#25, Blas.

Blas. Blas Espino. I had a gigantic crush on you during the first few months i knew you. We worked in the same room in the back of the art store. You were short, but strikingly handsome, and the only problem was, you sort of knew it. We flirted a lot, innocently, over the years. You had a penchant for sketching, and introduced me to Egon Schiele (thank you). Hope you are successful now; you definitely deserve to be with all that talent. One of my best friends also knew you and adored you back in those days; we only recently discovered this. Heartbreaker!

#24, Ronnie.

Aw, Ronnie. It breaks my heart to think of you! You had a crush on me when we worked together at the art store. When they introduced the "employee wall", and you put your painting up, i couldn't believe how good it was. You had a bird-like face, and a long, blonde ponytail. You were sort of a stoner hippy, always wearing corduroys, and such a sweetheart. You wrote me the first (and only?) love note i ever got, even though it was more of a tortured pouring out of your heart after i told you i couldn't go out with you. I was in a self-hating time in my life, to the extreme, and i just couldn't believe that anyone could or would ever seriously like me (i'd been burned a lot in the past). It was really hard to have to tell you that. Last i saw you, years ago, you'd bought a small drum machine and were moving to Oregon. I never paid you the sixty bucks for the painting, which i still have, until a few months ago when i looked you up online. It was nice to find you again, Ronnie. Hope life treats you well.

#23, Winthrop.

The receptionist for awhile at the art store. Winthrop reminded me of R. Crumb mixed with John Waters, but without any of the latter's smiles or sarcastic bent; he was extremely quiet and deadpan, which made his in-store announcements very interesting, and completely inaudible. Pretty funny, actually, that he worked there that long. He was ill, with something long-term, and was always eating soup from a box. Tomato, Butternut Squash, Cream of Broccoli. His diet was very specific. He used to pull on my ponytail, and it drove me nuts. Allison and i would sometimes call up the radio station and request "Owner of a Lonely Heart" and dedicate it to him, which was not very nice now that i think about it. It was really all in good fun. He was a pretty well-established cartoonist, i found out later, and the last time i saw him he was giving someone an acoustic guitar lesson in a park in Berkeley.

#22, Melody.

Melody, without you i never would have been introduced to Nat, and for that i forever thank you.

Melody was a girl i worked with at the art store. She had a French surname i can't remember. I had a huge crush on her- idolized her, even. She had almost a Clara Bow thing going' on: short, dark curly hair and smoky eyes. She was stoned a lot, and had a lot of really cool friends. She was always going out to a club at night, or having a rockin' party on the weekend. Everyone liked Melody, even the hip-hop guys up in the graphics department who would smoke weed with her in her van in the parking lot. Once she spent all afternoon at work listening to the radio to try and win Cure tickets. Nat adored her like a puppydog, but she had a long-time boyfriend, so one day she said to me, "You know, you should really meet my friend Nat, you guys have so much in common!" and the rest is history. I think we both miss her very much. She was in a band called "Bleak" for awhile, then moved to New Jersey with her new boyfriend Brock (who had spiky hair quite similar to Nat's!). Melody, where art thou?

#21, Smitty, the other Allison.

Wow. What can i say about her? Thin, blonde, straight hair. Small, girly face, but a raunchy attitude and a sly laugh to match. Always stirring up trouble. Liked hamsters, and Britney Spears. Also: reading true crime novels and listening to The Dwarves(link is not safe for work!). She was a hard girl to figure out. Once a friend of hers got into a fistfight, and ended up with a bloody nose. Allison painted a portrait of his haggard face on a Kleenex, with his own blood. The rust-colored result sat on a frame on her desk in the Ordering Department, until one day i confessed that i had to have it. She instead painted me a mock duplicate, using, alas, red and brown paint. I still have it, though.
Once we went to the Ivy Room (bar) for a long lunch hour. We drank rum and cokes? i think, and the waitress was ancient, the bottles dusty. She and i were one of the few people who went to work on the morning of September 11th, and only a sparse few customers wavered in and out of the store in a daze. We all had nothing to do, really, so she and i made a run to get everyone bagels, and drove around aimlessly for awhile smoking cigarettes first. We weren't even "friends", really, but it just seemed like the thing to do. Allison was alright.

#20, Allison.

