Today is  one of my favorites birthdays. Being a somewhat reclusive Writer, I keep a small tight, global crowd. In New York City, I’ve got a crew of three. Brooklyn gets a special shout out in the squad, and today is his birthday.

Considering that I was dumping him around this time last year, it deserves even more merit that tonight I’ll take him to a swank midtown restaurant and likely drop around five bills.

I think part of what has made dating so weak to me is the ghost effect that seems to be the metrosexual trend of the 21st century. My husband did the same thing. And while I appreciate being left alone, there’s a unique level of disappointment accepting not only 1. I made a shit choice with questionable create but also 2. We can’t even tolerate each other enough to be civil after the fact.

Unless your Brooklyn. Then not only do we somehow manage to stay civil, we also become best friends. And while a lot of people would say, “Why aren’t you back together by now?”, the pocket full of creatures that know me never would.  My artist ass just wouldn’t have it.

I’m super forgiving, I think forgiveness is important – that doesn’t mean I’m trying to get back with you. But tonight I’ll take Anthony to dinner and speak dodgy Italian to him while he drinks whiskey with a smile that shines from his eyes and shakes his head at me across the table.

I’ve learned that one of life’s greatest blessings is knowing who your people are, and who will always be around.

The favorites, I reckon.