Who Gives A Shit: Thanksgiving Family Horror Stories?

Ok, so we all got fat, and were thankful, and some of you btchz probably watched football, but I wanna hear about the down-n-dirty, super juicy stuff!

Who came out of the closet? Told their parents they wished they were dead? Threatened to leave the dinner table to go fill out adoption papers cause your kidz were driving you totally fucking crazy??

Feel free to go anon in the comments if you're a pussy you maintain any hope of ever speaking to your family again. But otherwise, GO. TO. TOWN.

Who Gives A Shit: Work It OUT!

What with the chemical disaster unfolding at the YMCA this weekend, AND #myfatass just being its normal fat self, I've had fitness on the brain.

Then I came across this post on the Yelp message boards from someone who is thinking of opening up a spinning studio in Park Slope! (sidenote, I suggested this shit way back when in our Coming Soon to Park Slope post. Any aspiring entrepreneurs should feel free to check that post out for some other good ideas...espesh in the comments).

Right, so now I'm wondering what sort of health/wellness/exercise thingys you ppl have going in Park Slope that don't totally suck? Great classes? A killer trainer? You can even drop some regular ole NYC tips right on my face, just cuz we all take the subway-n-shit.

I'm goin to kick things off with a tip from Greg, cause he's now a Pilates convert: Chantal at Ellie Herman Pilates is the bomb diggity. She recently also started teaching IntenSati classes at their new Annex and those are allegedly pretty killer too.

Your turn...

Who Gives A Shit: Smelly Neighbors

I arrived home the other day to a team of hulky (couldn't see if they were hunky) firemen heading in to my building because my teenage neighbor thought for sure the joint was burning down. 

Well, we weren't on fire, thankfully. But for several days now, our upper hallways have been filling up with scary-ass acrid smoke that smells like wood burning, which sends residents into a tizzy and then we knock on doors, call our super in a panic, and finally send my handy husband down to check the boiler. It took a few go-rounds to realize that it's somebody up the block.

Now, I can deal with Smoker Bob and I can deal with the occasional spam-scented stinky food smells (marginally) but I really don't know if I can deal with thinking the building is on fire every day so that some neighbor down the block can benignly, unknowingly have a bonfire or barbecue or get all "Vermont comes to Brooklyn. It makes me nervous.

Click to read more ...

Who Gives A Shit: Stress Levels in NYC?

Yeah, I'd been wondering about this because I HAVE noticed a wee bit of loopy, stressy behavior as this recesh keeps on giving. But, now it's official.

New Yorkers are the MOST stressed out people in the country. 75% of us have economic agita according to a new study.

Seems like an opportune moment to reiterate my call for a weekend of neighborliness. I think we should set up drum circles in Prospect Park, free yoga and meditation clinics at Washington Park, doggy therapy over at the dog run. Primal scream therapy booth? Don't call the cops on your neighbor clinic? It's getting cold out again. Community snowball fight?

[ed note: gag me with a fucking spoon--Erica].

We need to offload some of this weight.

What do you think?

Yours in cooperation, Allison

Who Gives A Shit: Wax On, Wax Off?

Do you get waxed? If so, where? (and not like WHERE on your body...where in the hood?). We have a FIPS reader in need:

"So my previously beloved bikini waxer at Rompal has taken to talking on her bluetooth during the whole procedure.  She's done it twice and has done it with my friend too.  She is speaking Russian, so in addition to feeling slighted, I feel paranoid.  

Is she talkin' smack about my admittedly long neglected short and curlies? What if the person she is talking to says something shocking, and then she rips the waxing strip off me all crooked in surprise?" 

Can someone help a sista out??

[ed note: if you want, I can totes hook you up with Foreign Dude! He can sit out in the waiting room (i.e. with his ear glued to the door) and we can try and uncover whether or not this bitch is making fun of your cooch the whole time??].