Warning: This Post Is About Poo. No, Not Mine.

I've been on a halfhearted excercise kick lately, mostly involving not getting up at 6 AM to do a Pilates DVD. I like the Pilates, it's fun, and my tummy already feels a bit tighter, but I am just not a morning person.

I think I like Pilates because, every once in a while, the lady up on the screen tells me to roll back and forth on my back for a while, which is fun, and actually seems to be good exercise. I'm totally enjoying it.

The problem with it, though, is that it really offers nothing in the way of aerobic exercise, something I'm totally lacking in my day-to-day routine of sitting on my ass staring at a compuer screen and then sitting on my ass staring at the television. And eating; I forgot to mention eating.

So, the Husbear (yeah, that's his new name. As Sars would say, I suppose, learn it, live it, love it) and I have started taking walks together around our apartment complex several times a week. It's been really hot, so we've been trying to walk late, but we still return all slicked with sweat.

So, I'm finally getting to the point here:

WHY DON'T YOU FUCKERS PICK UP AFTER YOUR DOGS?

Seriously, there's shit EVERYWHERE. We have to look out for it every time we step off the sidewalk, which is fairly often, as the sidewalk doesn't run around the perimeter of the complex.

Seriously, you people are GROSS.

Thank you for your patience.