If it is: Happy birthday, David. I barely know you in real life, but it doesn't feel that way at all. You, my dear, are a good man, the kind of man the world is sadly lacking in. I love the way you write, I love your frightening obsession with Paula Abdul, I love your smile, I love the music you listen to and the devotion you hold for the causes that concern you. I love that I could call you anytime, for anything, if I needed it, even though we've only ever spent a few hours in the real world together, because you are my friend, for some inexplicable reason. I love that you make me see things from another point of view, and that even though our points of view often differ, you make it so easy to understand where you're coming from and why. I learn a little something from you, time to time. I love that, of all people, you read this silly little blog. I mean, it's not like you have kids, or periods, or anything that I go on and on endlessly about. You make me feel interesting. It's the yous out there that make me keep this blog going.
And, um, I love that you're a Leo. Meeee. Oooooow.
So, happy birthday, my friend. I hope you have ice cream.
If it's not: Cut and paste this for when it is.