I was at work early this morning, tea in one hand, pen in the other, as I started writing the beginnings of ramblings that would have eventually become a blog post. Then my coworker said six words that shocked my system: “Robin Thicke’ll be here in February.” Maybe I’ve mentioned my love, obsession, if you will, for this man in the past. I’ve googled him repeatedly, trying my damndest to get those old episodes of ‘The Wonder Years’ that he appeared in on DVD. I’ve saved him as a myspace friend and put his picture next to mine on my computer at work. It was only a matter of time before my colleagues learned that I had thing for Thicke.
The coworker -- Nicole -- said, ‘do you want to go to the show?’ To which I responded, ‘Are African babies the latest trend in hollywood? Hell yeah I want to go!!’
Luckily, dearest Thicke is playing at a venue just down the street from the office, so we bought our tix in person. The cashier and I bonded in our love for him. She volunteered to work that night, just so she could serve him. I asked if they were looking for anyone else to assist him backstage, but sadly, they weren’t. I handed her my credit card and was amazed to learn that I could get FRONT ROW tickets to him for only $22. FRONT ROW. My hands shook as I signed the receipt. Speechless, I was.
I was able to burn both of Thicke’s cds for Nicole, who will be joining me at the concert. I can’t let her get up there and not know a thing about my music. But I have warned her that if anytime during the show Thicke either winks at me, points at me, or sings to me, I am quitting my job and spending the rest of my life as a groupie. Eric Benét pointed at me at a concert in Orlando in 2001 and I ain’t been the same sense. (Some have suggested I caused the breakup of his marriage to Halle Berry, but I'll keep that on the low).There are about three weeks to the concert and I’ll be playing the cd nonstop.
Check him out: