One degree to Paris Hilton

My husband was having a boys night, so my girlfriend and I were contemplating the FBR (Phoenix Open) Birds Nest Thursday night. KC and the Sunshine band would be playing. Everything was pretty much in the air, so I was letting the wind blow me where it would.

It turned out a friend of ours had VIP tickets to the 944 event that evening; Paris Hilton, 50 cent, Wyclef Jean, the list goes on. We parked at the Fashion Square garage near Nordstrom. The area was buzzing with lights, police, stretch limousines, hummers, pedi cabs and tons of people walking around. They dressed in either warm bundled clothes, or mini skirts and even mini-er tops, braving the cold desert night.

Walking out of the garage, the first person we run into is a tall, long haired woman in her late 20s in the street crying. One of my friends went up to her to find out what was wrong? She just cried and babbled, so he gave her a hug. We could barely get anything understandable out of her.

"Are you OK?"

"I think I'll be OK if I just get a cigarette." Was the first coherent thing I heard from her.

I introduced myself, just the first of many times. Her name was Nicole.
"Why don't you walk with us and we'll find you a cigarette." I offered.

As we walked toward the 944 tent entrance about a block away, I locked arms with her. It was awkward because she had to be 6 inches taller than me, plus she was wearing heeled boots and was swaying from the drinks she must've had earlier. I tried to keep us from both falling in a mess of hair, heels and tears.

"Thanks for hanging out with me. I'm Nicole. What's your name?"
This conversation went on until I found some friends who had arrived in another car and I bummed a cigarette off of them.

"You are so cool to help me out." She said to me, "I'm Nicole. What's your name?"
She smoked her cigarette and it seemed that it did help her. She started to actually start making sense. "Believe it or not, they kicked me out because they said I was too drunk!"

I don't know if I rolled my eyes right to her face as she said this, or if I just did it in my mind 'Too drunk? ya think?'

"But, I got to take a picture with Paris Hilton! I did." She took out her digital camera. We gathered round it and I could see Paris's familiar blonde hair amidst a crowd of other, darker heads. It looked like she had hoisted her camera above the crowd to snap the pic. The next couple pics were about the same. I was pretty impressed about how close she actually got to the celebrity. But then the final pic, there was my new friend Nicole cheek to cheek with the hotel heiress herself, both of them smiling beautifully toward the camera.

She did it! She actually got a picture with her. Too funny!

"There's the general admission section, then there's the VIP section then there's the even more VIP section, where Paris was," she explained. Nicole, in her own drunken way somehow made it to the Very-VIP section, without the proper credentials and got her picture taken with Paris. Something, which my husband later read, that would normally cost you $100.00 to do.

I guess she was immediately escorted out of the 944 event and tossed into the cold streets of Fashion Square.

She wanted a group picture of us, so we posed as a passer by snapped our pic. Then one of my friends gave her his email address, which I knew she would promptly either lose or forget who/why she even has that email address. She suggested we walk around to look for her friends, and I walked with her for about 10 feet before turning around. She didn't realize that she lost me until she was down the street. She turned around and walked back, but I hid behind a friend. Sorry, Nicole. It was great meeting you, but you are a drunken heap of hair, heels and tears.

Our friend wasn't able to get us the VIP passes he talked about, so we hung out across the street at Olive and Ivy, which was crowded, warm and loud. It was a wonderful time, even if Paris couldn't hang out with us.