that I remember a long time ago my parents (with the help of family and a contractor) putting down.  It was getting old, but otherwise I had no issue with it.  But apparently My Fucking Father did, and the contractor he hired after the contractors that skipped out on us (have I talked about them yet?) wanted the linoleum gone.  I believe they first tried ripping the linoleum out, but last time I saw just the linoleum on the ground the contractor only managed to rip out one tile.  My feeling is that they decided then to just put the new floor, marble tile, on top of the linoleum instead.  Don't know if being able to rip out the linoleum would have made a difference, but in any case we now have two fairly different grades of floor on the upper floor: While the living room, main hallway, upper bath and my room have the wood floor, the dining room, kitchen, the two auxiliary rooms and the hallway leading to such are on the marble tile floor that's raised by at least half an inch.  I haven't tripped over it or stubbed my toe on it yet, nor can I envision a case where the difference in level will be a problem.  But I still think it looks kind of ghetto.
6. The toilet is not level, and I know that it's not level because the water in the bowl is not resting evenly. I noticed this well after the bathroom was renovated.  One day, I don't know, several weeks ago I noticed as I walked in and looked into the toilet bowl that there was more water to the left of the ... uh ... (looking online real quick for "parts of a toilet bowl") ... opening at the base of the bowl where all the water and body waste goes through than the right.  You would think that any normal toilet would rest such that each point at the rim of the water would be equidistant towards the exact center of the toilet bowl if you're looking down at it, you know what I mean?  Doesn't really matter in the long run, I don't think, but you would think a toilet should be level to the ground and therefore symmetrical, no?
7. The toilet seat is sliding to the point it's slipping off the rim of the toilet.  Started noticing this only a few days ago.  One day I was taking a shit and it felt like the back of my left upper leg was getting cold, like it was resting against the side of the toilet.  I then looked over to my left and saw that the seat had slid to the right, allowing my left leg to, indeed, rest against the rim of the bowl.  This was a problem I had to deal with with the old toilet.  Somehow years of sitting on it smashed the little rectangular left foot of the toilet seat.  That foot was made of rubber, I think, which made it much harder to move the seat while your ass is fidgeting while sitting on it as you're reaching around to wipe your ass or, I don't know, you're just fidgeting.  This toilet seat doesn't have two rubber feet but four plastic, uh, indentations.  None of them are broken, yet.  But I did confirm that the seat is not flush against the toilet.  I'm pretty sure it was screwed on right.  I just think that when I reach around to wipe my ass (with my right hand) I pivot on my left ass bone to lift up my right butt check so I can reach my anus, and I think that pivot creates rotational force that goes from right to left.  Guess I've done it so much that the toilet seat's unhinged to the point where it's now pulling to the right.  This is something that could get really annoying if it gets worse.