How to Scare Away Pseudo-Celebrity in Less than Ten Words

Recently I went into my neighborhood coffee shop, the daily bestower of the Holy Drink Grail. Little did I know, it's also the bestower of the Holy Man Grail. While waiting there, I looked up to see a nice looking gentleman. He smiled. I smiled. I smiled wider [where do I know him from?] He smiled wider,"Hi. How are you?"

It clicked.

"You're Jon Favreau!" Hellooooooooo, Lover!

He stared for a second, caught completely off guard. Then he started laughing,

"It's so weird when that happens..."

I tried to monitor the drooling, but the blatant staring was inevitable. While I am not one to think of any celebrity (famous, infamous, or anything in between) as anything other than human, there's something to be said about being surprised. I once saw George Stephanopoulos at the Knight Studio, but he broadcasted from there. Seeing Jon Favreau at the White House is one thing, but out on the street? People say that Washington's a small town, but I never really took it too seriously.

To be honest, if it were Jon Favreau, the actor, I'd not have thought twice about it. But the President's Director of Speech Writing is young, talented...and beautiful.

For that matter, it was unfortunate how little the fantasy of meeting him aligned with the reality. In my mind, I would be wearing my nicest dress, looking not unlike Audrey Hepburn; refreshed regardless of DC's relentless heat and humidity. I'd be rereading a classic piece of literature and when Jon notices the well worn book in my hand, he'd exclaim that it is his favorite, too. We would casually describe our favorite parts, which, of course would lead into us discovering that we have numerous quirky traits and interests in common. Perhaps we both love sailing, Wheat Thins, and Modest Mouse. We'd fall in love before our lattes were complete. Plausible, right?

In a fantasy of running into someone you admire, everything is magical. You are witty, charming, and clever. I, I was none of these.

I ogled. A lot. I may have even touched him to make sure he wasn't a mirage. No "I'm well, how are you?" No "I really like your work." No "Did you catch the Red Sox game?" Just good ol' fashioned staring...

If my first encounter wasn't smooth, my following encounters have crash landed me in the creepy Stage Five Clinger category. It's actually quite impressive how, in the few verbal exchanges we have had, I've been able to appear increasingly crazier and crazier. My relatively normal ability to carry on social pleasantries goes haywire when he's around. He might say, "Hello," and I'll respond, "I love you, too."

Stealth, no?

If he got a call that someone was in custody for breaking into his home he'd likely ask, "Was it that short brunette?"

If he ever asked my name, it would would likely be followed with, "How do you spell that?" as he's filling out a restraining order.

Perhaps the worst part of my pathetic attempts at socializing is his on-going politeness. No matter how awkward I act, he still kindly says hello [granted, at a safe distance]. I guess that is why "Favs" is still my fav.

Yes! We! Can!

Face It

The Journalist and I met on a blind date. We emailed and text messaged back and forth ahead of time. He seemed fun enough. If only I had known that electronic conversations can be worlds apart from real ones...

The Journalist was hard to read and awkward. Should we have been on the phone, I could have been folding laundry or flipping through channels to keep me interested. Instead, it was a painful. PAINFUL, like having a staring contest with someone with Tourette's (I should mention here that the Journalist does not, indeed have Tourette's).

When the awkward conversation had nowhere to go, he began to tell me that he was a swimmer. "Those were the days when, you know, when I shaved my legs and wore pantyhose..."

Wait. A. Minute.

"I'm sorry. I thought you just said that you wore pantyhose." He looked at me funny.

"I did just say that." His expression told me I was stupid...or that he's farsighted.

Now I have heard of male swimmers shaving their legs (which to be honest, weirds me out enough). But never, never have I heard of male swimmers cross-dressing!

I tried to locate the charming banter we had via electronic communication,

"Well, to not wear pantyhose is just unladylike!" Again, he gives me an awkward expression. I'd say it was deadpan, but there was this creepy twitchy look. He squinted his eyes and gave me a forced, rather creepy psycho killer smile. Perhaps he was leering. What makes a leer a leer? Is a leer favorable? I couldn't tell if he thought I was funny. Or bitchy. Or anything.

"You're giving me a weird look," I said.

"I hear that a lot. I'm not, though." Huh...so WTF is with your face?!

Pucker up.

The Not-So-Pick-Me-Up

I was walking to the grocery store last week and was the recipient to a chorus of "Ay, Mami!!" The fact that it's inappropriate and the speakers were creepy is not what bothered me. I can't help but get offended at the recognition word's English oronym.

"Excuse me? Did you just call me MOMMY?"
Now if you want to effectively drive-by hit on me, at least use the word "sexy" because then you're not saying that I look as though I bore children. You'd might as well have said that I have nice thunder thighs.
More over, don't call me sexy when I'm in old sweatpants on my way home from the gym. I look gross and I know it. I just wish you did too. Call me "Mommy" again, and I'm tossing the groceries and heading back to the gym.
I guess I am making these statements as though I have never been hit on before. I have, as in DC it's pretty common. I guess regardless of how often it occurs, I still find myself asking why social norms aren't the norm? When did yelling at strangers become acceptable?
My mother came to visit me recently. We were walking to my neighborhood coffee shop when a man stopped us on the street,
"I just want to let you know that you are absolutely gorgeous." My mother smiled,
"Oh, we know..."
As we walked away she pointed out, "It's got to be hard to have low self esteem here." Yeah, yeah...he didn't call you "Mommy" (and you are one)!

The best man I have found yet...quiet, stable, and tall.