Twenty Days Late

Somehow I managed, at the beginning of this month, not to mark the birthday of my dear friend Kenny Bolden.  He turned 45 on March 2, and I didn't give him a shout out!

A word about Ken Bolden, if I may:

Even if he weren't my very own personal social director, I'd still love him.  No, really.  If it weren't for this man I'd likely not have any sort of social life whatsoever.  My social life pretty much consists of me saying to Ken, "What am I doing this week," and him listing all the cool stuff he's come up with or knows about that's going on in the city.  I just nod my head and he tells me where and when to appear.

But the thing about Ken Bolden is that he's ever so much more than that; he's an incredibly giving and wonderful friend - such a blessing in my life.  He's better about propping up my self-esteem than I'll ever be.  I don't really have the words to encompass his kindness - it'll just have to suffice to say that he's one of the most genuinely caring and selfless people I know.  New York would be a bit of a torture without him.

And the best part about Ken is that it's sooo easy to make him blush.  If, by chance, he were to Google himself and find this entry in my journal (as I don't believe he's a regular reader), he would just about die of embarrassment.  Which would tickle me no end.  Talk to him about sex, sometime, too.  Just too funny.

So anyway, please give a hand to my delightful and treasured friend, Ken Bolden.