You had red hair, a plump face, and a piercing off to the side between your nose and upper lip, which normally i can't stand but it fit you, somehow. You were hired after a trade show, during a brief period of success within Amsterdam Art. Marketing, or advertising, something like that. You called me "The Countess", because i was the gothy accountants receivable girl. I actually liked that nickname! You had a brassy, '50s vibe, and where the hell are you now? You were fun, girl.

#19, Rob.

Rob. You were so good at making my best friend sad. You would bounce around the corner, with your big smile squinching up your eyes, blonde curls springing and sproinging. Your tiny (deaf) dog Rosebird, was always right behind. You knew everyone, and everyone knew you. You were everybody's friend. Only, you didn't know how to treat people who actually cared about you, and it would hurt them to hell. I watched, time and time again, as you broke her heart. But you were so damned nice to the rest of the world. Apparently, you were an excellent painter, and a recovering alcoholic who finally fell off the wagon. Sometimes you still call her in the middle of the night, and i wonder who the hell you really are.

#18, Oscar.

Oscar was a "homeless" man who always sat on a couple of milk crates next to the flower shop, smiling and saying "hi" to people as they walked by. Every day, when i got to work, Oscar would say "how are you" in his particular way, always the same. He made a lot of money, just sitting there all day, and sometimes during the holidays he would guard the shop for us overnight, when we had too much on display to bring inside. Turns out he had a house, a car, and a wife! Strange.

#17, Leslie Rose.

Leslie was our "manager" at The Meadows. She was the best person we could have asked for for that particular job. Sweet and accommodating, with a warm smile and quick to laugh. She was somewhat big-boned, but very feminine, and had a funny way of rolling her eyes and being just the right amount of dramatic. plain hair always back in a ponytail, and jeans... Leslie bought us special cups in the winter to keep our constant cups of tea warm, and even a space heater one particularly cold holiday season (we worked outside). She was caring and generous, and just an all-around lovely person. She ended up marrying a modern-day professional silver prospector named Stuart, and moving to Winnemucca, Nevada, to a street named Moon Lane, then later all the way to Indonesia. Leslie! We were so happy for you.

#16, Felix.

Felix! You were so rad. Skinny skinny, with dark skin and glasses, and sort of bad teeth that made your face absolutely adorable. You always wanted irises, with some solid aster and eucalyptus. One day you found out i liked Station To Station, and you were ecstatic! Then we talked about Siouxsie Sioux, and you jumped up and down while turning in a circle and singing "Spellbound". This is one of my absolute favorite memories. Later, we found out that your aunt was a famous(ly barefoot) blues singer-Cesaria Evora-and you didn't want to talk about it! Maybe it embarrassed you. You were too cool for words, Felix. I miss ya.

#15, Ani.

You made custom cakes, and came by to visit us girls at the flower shop quite often. We were always thrilled to see you. One day you went to the doctor and found out your heart had a missing beat, which was why you were always sighing. Your husband was a jazz musician, and actually had an extra heartbeat! This was kismet for sure, we all decided. You were short and wore pretty fabrics; always had eyeglasses on and usually a big pair of lovely elephant earrings; a curiously low and strenuous voice. Sometimes still, when i sigh for no reason, i think of you.

#14, Jamie.

You were a flower shop customer. Tall, genteel, coffee-colored skin and glasses. Usually wearing a dress shirt and slacks, carrying shopping bags of some sort. Always smiling and polite, maybe just a little bit reserved. Eventually we got to the point where you would wait for me to be ready (or just give me the look when i was helping someone), and tell me "you know what to do", heading off to put your bags in the car. Fifty bucks tops, something big and beautiful; colorful. I always enjoyed making your arrangements. One night Nat and i went to see Hilary Hahn perform at Zellerbach Hall on campus, and i saw you there! We were both waiting for our dates to come back from the restroom. You seemed so astonished to see me there! I guess you never know who's gonna like classical music. A few weeks later, you came to me at work and offered me two tickets to see Baaba Maal perform (again at Zellerbach), because you couldn't make it. "Senegalese pop music?" i thought. "Hm, why not!" We went, and had an fantastic time. So, thank you.
I miss you Jamie!

#13, Rachel.

Rachel was my good childhood friend, as sweet as the summer days were long. The backyard of her house shared a fence with the one around our apartment building, and i suppose one day our parents introduced the 2 young girls who were probably always curiously watching each other play.
One afternoon my sister and i were over at her house, and we were all jumping on the bed in her room. I remember also playing dress-up. i couldn't find a particular shoe's mate, so my sister came over to the closet to help me find it. When we turned around, Rachel was gone. Just... gone. We called her name timidly, looked in the hall, nothing. Then we heard the screaming and yelling. I remember feeling sick to my stomach as we crept over to the open window near the bed, and looked over the sill. She had fallen right out the window, down two stories, landing flat on her face. A pool of blood was spreading out around her head. Her mom was screaming. i think my sister and i ran out of the house and back to our apartment. i remember a helicopter taking Rachel away, and we never saw her again. They moved later that year. i heard later that she was "fine". What is "fine", anyway?

#12, my "Uncle" Ulysses.

Ulysses lived across the courtyard from us when i was very little. He had darkish skin, stubbly facial hair, was very tall and thin and quite handsome, if i recall correctly. i always remember him wearing white. He had a sitar, and tons of records. There was always incense burning on a low table in his apartment, usually a stick stuck in a stone from the beach, one of those that is worn full of holes from decades of swirling around in the ocean. He died of AIDS in '82, i think, or maybe it was '83. At the end he wore one of those white masks you see painters wearing, and once he fainted in middle of the courtyard. My mom was his really good friend, and she took us all over to say goodbye to him "for the last time". He was the first person i knew who died. Sometimes i wish he had never gone away of course. We would have been pen pals, and he would have traveled the world, sending me exotic postcards.

#11 (Mama) Erika.

You were the senior lady at the flower shop when i started. You wore cowboy boots, overalls, and a cowboy hat with (i think) a snakeskin on it. You were a reformed woman; a former party-er and now a Christian and a mother of 3 lovely little girls. Tall and thin. Your husband was somewhat unimpressive, and we all wished better for you. But that was the thing about you: better was not an option. You always made the best of what life gave you. You worked hard. You were honest, and one of the nicest people i'll ever meet. We had a lot of the same tastes in music. You were glad that i liked '80s music, and would listen to Tom Petty. You taught me a lot of life lessons, even if you don't know it. I know money was always tight for you, and sometimes i want to send you money anonymously. I may even do that one day. Always enjoy seeing you when i visit Berkeley, and i hope that you never leave the flower shop, even though i know someday you will.

#10, Barbara.

Barbara. You and your husband (Joe) actually stopped to offer me a ride when i was late for work one day. I was a sweaty, angry, "goth" girl, and you were a pleasant, plump, older couple with the nicest smiles i had ever seen. Completely taken aback, and disarmed, i climbed in. You said you'd recognized me from the flower shop and were heading up that way. I was so grateful, and from then on we were great friends. You would often come by and see me while Joe parked the car, with your somewhat struggling gait, wearing color-coordinated outfits and smelling of powder and perfume. You always had such lovely lapel pins, and one day i complimented you on a particular one, a bee. You immediately began to unpin it, to give it to me. I protested, but you were firm. I wore it all that day, and in the days since, i have worn the dozen or so others that you gave to me over the few years we lived in the same city. You always said that you saw a kindred spirit in me, and i couldn't agree more. I hope you are well. Thank you (both) for everything.

#9, Doctor _____?

I will have to ask my mom if she remembers his name. We later described him as "dreamy", because he absolutely was the most handsome doctor we had (or have!) ever seen. He was young, tallish, with chiseled features and lovely brown hair and eyes. A kind smile. I was seven, and had just shattered my elbow, which required "a specialist". We sat in the waiting room for hours, and it turned out to be him. Totally worth it! He was so caring afterwards, asking me repeatedly if i was alright. And he fixed my elbow up like a charm. "The $8,000 Elbow", we call it. Thanks, Doc!

#8, Mrs. Wyatt.

I almost hate to give Mrs. (Ms.?) Wyatt number eight, as it's my favorite number. She was a tiny, evil old woman who ran the after-school care at LeConte. (This is where i first remember ever eating "Bumps on a Log", ugh!)
She had a shock of white hair and a mean, wrinkled, dark brown face. She always wore puritanical dresses with a belt, which was what she used to hit us with. 16 years later, when i was working at an art store in the same city, i was on a lunch break and saw someone who looked like her pushing a shopping cart full of aluminum cans. My stomach dropped and my breath left my chest. It was actually her. We walked right by each other, and i instantly felt like a 7-year-old girl again, certain that she recognized me and was going to screw her face up into mine and tell me how awful me and my brother and sister were.
She didn't see me or say a word, just shuffled by mumbling to herself... I remember thinking that even she didn't deserve a life like that.

#7, Ron.

Ron was a school counselor at LeConte. He was a huge black man with a booming voice and a sweet disposition, and for some reason i always think of him in shorts and a big T-shirt. Some things i remember about Ron:
Once, after a rain, i cried profusely at the boys who were smashing the worms that had crawled out from the grass onto the concrete playground. Ron put his arm around my shoulder and led me away, and told me just to ignore those boys.
Once, he was absent for a few days, and we found out that he had stepped on a rusty nail while patrolling the yard during recess. Everyone talked about it for days, and we all thought he might never come back: "tetanus shot" sounds like a death sentence when you are young.
When i broke my elbow at the age of seven, i was out of school for a couple of weeks and all of my classmates made me "Get Well Soon" cards. For some reason, Ron was chosen as the ambassador with the mission of bringing these cards to me at home. I remember i was lying in my parents' bed in our apartment, it was kind of dark in the room, and he was talking so quietly and smiling so much. I was so awed to have him in my home!

#6, Mr. Irish.

So for some reason i'm on a school-teacher kick.
Mr. Irish was quite possibly the most awesome elementary school teacher ever. Anywhere. I had him for 3rd grade. His biggest (no pun intended) claim to fame were his size thirteen feet! They may have even been larger, i'm not sure. He was sort of a gigantic gentle giant, who always knew how to have fun and engage the class. Although i think it was in his class that we dissected a squid, and then cooked it in the microwave and ate it with ketchup. I was very sad that he allowed this to happen. He later died fairly young, of a heart attack (was i still in school then?), and pretty much everyone in the community mourned the tragedy. We loved you, Mr. Irish!

#5, Mr. Harbin.

Quite a change from kindergarten. Mr. Harbin was my 1st grade teacher at LeConte Elementary School in Berkeley, CA. His face was always red with anger, and he had an extremely shiny (and red) balding pate. He was thin and wore glasses, and had a terrible habit of smacking the backs of our knuckles with a yardstick when he thought we were misbehavin'. Not a fun year. Our backs sure were straight, though.

#4, Mrs. Frost.

Mrs. Frost was my adorable kindergarten teacher. She was ancient, and spoke so quietly that once she asked me to do something and i didn't understand (hear) her, but i was such a shy kid that i was afraid to ask her to repeat herself. I went off and picked up some random object, and brought it back to her. She was so sweet about it, but i remember a puzzled look in her eyes as i walked away. She wore glasses and had a pile of soft, white, wavy hair stacked on top of her head. i couldn't have asked for a kinder, gentler introduction to public school life. She always felt like the grandmother i never really had.

#3, Kurt.

Kurt was one of the loves of my life. I was fifteen and he was twenty-five, i think. Much older than me, but we were kindred spirits. He was the first person i ever thought of as a "soul mate". Light blue eyes and raggedy blonde hair. Torn up jeans and flannels. In a band, i think. He drove an automatic minivan, and would always drive with his left foot up on the seat, completely relaxed. Once we listened to a Cantonese radio station on the way to Safeway to buy beer, because he swore to me that after a while we would begin to understand it, that that was how language worked. And you know what? After a while we did.
Our whole relationship was kinda like that, actually. We had a lot between us that was unspoken. We shared many many great silences together; whole afternoons would pass by without either one of us saying much. We both liked Smarties and listening to Nirvana. Once he wrote a song about me on the spot, sitting in the sunshine on the front steps of my mom's house. He played it on acoustic guitar and i think someone else was there. Normally that would have embarrassed me, but it made me feel so good instead. It was weird to be around someone and not feel shy. That was the greatest gift he ever gave me.
One night at the end of that summer, he kissed me under a flagpole. We were both drunk and it was awkward; there was not much feeling in that kiss, and i think that started the end of it all. He probably realized that i was too young, and i probably realized that it would never happen. I'm pretty sure he had slept with my older sister and some of her friends, anyway.
We drifted apart rapidly after that. Then i found out he was very mixed up with crack, and not doing good at all. This was bad news. The last thing i have heard about him, though, was that he got married, became a Christian, had a baby, and started to play in a band again. I can't say that this doesn't hurt my heart sometimes. But good for you, Kurt.

