And if we meet on the street some day/ And I don't know what to say

Last night I ran into a guy I went on one really bad first date with who lives in my neighborhood.

Well, by "ran into" I mean I saw him and ran for the hills.

His name is Geoffrey, a 40-year-old musical theater actor who said I was "yummy" and referred to physical attractiveness as the "Yum Factor." As a matter of fact, on said first date, he put his musical theater paw over my face and said "YUM!"

Ew. Ew. Ew.

Three gin and tonics later we parted ways. He was horribly disappointed when I didn't want to see him again. Said we had great chemistry. He wore a lot of jewelry, talked about himself A LOT and the importance of keeping his chakras aligned. For the love of god.

So, last night I'd popped out of my apartment to run some errands. By the time I spotted Geoffrey, necklaces blowing in the wind, I carried tampons, Effexor XR and Panko. A mixed bag, to be sure. I averted my eyes, pushed my hair into my face. I was spotted, though. Thankfully nothing came of it. Ugh.

I know he belongs to my gym but since he's an actor, we're on different schedules.

It occurs to me that perhaps I shouldn't wear a t-shirt that says "29 licks!" in the workplace. But it's the Tootsie Roll owl. Cute, no? Not so offensive? Oh, eff it.