WHO GIVES A SHIT: Halloween 2K10--Stay or Split?

Ah, Halloween is in the air.  I'm sure you can tell; either your spawn are already wearing their costumes five days a week (remember: it's your hard earned cash paying the therapy bill when little Olivia won't drop the "Princess" prefix after November 1), or you're being assaulted by a pregnant-looking Mario in front of the pop-up Ricky's on Seventh to buy things (such is my case).

I know I'm about to shock the shit out of you all here: I haven't dressed up for Halloween since I was probably 16. I am a killjoy, blah blah, save it, I've heard it.

But I'm curious, anyway: What's your Halloween in the Slope like? Are you one of those BREEDERS who only gives out Annie's Organic bunny gummies and Utz Halloween pretzels? Do you get a not-so-secret joy in stealing your child's chocolate haul from your horrible, unfeeling neighbors who dare to offer anything but organic goji berry dark chocolate? Do you BALLERS run the good hell away from the nabe to get drunk in childless peace and quiet?

Do tell. I'm sure I'm going to do something unfun this year again, like cook in my underwear, so tell me about all of the things you're planning so you can feel fabulous about your lives. That's what FIPS is here for, right?

WHO GIVES A SHIT: Takeout Menu Hell

OK, so most of you probs have that little red sign in front of your fancy brownstones that says DO NOT DROP MENUS HERE BY PENALTY OF BEING PUT ON ALERT AT THE COOP, or whatever they actually say.  So, when restaurants ignore your sign and leave menus on your doorstep, does their unwelcome appearance actually affect your decision about whether or not to patronize the place?

At my old place, I used to get my feathers ruffled for a hot second and then generally forget about it, but this weekend, Kiku on Seventh decided to not only leave a recycling center's worth of menus in my apartment building's entrance (whatev, it's your job, I'll live), but also found a way into the building and slipped menus under each apartment door.  We always have a ton of rogue menus in the entryway, fine, but never in our actual apartments.  

I'm sure I'm too wah-wah sensitive for you tough types, but I'm gonna think twice before ordering from them again.  Anyway, please justify my yuppie rage or insult my self-importance in the comments.

Who Gives A Shit: Cheapest Dry Cleaner?

Personally, I choose my dry cleaners strictly based on their location (i.e. the one near the Q train cause my ass has to walk by every day...not even sure what its called), but I guess not everyone can be so luxurious with their dry cleaning choices. Case in point, this chick:

"I was hoping you might have a piece about the cheapest dry cleaner in Park Slope... I'm broke, but I don't want to be dirty! Any ideas?"

What say you guyz?

Who Gives a Shit? Public Restrooms

I have been giving this subject a lot of thought this afternoon as I RUSHED HOME FROM MIDTOWN so somebody I know could take a crap in the peace and tranquility of their own potty.  

I'm not much for public bathrooms myself but, if hard pressed, I wouldn't turn my nose up at MOMA's five star toilets. I sure as SHIT wouldn't hightail it back to Park Slope if needs must.

I mean, between the awesome sitorsquat.com and a dozen other websites devoted to supplying the needy with a clean crapper, what's the big deal?

And did you know of the many health benefits of squatting? Yes, according to Gawker and Slate, the ultimate authorities on lots of shit, squatting is a cure for everything from Hemorrhoids to Colon Cancer. Why haven't I heard from Katie Couric on this?

But now I think the issue is not only sanitary but shyness because surely this city is divided between those who don't give a shit and those who won't take a shit anywhere but their own throne except under penalty of death.

What lengths would you go to to avoid taking a dump in a public bathroom? How far have you traveled? Is this a male/female thing? A matter of personality? And which are your nabe favorites in a pinch? My vote is the Tea Lounge.

WHO GIVES A SHIT: Do You Give Up Your Subway Seat?

Simple question: Do you give up your seat on the subway to preggos, old people, and folks with various visible ailments, or do you keep your head down and hope that the guy next to you is a better person than you are?

I ask not because I'm curious about the general goodness of your collective hearts, which we've pretty much acknowledged is shoddy at best on good days, but because my sad self is going in for foot surgery on Thursday, I'm scared shitless that I'm going to be spending the next month holding subway poles for dear life.  (Here's where I pretend I am laughing about my "oh wouldn't it be hilarious if I needed foot surgery hahahaha" quip from a few months ago, and the part where I would appreciate you keeping your "You'll never get out of Methodist alive!" remarks to yourselves).

Anyway, consider this a personal request from the short girl with the surgical boot and cane: Give me your seat.  Seriously.  Please.  But if I don't see you on the other side of the twilight anesthesia and painkillers, it's been a riot, folks.