Monday, January 14, 2008
In other transitions I bade farewell to my zen guru therapist today in a cloud of sweetgrass smoke. I am formally hereby adjudged sane: look out, y'all! Danger, danger! No, seriously, I'm fine now and actually, I'm enjoying it. Being sort of generally happy is actually easier than being miserable all the time (who knew?) and so I'm striking out on my own, away from my therapist. This is actually pretty cool and I'm pleased with myself.
I know all this good news gets wearing, so I do have a lovely snippet of relatively bad or at least significantly gross news for you - guess what Django ate this weekend? Hint: He's not going to get pregnant any time soon. Yes, that's right - Django ate one and a half tubes of Gynol II, which is to say, nonoxynol 9 containing spermicidal gel! Can we have a hand of applause for the springer spaniel who knows what he likes? He apparently ate the entire metal tubes with contents, plastic lids and all, which is doubly amazing when you know, as I do, that most people (at least those interviewed in a highly scientific study taken over many years observation, say no more) do not, um, like the taste of that stuff. Apparently it makes your lips a little numb too, but after close observation, I am happy to report that, as usual, it didn't affect Django one iota. Which is really good, because I sure as hell didn't want to have that conversation with the vet