There should be a disclaimer outside the shower in our new apartment. There should be a height requirement for bathers, and a sign should warn people "with heart conditions or who may be pregnant" should not use it. We should have a lawyer come and inspect it, then help us draw up a waiver to have potential bathers sign before we allow them to have a towel.

It seems we have the water pressure of a fire hose. When I turn on the water ��it has seperate hot, cold and shower knobs � the water comes out like a jet, probably slowly wearing a dent in the bottom of the bathtub before I step in. This morning, Casey must have somehow turned the showerhead down and toward the wall, because when I turned on the water, it shot through the hanging shower rack and off the wall, spraying everywhere.

In a way, you could look at it as a massaging shower. If you're a masochist.

In order to cut down on the bruises each morning, I try to reduce the water pressure by not turning the hot and cold knobs on so much. (I tried not turning the shower itself on too much, but then the extra water just comes out the bottom faucet and that's annoying.) But in taking that approach, in order to get a warm shower, the cold water is barely turned while most of what emerges is hot water. A problem surfaces there when your shower carries on too long (exceeding five minutes) and the hot water runs out.

So it's either a pounding shower, or a cold one.

I'm afraid of our shower. I worry that if I let it pound on my head too long, I'll lose all my hair ��and then have to clean the drain. It's hard to rinse off my face without taking out an eye. I have to be careful cupping my hands to collect water to rinse my face or I risk the water bouncing off my palms, shooting up my nose and coming out my ears.

And forget about turning around and facing the water jets ��I have to make like a soccer player (a "footballer" to those of you across the pond) creating a wall on a direct kick and protect my groinal area from the blast. Our shower could be used by nuclear scientists to clean themselves off after spending a day playing with radioactive materials.

The water comes out so fast that the tub cannot drain it efficiently. Midway through my shower this morning, I was standing in an inch of water. I checked the drain, but the cover was clear; no hair or anything slowing down the water's exit.

We're hoping to get a new showerhead at Target or Home Depot soon. I was thinking about that this morning � how nice it will be to have a soft, caressing conglomeration of thin streams of water cascading over me. Then I hoped that the water doesn't shoot the new showerhead off the mount, embedding it in my head. That, or I can imagine the excess water spouting out the sides of the showerhead, soaking the entire bathroom.

In my mind, I should live in a sitcom.

Then there's the hijinx that develops from our interaction with our neighbors. Because Casey left her car at the office last night and hitched a ride into the city with a coworker last night, then took the bus home, we came to work together this morning. That meant that I had to come in early, since Casey gets here at 9 a.m. When I got home last night, I pulled into the driveway, which we share with the house next door, and pulled even with said neighbor's car, that of the Grumpy Old Man. GOM parks halfway down the gradual incline of the driveway (which descends to the back yard). Casey usually parks next to him, and I behind her. When Casey got home last night, she informed me that the gray Buick belonging to the bitchy daughter of the mother-daughter duo who lives in the attic apartment had parked behind me, blocking me in. The mother is nice; the daughter is a succubus.

In our eight previous weekday mornings in the house, I've had to move my car once so Casey could get out. Usually, GOM or his wife is out on an errand, allowing Casey space to back out. I hoped the same would happen in the morning.

Today, when Casey got in the Power Shower, I heard GOM (or Mrs. GOM) leave; I checked and confirmed it, figuring we'd be all set when we had to leave. Of course, we weren't. GOM came back by the time we left the house at 8:45 and we were stuck. I went up to the attic and knocked on the door but heard nothing on the other side. Not even the cat. At 1:30 in the morning I'd heard the Succubus (I'm not set on this nickname yet; it may change) pounding around upstairs before her mother said something. It was loud enough to wake me up, but I went back to sleep quickly. It sounded like a 6-year-old who puts on her mother's shoes and clods around in the oversized heels. It was ridiculous.

Since the Succubus clearly wasn't getting up for my repeated pounding, I returned to the car and gravely informed Casey that we'd have to nicely ask the Grumpy Old Man. We walked over together and guessed which doorbell to ring. The top one worked. After 12 seconds, a window upstairs opened and Mrs. GOM asked what we needed. We asked if she could move the car. "Did you try to ask them?" Casey's right: The old people do spend their time sitting by their windows watching the neighbors. When we assured her that repeated poundings on the door failed to awake the Succubus, she came downstairs, but seemed annoyed. I remarked how people in general should just be nicer, while at the same time wondering what I could do to the gray Buick.

Mrs. GOM was actually very nice about moving the car and suggested that we talk to the landlord about letting the Succubus park in the driveway. She'd only done it once before, and while there's nothing in the lease or any indication otherwise to give us the impression that the driveway might be exclusive, it would only seem fair that since we're paying more for our apartment and, along with Joanna on the first floor are the primary tennants of the house, the driveway should be reserved for us (and Joanna). I did decide that, from now on, even if I'm the only one home and GOM's car is halfway down the driveway, I'm going to park at the top. If the Succubus is going to park in the driveway, she's going to be the one parking closest to the bottom and getting blocked in.

Why can't people in general be nicer? Heh.