#22 of 365: Robin G.
Crater Lake gift shop Assistant Manager. You'd renamed yourself Robin and you were birdlike - tiny, sharp-featured, alert. You suffered little nonsense, but I'm glad I knew your warm, witty side. Hope your hands are staying warm.
#21 of 365: Carrie O.
You managed the Pier 1 where I worked post-college. I saw your wedding picture once; you were fresh, pretty. 20 years later, your helmet perm and frumpy wardrobe showed me everything I never wanted to become.
While watching Alton Brown make tzatziki sauce on Good Eats:
Me: There are a bunch of places to get Greek yogurt around here.
Wee: Made with the milk of 70 virgins!
Wee: OK. That's not true at all.
Wee: (Pause.) And I guess virgins don't have milk.
They cancelled the Golden Globes. CANCELLED!! THE GOLDEN GLOBES!!!!
Someone hand me a paper bag; I think I'm hyperventilating. Damn you, Writer's Strike! I mean, I want the writers to have the moneys and all - but shit, man, now they're messing with my awards show season, and that's just wrong in all the ways that wrong can be.
Me (from hallway outside of Bill's office): I wonder where I put the ornament box?
Bill: Man moves a dog's face with a banana patch!
Bill: Perhaps you put it back in the garage.
#20 of 365: Susie M.
We were six years old, sitting atop the wall at the Sacred Heart playground, when you taught me how to smoke. Aged six! We moved shortly afterward, and I'm glad. That friendship was headed nowhere good.
OK, it's time to get back on the x365 bandwagon, I think. Next one's easy...
#19 of 365: Mrs. Collier (6th grade)
You had a great sense of humor. You'd throw chalk and erasers at class disruptors, and every new class rule was announced as "rule #409". You also taught gym class; I loved how strong you seemed.