Another one about dog poop

Ok, I know I complain a lot about the variety of filth and stench in the city, but I swear I really do love it here (mostly).

There are a lot of people with dogs here. Dogs that need to be cleaned up after, if you know what I mean. There's Poop Row in Chelsea, and I think it can get pretty nasty on some side streets in Williamsburg, but I usually don't find myself having to dodge major piles on the average downtown street. Piles, no; smears, yes. Even those dog owners that abide by the laws of New York (and the laws of common courtesy) and pick up the poop, even they are committing a crime against the sidewalks and sidewalkers. The smears, people, the SMEARS! There is good reason for those signs that say "curb your dog", and that reason, I believe, is the smears. And maybe the puddles too, a bit. If you can train your dog to not pee on your apartment floor, can't you also train them to not pee on a public sidewalk, where the public walks? It doesn't seem so much of a stretch. No one wants to step on a poo smear or wade through a pee puddle, not even the owners, I'd wager. I'd like to see some ticketing and fining going on. Drugs aren't the problem in this city, dog poop and horn honking are!

BoBo Poultry is closing, Carina's NOT sad

BoBo Poultry, known affectionately by me as the Scourge of Broome St., is closing down. Or rather, moving to Brooklyn (beware, Linden Hill!). Final day of business at 287 Broome is 25 July, and I couldn't be happier! See, I believe BoBo, where they slaughter and sell chickens (they like to refer to the chickens as "freshly killed" on the website), is the main source of the stench on Broome St. Blood running into the street, rotting flesh, etc. Mmmm, I can smell it now, in my mind's nose! 

I can't imagine what might go in that space after BoBo vacates. A club, a la Meatpacking District? There's no way they could ever scrub the filth from that place. Anywho, if you live near 1131 Grand St, I suggest giving that address a wide berth if you find yourself traveling the heel-toe express in that 'hood.  

Queen Bitch

"You're beautiful, bitch"

He sort of whispered it as I walked by. He had been meandering along in front of me on Spring Street. I had noticed him, in fact, just as I imagine he must have noticed me when he turned around. I thought "there's a nice looking boy, but he's got those horrible low crotch jeans on" (they're tight, but worn low, so the boys waddle around like penguins; you should see them try to walk up stairs!). He kept his eye on me as I was approaching and as I passed, this nice looking boy cooed very close to my ear, "You're beautiful, bitch". I was confused, since he didn't give off the skeezy vibe that those scummy cat-callers usually give. It was the "bitch" part that threw me; if he'd stopped at "You're beautiful", I might have actually smiled at him. But he dropped the B-bomb, in this very sneaky, slipping in through the backdoor kind of way. I think I prefer the front door guys who let me know I have a sexy tattoo as I rush past so that they don't see my tattoo. 

The Hidden Dangers of a Tote

Totes are simple things: lightweight, pocketless, lacking in most/all of the bells and whistles associated with other baggages. Yet the tote is a dangerous bag. Well, dangerous to a girl like me who's been following an unwritten, unspoken rule of strict skirt and dress wearing for several months running, and has been a tote devotee for at least twice as long.

See, it's the tote fabric (canvas, linen, cotton, etc.) coupled with the tote length (slung over the shoulder, it hangs at the hip to thigh area), multiplied by the physics of friction that's dangerous. The chafing of the tote fabric against the clothing fabric (equally chafey materials) can only add up to trouble, in the manner of a skirt bunching it's way up your side. And voila! Your ass is on display.

I'm usually quite aware of this problem. I had a similar problem with my winter coat last year; I would unbutton it only to find my skirt up around my waist. Thank god for tights! The point is, it was a hard lesson in bunching. I try to carry my tote so as to avoid the bunching, or pull at my skirt every seven to ten seconds to keep my behind covered. On a recent hot day, though, when wearing a particularly naughty skirt (one that just seems so much higher in the back than in the front), I totally dropped the anti-bunching ball. I was walking home from work when a woman materialized out of nowhere, it seemed, and tried to get my attention several times before I realized that I was the "Miss" she was speaking to. You'd think I might have felt a breeze, but it must have been one of those stagnant air days. I've been much more attentive to my skirts' needs, since then, but I know that one day, I'll reach down and feel naked leg where clothing was just a moment ago. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday.