Rashish -- we have a problem sister friend --
You seem to be a little bit confused about what I like to call "the way things work up in this piece."
See you -- the bangin', bi-racial daughter of a famous black R&B musician are supposed to engage in some variation of the following: be hot mess, get knocked up by someone with tatoos in the dumbest places, disappear for a few years then come back with a KMart kids clothing line.
You are not supposed to date the intellectual savior of Obamanation. John Favreau is ours.
You get the Hollywood people. The John Krasz-on-the-Office's, the Used-to-be-Zach-Slater's. You understand them and their overwhelming vanity. They understand you and your face. The rest of us just can't leave work every other week to go lounge around in St. Tropez. Also we don't have publicists who call them and say, "Hi Guy-from-that-show-Castle (in loooove...), Jessie would love to grab a drink with you next week."
And so the world goes round with you dating its celebrities and us dating it's really smart people with 9-5 jobs.
I know John Favreau is among the greatest brains of our generation. I know he is the kind of writer that comes around once in a metaphor stronger than blue moon. I also know he's done all that at the really-quite-perfect-for-me age of 27.
That's why I studied my ass off through high school, got into a top notch college, and honed all sorts of necessary skills so I could eventually end up with someone like him (if not actually him).
What have you done in the past -- oh -- ever -- to deserve to be on the right arm of this perfect man. Appeared in The Office?! Or that movie where Jason Segal gets naked? You appear on movies where non-models get naked for no reason and then go date the guy who wrote the innagural address. How daaare you.
Break up with him. It's only fair. I promise you'll have no trouble finding a replacement. Then the rest of us can go on believing that if we could just meet him in a bar somewhere and regale him with our memorized recount of all the state senators (alphabetical by state) he'll be ours.
Also -- who does you hair? So cute.