rockin' robin

presents...

Does a girl ever really get over her rock n' roll crush of the 90's? The answer is NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. I could say No a couple more times, in fact I feel like I should for emphasis, but I'm sensing the point is clear. If it's not, they say pictures speak for themselves. This is me early, albeit really early, waiting for Him. Yes, capital necessary.

My ultimate crush, Chris Robinson of The Black Crowes. Moment of silence. Rapture. Swoon

Pitter-patter. Thump. Thump. (sound effects of my heart). Me squealing. What is it about Him you ask? The way he holds his guitar, his slightly hunched, virile stance, his long chaotic hair and rebellious unkempt beard (I'm really just a hippie), the purity of his voice. Did I mention the guitar? Put a guitar in any man's hand and he's infinitely more sexy. Not sure the physics of that, but it is a fact. I regress. Chris is not just any man. He's been my crush for as long as I can remember, and I got to see him again last night. Squeal. Heaven.

I admit to bias, but everyone agreed amidst the cloud of Mary Jane and happy feet, it was one of the best shows they've ever seen. At one point I was even 3 feet from the stage. Groupie right? Oh yeah. Face melting guitar riffs, crooning gentle tunes...3.5 hours of non-stop beautiful madness.

Ah. Mazing.