Poop...yep, I said it

There are some people that feel entitled to everything they come across. There is one thing in common among all these people...they do not pick up after their dog.

Nothing irritates me more than walking behind someone that lets their abnormally giant Great Dane poop in front of my building and then saunter off like they've got somewhere better to be and that they have the God given right to pass up their responsibility of pooper-scooper-dum.

I have to admit, that there are times, that I will call these people out and act like a lunatic, yelling at them while they hurriedly walk away.

"Buddy, don't worry. I'm behind you with bags just so that I can clean up your dog's poop so our entire city doesn't become over run by rats."

Ugh...some people.

I think part of the reason why I am so sensitive about this, is because I have been on the receiving end of poop.

What do I mean by this? Well, I'll tell you.

My first poop experience was three years ago. Flaunting a brand new pair of Cole Haan heels, I pranced to the EL, so excited that I could finally show off my new investment.

Once I got on the EL, I noticed a foul smell. I looked around for the typical unkempt person that you always make a b-line from once you see, but there was no such person in sight. A stinky baby maybe? Not so much...

I slowly began to work my way over to the other side of the car, when I noticed that the smell was following me and that people were staring at me, and not to admire my new shoes.

"Crap," I thought...literally. All over my shoes. Covering the sides of the beautiful polished leather. Even though I was four stops away from my work, I jetted off that train like my ass was on fire.

Second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth time (yes, it has happened to me that many times), I have been knee deep in some irresponsible owner's issue. Except now, it's my issue.

In an effort to de-poop myself, I have gone so far as to hose myself off in some random person's yard, hoping that they will have sympathy for me and not call the police on some girl that looks like she could be homeless.

Why have a dog when you can't pick up after him/her? It just doesn't make sense to me. Don't people know that dog poop is a rat's delicacy? At night, they migrate towards their favorite dessert and I certainly don't want it to be anywhere near my home.

I have decided that the "Please pick up after your pet" signs are no longer working. Instead, I am going to begin posting signs that say, "Pick up your dog's poop, otherwise you will be immediately labeled as an irresponsible asshole." Or maybe we could punish them by letting them live a day in the life of Lauren - the girl that perpetually steps in poop. I bet they will think twice after that.

But I really want to know, has this ever happened to you? Or am I the only unfortunate one? (Please don't make me feel bad about myself:)

Patience my dear, patience

ME - "Guido, buddy, give me a few minutes. Actually, give me a few hours."

CANE - "Mom, I'm ready to party (panting profously). Look around you...I smell bones, rawhide, bacon, grass, poop and ENERGY (saying at a furiously fast rate). It's time to rage!!!"

ME - "Gui...the only people outside right now are those nut jobs that decide to go run five miles before the sun comes up. And let me tell you, I refuse to be one of those people. I will not step out of this house until the sun hits the sky like a big pizza pie (Italian reference that only an Italian can make)."

CANE - "Mom, I hate you. I am going to pout now."

ME - "Guido, you'll get over it once you turn 20, now go back to sleep."

I am a nice, positive person...most of the time. The only time this ever changes is when I don't sleep. In fact, when I miss out on sleep I get easily agitated and turn kujo on my nearest and dearest. My sleeping never used to be an issue. I would always manage to get my ten hour minimum (don't be jealous).

But ever since my munchkin came along, I have been on edge. Not anything having to do with him directly, just the fact that I get hourly urges to put him on A.D.D. medication, so that he can chill out for a bit.

I have been utterly perplexed on how to go on with life and business when I cannot think through my foggy headed sleep deprivation. I have been walking around with no makeup on, with shorts on that look like Umbros and my hair slopped on top of my head in a soaking wet heap. The idea of waking up 20 minutes earlier is just not an option.

There are few people that can wake me up at 4 a.m. but when my little furry dust mop wakes me up to go to the bathroom for the 20th time, I can't help but love him.

Fast forward six hours.

I don't hear Guido.

He must be sleeping.

"Sleep is for suckers mom."

I search around my house until I find him chewing on my favorite (not cheap) hallway rug. From there, he went on a single handed kamikaze mission destroying my shag rug, Louis XIV refinished vintage armchair and armoire that I labored 2 straight days redoing.

They say that puppies are cute for a reason but Gui better start batting his eyelashes STAT because he is slowly ruining my perfect home aesthetic. (if he attacks my pillow collection, he's getting shipped back to Wisconsin)

It's moments like these when you have to call on your patience. My patience would probably have been greater if I had more sleep but the only advice I can give is to take that little munchkin and get a good sniff of his puppy goodness. I love Guido even if he kills everything pretty in my house because he will make so many more beautiful memories fore the rest of his life.

Grandma Lucy

If you meet Grandma Lucy, you are one of the lucky few.

She is frank. Candid. Hilarious. Absurd. And awesome.

To know Grandma Lucy, is to adore her.

Everytime I am around her, I wish that I could take those memories and store them in the vault of my mind where the most treasured, and hysterical moments live on.

My grandma is a reality TV junky, Buffalo soothsayer and my improv hero.

This post may be a bit chaotic in structure, but I just want to give you a pleasurable sampling of Grandma Lucy-isms.

When I went to college, my grandma called me and briefed me on what to do and not to do while in the throws of my crazy new environment. Her most memorable piece of advice went something like the following.

"OK, so I was watching 20/20 and you really need to be careful about people slipping stuff in your drinks. One pill and next thing you know it, you're face down with your a** up in the air. Those guys are sons of a bit****."

Point taken Lucy.

Another legacy grandma passed on, was created on Christmas Eve two years ago. My grandma has never been the best driver but she took it to a whole new level that day. My dad was sitting in the living room (ironically, underneath our family portrait) reading a magazine. About to doze off, my dad was awakened by my grandma crashing through the garage into the living room where the family portrait almost decapated him. When my grandma emerged from the car, the only thing she muttered to my dad was, "I think someone stole my checkbook."

My grandma loves to tell my aunt to go to hell and about what celebrities are annoying her that day. Lately she has it out for Katherine Heigl.  Don't ask me why.

When I call her for our weekly conversation, my grandma has already memorized the obituaries for that week and what Italian is getting married, divorced or  moving to his mistresses home.

Lucy stays up until 3 a.m. and for some reason, takes it upon herself to repeatedly wake up my mother and I to see if we want to watch Nancy Grace at 2 a.m. 

My family recently went to the Turks and Caicos, and Grandma Lucy was gaming to go. She was very perplexed as to what swimsuit to buy, but she finally decided on a polka dot tankini. Instead of worrying about showing too much skin, she asked my aunt if she looked too "matronly." Gotta love the Italians.

I am truly blessed to have a family with a sense of humor, and even more blessed to have a family obsessed with dogs. I am proud to call Lucy my grandma and hope I can live up to her standards as the coolest grandma on earth.