Can’t Keep it In

I never liked Dick Van Dyke. I watched the show on Nick at Nite, surely, but my affection was always reserved for Laura Petrie. And I firmly believe that his campy presence ruined the Golden Girls, and for that, I’ve hated him forever, and would you ever put him
with Bea Arthur? Of course not.

It’s no surprise, then, that when he told me via Johnson and Johnson, I think, that I should never stick anything smaller than my elbow in my ear, that I ignored him. Because, duh, everyone knows that elbows can’t reach ears, and I don’t care if that was your point. I had an intensely itchy ear last night, and because I was alone, I rooted around with a Q-tip in there, and I think I jammed a ball of wax the size of my coffee table even deeper in there. I’m blaming Dick. Has anyone ever had their ears candled, other than Sarah Silverman?

I’m talking about earwax because I’m having trouble talking about what happened today, as I am still thoroughly traumatized. SunnyDog exacted the most divine revenge for the Poop Incident today, and I can’t get over it, and I don’t know anyone who could, frankly. Since I’ve had her, I’ve had to remove an alarming number of toxic, foul and completely bizarre items from the clenches of her sweet little lips. Some of the more offensive items include cigarette butts with greasy pink lipstick lining the filter, discarded pre-chewed gum of all kinds, rotting fast food, various and sundry dead insect and animal carcasses, and of course, the toad of death.

But this. Oh God, dude, I can’t even say it. Deep breaths now.

I pulled a used condom from Sunny’s lips today. A recently used condom. With splooge.

Are you dead yet? Because I’m writing this from beyond the grave.

I brought her to work today, and when I took her for a walk in the back parking lot, she picked it up, and I had acted quickly before I even knew what it was until (OH MY GOD) it emptied on my hand. Repeat, it EMPTIED ON MY HAND. She picked it up from the bottom, and someone else’s STUFF spilled on my fingers all slippery and freaky-like, and it was the worst thing that I’ve ever handled ever and I’m not sure I can go on. And oh, of course, even after the spillage, the condom was STILL IN HER MOUTH, so I had to fish around in there and pluck the rest of the condom along with, I hasten to add – because I cannot sit with this knowledge by myself – A STRANGER’S SEMEN ONCE AGAIN.

It wasn’t an old condom. It wasn’t even dirty. It was RECENTLY USED BY SOMEONE IN OUR BACK PARKING LOT PLEASE SAVE ME NOW.

Please help me.

In other, brighter news, my crush on Ryan Star is back on, baby. Yes, yes, he may move about like a four-year old on a precariously placed ladder, and is kind of an asshole and FINE, whatever, but dude, that song. The permanent five o’clock shadow. The hair. Hell, even the eyeliner.

Anything to get me to stop thinking about the splooge. Anything.

*Cat Stevens

40 comments September 12th, 2006