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!