On the other hand, Winston, the little gay, Diva, Bi-Polar, Son-of-a-bitch remains traumatized. He is now throwing up for no apparent reason. He shivers all of the time though he constantly wears his sweater, this one with the words "Fundamentalist have different views of gay sex --- mostly on the Internet or on Video."
He hides under the bed if anyone knocks on the door.
He tries to pick fights with Goddess.
Yesterday we gave him Puppy Prozac and have high hopes.
We'll see.
Last night ended up being a beautiful evening. I threw steaks on the grill and baked potatoes. Sarah made the most colorful of salads. I built a fire and listened to the waves breaking in the distance. Brilliant stars shown in a black sky. There was a calm after the storm.
It's been quite the year.
Sarah and I are on the eve of our first wedding anniversary. Since then we've traveled a lot, started a new business with Sean and Wen, took a road trip with the Carnival of Friends, serve as hosts for a book club at our house, and had Winston's balls cut off.
(The Judge did not asked to actually see the wacked balls as evidence though I had them in a baggie just in case. He did ask to see the receipt however which I provided.)
But the case is closed and we can look forward to celebrating happier things.
I gotta go ...
Winston, the little gay dog, has just overdosed on the Puppy Prozac and has barricaded himself under the bed by building a wall of tennis balls, though it is nicely decorated with throw pillows, candles and he's listening to Barry Manilow sing "I write the songs."
I'm going to kill that little Diva son-of-a-bitch.
