Mornings at my apartment go a little something like this: The first alarm goes off at 6 a.m. Then the others follow at five-minute intervals, until I roll out of my bed at 7 on the dot to the sounds of The Breakfast Club (the NYC-based radio show, not the '80s teen movie). If my roommate doesn't beat me in the race to our shared bathroom, I'll shower and cowash my hair — which is a whole big thing, and leaves no space for me to do my makeup (or iron my clothes, or eat breakfast...).