#2, Jessica.

Jessica! You followed us off of the bus that afternoon, even though we got off at the wrong stop. We were going to Cirque Du Soleil (Corteo), and so were you. You thought we were actually in the show, that we were performers who were just running late. Later you told us you had wondered why we didn't just take a limo around town instead of the bus. You asked us if we had dressed up special for the show, then were impressed that no, we look like this ever day. The dedication! you said.
Turned out you were an undergrad at the same school where Nat was currently a grad student, and it even ended up that he was your TA for an English classics class a quarter later. You were so adorable that day, and had a purse with little cartoon birds all over it. It was great fun walking to the fairgrounds with you, and running into you on the bus after the show. Sorry you didn't enjoy it as much as us! You were such a doll.

#1, Travis.

Travis! You worked with me at Amsterdam Art. You wore candy necklaces and Strawberry Shortcake T-shirts that made my stomach butterflies flutter into each other blindly. You had lovely wide, sleepy blue eyes and perpetually messy dirty blonde hair. Your posture was bad, but it only made you cuter. You were always smiling. I had the biggest crush on you.
Then one day you were late coming back from lunch, and we found you outside, sitting on the sidewalk, leaning dreamily against the building in sweet slumber. The only thing was, it was raining. And you were on heroin.
They fired you that afternoon. The rain added extra sadness. Where are you now, Travis?

Here we go.

I wasn't sure i wanted to do this. And i especially wasn't sure i wanted to be involved in someone else's project, when really i just need to mentally de-clutter. And by de-clutter i actually mean that i wish to carefully remove all of the random memories of people long lost that i carry around in my brain, give them a nice spiffing up, and place them lovingly in tiny bell jars for all the world to see.

I don't want to forget about these people.
But i don't have enough room for all of them here. ::taps heart::

I need to take them out, but not take them away.

Not sure where/how to get started; i've already posted three of these on my first blog, 3 of my friends who've died. I think that i will leave them there, as they are perhaps more hefty and more valuable than the randoms (no offense, random lovely folks) i will be listing here.

Hm. Okay! Looking a little more at some of the other x365 posters, it looks like not everybody is going with a harsh word-numbering restriction. Honestly, i'm not sure it's fair to demand that each person i remember be categorized with the same number of words. After all, then we wouldn't have such gems as Barbara's #31. I quite like the anonymous tenderness she expresses there. Although, i do admit that i have a (very bad) tendency to drag things on. In my defense, it's because i type things exactly as i would say them, and that i often talk too much. And yes, i suppose that that is not a good thing. Sometimes less is more, and all that. So i say to Dan, the creator of x365, that i will not abide by his guideline #4:

1. decide if you're going to go with the original recipe your age = your number of words or if you want to modify it in some way (haiku, 10 five word lines, whatever, it's all good if you're writing)
   

...and that i take umbrage at this paragraph, found elsewhere:

"You are absolutely allowed to "change the rules" to suit yourself. However, you should also realize that to the best of my knowledge no one who has changed the rules to make it easier (less restrictions) has actually completed all 365—one person who made it harder (added restrictions) completed their 365. It's the challenge that will keep you going."

Hm. Don't toy with my emotions, Dan!! Don't tell me it's okay, then passive-aggressively admonish me for the thought. (okay, maybe now i'm just projecting.)

In any case, i'm getting a little off-track here. Maybe i should just say this:

I will make the list.
It might be less than 365.
It might be more.
I will write as many words as it takes for the description to be right.

BUT

...i do hereby sincerely promise to make an effort not to write any long entries. And what do i mean by "long", exactly? Well, i'm not actually sure about that, see ;)
::sigh:: Must this be so complicated? I guess this is why he went with the age rule; my problem with that is that i am 28, which ain't exactly a whole lot of words to go with. We'll see what happens.

I guess i should just stay loose. Unattached from x365 officially. But hereby offering a big shout-out to him for the inspiration. :) There! Now i'm not breaking any rules ;)

And so it begins.....!