The singer of the wonderful duo Chromeo. I've blogged...no, written. I hate when people use blog as a verb. Or a noun. It's a stupid word. I've written about my love for him previously so go back and read that if you don't know who he is. He's not paparazzi/tabloid famous, but that didn't stop me from acting special ed when I met him a few weeks ago.
It was at the W Lounge in Salt Lake, where Chromeo was doing a DJ set/after party after opening for Big Boi at the Twilight free concert series (no relation to the vampire books).
I spent about a half hour trying to get up the courage to go talk to him, which is saying something considering the amount of liquid courage I had in me at that point. They finished DJ-ing and he was just hanging out in the club, talking to fans here and there like a totally normal person and not the god that he is. Remmington finally pushed me off the dancing stage and toward him as he was starting to migrate toward the exit. My suave and clearly infallible plan was to speak French to him since he is a phD candidate in French lit at Columbia, so that would surely set me apart from the rest of the adoring fans there that night as special, intelligent, intriguing, etc, inducing him to want to get to know me and eventually, marry me. Brilliant plan, right?
What actually happened is that when I got within five feet of him and he graciously stopped so that I could say hi to him, I conveniently forgot how to speak ANY language, let alone French. So I stood there for an undetermined period, gawking at him while I tried frantically to make my brain and my mouth communicate with one another, and he quizzically looked at Remmington standing behind me, who just shrugged and shook his head.
Finally I squawked out a "hi!" and stepped a little closer so I could mumble some probably grammatically incompetent French sentence about how great I think he is. He was wonderful, laughed politely and let me say a couple more sentences in French about how I wish I went to Columbia (huh??), blah blah blah, est-ce que je peux prendre un photo avec toi? THANK GOD FOR REMMINGTON'S IPHONE, because I did not have my camera on me.
Remmington and my other friend there, Ryan, both made fun of me for about a week after the incident because apparently I couldn't stop grinning like a moron or re-hashing it for a couple hours after it happened. Did he really have his arm around me? Did I look cute? I hope my French accent wasn't too terrible. How long did I really stand there awkwardly before I said anything? Wait, let me look at the picture again, are you sure I didn't have my sunglasses on? And so on... Needless to say he hasn't proposed to me yet, but I'll keep you updated.