Good Morning, George! Happy Birthday!

Georgie Porgie, puddin' and pie

Kissed the girls and made them cry

When the boys came out to play

Georgie Porgie ran away

That is what I used to say to my friend George whenever I called him or saw him or hugged him. Until about a month ago when I thought about it for a second and realized it actually isn't a very nice nursery rhyme. That Georgie Porgie guy is kind of douche nozzle. And my friend George? He's anything but.

George and I have known each other since the 3rd grade and I like to tell people that I spent a lot of time that year bouncing basketballs off of his head. For fun. But actually? I did that in 7th grade. When I knew better. My next memory of George is when he showed up on the first day of school in tenth grade with a present he'd brought back for me from his summer abroad in Greece. It was a t-shirt with dirty words on the front. My father hated it. I wore it to school once and got in trouble. I wish I still had it because I could totally get away with it now.

George is the kind of friend who, when you are ill with food poisoning, will drive over to your apartment with 7-Up and toilet paper and feed you chips of ice and hold a cold cloth to your feverish head and assure you that you are actually not dying. If ever you feel like you're losing your shit and you think the world is caving in and you are ready to give up, George is the friend who will firmly tell you to calm the f*ck down because you are not losing your shit, the world is not caving in, and when all is said and done you will be stronger and happier than you've ever been. And you believe him because he sounds so sure of you. George is the kind of friend who brings you souvenirs when he goes on vacation and burns you CD's of your favorite songs and lets you put labels on all of his belongings, just because he knows it makes you laugh. He's the kind of friend who will plan a birthday party for you that involves a trip out of town to a place you've never been, all your friends in tow, and money to spend while you're there. And he'll even invite your jerk-off boyfriend who he (rightly) can't stand. George is loyal and kind, funny and smart, and he stands up for himself. When things go wrong, he makes you talk it out and if you lie and pretend like everything is ok, he knows you're lying and convinces you that he will still love you, love you even more actually, if you'll just tell the truth.

George moved to New York in 2005. When I moved to the city in 2007, he met me at the airport, even though he didn't have a car and had to ride twelve different trains and spend a million dollars to do it, he met me at the airport and spent my first weekend in the city with me, so I wouldn't be afraid. I can be a big scaredy cat sometimes, but George is the kind of person who encourages bravery. So he met me at the airport and spent the weekend with me and bought me a subway map and showed me all around town. We rode the Staten Island Ferry and said hello to Lady Liberty. We wandered around the East Village with a freezing wind that blew like hot sand in our faces. He took me to Grand Central Station, made me keep my eyes closed until we were standing in the very middle of the action so that I would be surprised when I saw the gorgeous lights and constellations on the ceiling of that truly grand train station. He spent the whole weekend with me despite the fact that my bathtub was in the kitchen and the toilet was in a small closet next to the bed, the door nothing more than a set of venetian blinds. (YAY FOR NEW YORK APARTMENTS.) On subsequent weekends he took me to see live bands and he showed me around Long Island and took me to dinner and when I went back to Los Angeles to get my husband, George stored all my crap, ALL MY CRAP, in his bedroom for two weeks until I could move it into my new apartment, so that I wouldn't have to pay for storage.

These things are but a fraction of the things George will do to show his love. He is a remarkable man. A man who goes above and beyond to take care of the people he loves. If you know George, if you have the opportunity to become his friend, you are blessed.

I am blessed.

George, Happy Birthday. I love you forever.