Get ready to learn how big of a nerd I really am.
I hope you'll speak to me after this post.
Christmas of 2000. I was 16 years old. It was a period in my life where my family had very little. My parents were going through a horrendous divorce that cause a bankruptcy, foreclosure on our house, and my family to split apart. We went from almost a million dollar home to poverty. Yet, somehow my mom saved up enough money to drive us to Cali to stay with family for the winter break. We lived off of sandwiches and $1 burritos at taco bell for the duration of the trip. But it was one of the best vacations.
My aunt and uncle are musicians and have a recording studio in their house located in Pasadena. So as part of my Christmas, my mom and aunt worked out a time during our vacation where I could go into the studio and record a song.
I am NOT a singer by any means. And if you've heard this recording, then you can consider yourself UN-lucky. I'll save the rest of you from the torture by not sharing here.
The song I chose was, "Be careful" by Ricky Martin. With my aunt being a stanch catholic, I wasn't going to make her hearing go by having her 16 year old niece sing "She bangs". So, I picked one of the "cleaner" Ricky songs, but nonetheless, a song I still adored.
To be honest, though, pretty much anything that was associated with Ricky Martin was something I adored. Rather, loved. No, obsessed over.
Back home in Utah, you could have found a purple carpeted room with magazine inserts lining the wall and closet doors; all displaying the unbuttoned shirt and leather wearing Latin sex god. My bed neatly made had a black and white pillow donning his beautiful face; a gift from my best friend, Jason, for my sixteen birthday. The window sill would have been lined with books, TV Guides, Magazines, trading cards, cd covers, and a glass jar from his hotel room at the Hotel Monaco in SLC.
Yet, the main focal point of the room, being....drumroll please...
My prized possession, a Ricky Martin cardboard cutout.
[These pics were from my Junior prom. Gotta love the hairstyle. Who let me have those bangs? And thank goodness I figured out later on how to do makeup and picked up running. Otherwise, where would I be now?]
If you asked me or didn't ask, I would have told you that I was exactly 12 years, 3 months, 18 days younger than my future husband. I made a birthday cake on Christmas Eve (Ricky's b-day). And I refused to discuss the topic of whether he was gay or not. That subject was off limits, solely, because it didn't fit the stories playing out in my head.
I look back and realize, I really just needed a boyfriend at the time. As soon as that happened, I got normal. [It's kind of something all the girls in my family went through. Krick, superman. Hilary, Johnny Depp. Kelsy, David Archuletta.]
But during the years of 15-18, I was in insane
I could go into some other stories to convince you of this, like the fact that I listened to his self titled CD so much that I went through 3 copies. Or that I took Honors Spanish in high school so that I could interpret his Spanish songs. Not to leave out the day I turned 16, I decided to wear my best outfit which was a Ricky Martin t-shirt.
|Pic from Camp 2001?|
The real story here is this.
My mom promised me that if Ricky came within 500 miles, she would take me to his concert. With Las Vegas being 420 miles away, it really gave me 2 shots. A Las Vegas show or a Salt Lake show. I watched as the tour dates came out, ecstatic to see a Las Vegas show on the list. I begged my mom, reminding her of the promise. However, living in a conservative household, she didn't feel comfortable bringing a 16 year to a Vegas show. So the concert came and went without my attendance.
Years later, he came to SLC, but by then I was college poor and had a boyfriend (being past my Ricky phase). I chose not to scrounge up the dough or make endless calls to radio stations in the valley.
As I get older, I regret not having gone to either of those concerts [I also regret not going to the Spice Girls reunion, but that's another story for another day]. Ricky was an amazing entertainer on screen, I can't imagine what he would have been like live. But nonetheless, I didn't get to experience it.
When his autobiography came out last year, I read it and it reignited a (lesser, more normal) love for the Latin singer.
Nearly 1 week after I finished the bio, the news reported he would be starring in the revival of Evita on Broadway.
Naturally, always looking for an excuse to go to the big apple, I threw out an invite to some family members for a girls trip. I owed it to my teenage self to see him live once in my life. And it can't get better than 4th row on Broadway.
One month of 13 years of waiting left.
I. Can't. Wait.
So now that you know this...can we still be friends?
Have you ever had a ridiculous obsession/crush on a Celebrity?