The King stepped in dog sh*t today. Not figuratively. Literally. And anyone that has OCD tendencies as I do knows where the rest of this blog is going - and feels my pain. Yes, I’m disturbed. No, more than disturbed, I’m on a mission to rid the world of lazy delinquents that don’t clean up after their dogs. I shall not blame the animals as they are simply being animals, but as for their incompetent owners, well, that’s another story. Trust me, the fact that this happened nearly sent me into a cleaning tailspin; I did for a minute think of throwing away the King's shoes, or at least putting the house on lockdown as I set fire to everything that came into contact with them. Yes, I’m an extremist when it comes to cleaning, but seriously, piles of dogsh*t on the pavement is an urban epidemic that has to be stopped.

For those of you out there thinking what is the big deal, I shall break it down for you nice and slow…cause clearly something in your brain is not firing at top speed. It is excrement. That’s right, dog sh*t = dirty, germ ridden, disease-carrying waste. Sorry for those of you out there eating your breakfast whilst reading this, but when I’m 'disturbed', it’s hard to contain my annoyance. The fact that some individuals out there think it is okay to just leave their dog’s internal waste on the street for all the world to smell, see and step in is beyond me. Yes, I realize they are driven by sheer laziness and irresponsibility, coupled with the fact that they probably don’t want to touch it anymore than anyone else does; but let me spell it out for you (again, nice and slowly), it is YOUR dog. Not mine. So pick it up.

Can you imagine if everyone just went about doing their business wherever they saw fit? Come to think of it, changing the King’s diaper is a real drag after doing it for 15 months on an daily basis. From now on, maybe I’ll just let him run around in the park without his diaper on and let him relieve himself wherever he feels like it.  'No no sweetheart, do it right in the middle of the sidewalk; it's so much more amusing that way.' Cause my son leaving his little deposits everywhere is pretty much the same darn thing. As I see it, waste is waste. It doesn’t smell like rose petals and if you even think of using the compost excuse we’re going to have words (unless of course your dog is going directly on top of the compost heap, and even then I may take issue with it).

I am now pretty convinced that I am going to turn into one of those crazy women that has the dog fouling hotline on speed dial and will dedicate my days to turning these criminals in. And yes, I have no problem when I see someone allowing their dog to do it, asking them to pick it up. Most of them just stare at me and give me that brilliant excuse ‘I don’t have a bag with me,’ like they just bought the dog and didn’t realize that it actually has to relieve itself. My response of course from now on, 'yeah, I didn't bring any diapers with me either. King, sweetie, right on top of his brand new loafers please. That a boy. You should see him run and fetch a ball. The kid is a natural.'

See you on the sidewalk. :-) 

I loved Halloween as a child. I suppose what child doesn’t. You get to carve a giant vegetable (exacting revenge on vegetables is every child's dream) and dress up as your favorite superhero, professional or cartoon character [isn't it funny how every chooses to be things like a nurse, or fireman, but no one ever chooses to be a banker; no surprise there really] hit the streets and go and knock on stranger’s doors asking for candy. Seriously, it is hard to imagine that in this day and age, we can ask strangers for anything without fearing the results. When we were kids of course there was still was the necessity for safety, but the short of it was that you couldn’t take apples or freshly baked goods from people you didn't know. Sadly the baked goods were usually better for you than the candy bars, but you never knew if some wackjob was going to put LSD in them. Or was that just in my neighborhood?

My mother of course would always try to ration us to a few pieces of candy a night until our stash ran out, but this of course never worked. My sister and I would eat until we were downright nauseous, which sometimes proved beneficial as it put you off chocolate until well after Christmas. Okay, maybe not Christmas, but at least until the following week. We would then partake in a serious bartering session as she would usually have things I wanted and vice versa. It was amazing how much power a bag of candy held back then. It went something like this, 'I'll make your bed for a week if I can have all your peanut butter cups.' 'Um...throw in a couple of Almond Joys and it's a deal.' 

For me, by far, the best part of Halloween was the costumes. For many, this was serious business and many a Mother would start planning their kid’s outfits – or helping to make them – way back in September. I never said this was a rational holiday. (This year I have decided to dress the King as Tony Soprano. I figure he has the belly for it. As for the New Jersey accent, that may prove a bit more difficult). Every year at my school we would have a costume contest. I took this very seriously even though I was never very complex with my costumes - I figured simple done right was far better than complex done badly - there is a life lesson for you! One year in particular I went as a ghost (I know I’ve written about this particular event before, but its one of those memories my five year old mind can’t seem to shake…I think it’s seeking five year old closure). I realize being a ghost seems like the more tame, even boring of costumes, but for some reason I thought that I could add some special twist to the outfit that everyone else missed year after year. 

I can't remember if I wanted to do it all myself, or couldn’t bribe one of my sisters to help me with the costume, but I do remember that I ended up cutting eye holes in a large white sheet that ended up all jagged and uneven so that I could barely see out of them. This was the first error on the path to winning that sought after first prize. I then mysteriously thought that it would be a good idea to put a pointed party hat on my head, underneath the sheet. I’m not sure if it was because I was so short that I thought the leverage would make me a more powerful ghost, but nonetheless, it was a bad decision all the way around. I don’t think I have to paint the picture any more than to say: white sheet, pointy at the top, small creepy eyeholes….thank god I didn’t think ghosts carried small burning torches or else I would've been in real trouble with the Principal. Needless to say, my resemblance to a KKK member meant that not only did I not win that year, but I was buried in the back row behind three little Bo-Peeps and a less than convincing Flash Gordon. I remember crying underneath that white sheet thinking it was because my eyeholes were so uneven. 

For the record, the next year I kicked that contest’s ass and won the damn thing as a pee in the pod. Redemption is definitely as sweet as a bag full of Reeses peanut butter cups.