Ode to Michael Rosenberg

I'm on the phone with the real Michael Rosenberg, who called me to ask why he's not on the blog.

So I'm putting him on the blog.

I should also mention that when I met him 10 years ago, it wasn't exactly love at first sight like it was with my girlfriends, but it was something at first sight as evidenced by the fact that -- as Michael likes to remind me of at least a few times a month -- we "did it." (One of things I love about Michael even though I roll my eyes when he does it is that he likes to use words and phrases from the 1970s such as "did it" and "dynamite") We no longer "do it" -- and have not for many, many years -- but we've remained dear friends, save for a year and a half when I didn't talk to him because I thought he was stalking me. It turned out he was just calling me occasionally to say hello, but I tended to be a bit drama queen-y back in those days.

Michael is my most favorite person in the world to yell at and to quote lines from Annie Hall with -- two very important qualities that one should look for when choosing friends. The only real issue I have with him nowadays is that sometimes when he calls, he doesn't leave a message, even though I know he's called because his name comes up on caller ID. However, after yelling at him enough times about this, he's gotten better and now leaves messages saying "I wasn't going to leave a message, but I know you'd yell at me if I didn't."

Anyway, this blog entry is for you, Michael.

I love you.

Even when I'm yelling at you.