I might just be the only person in the world who bought DVDs of all the seasons of The Simple Life - yes, her family included. When Jill and I missed our flight from LA to Manila last September, I was bummed about having to shell out way too much money to rebook our ticket but I was glad we had one extra night in LA because that evening, a new episode of Paris Hilton's My New BFF was airing.

Yes, that's how we spent our last night in LA, on the couch, chowing down microwaveable cheeseburgers and garlic bread and watching Paris try to find a new best friend. And no, we are not ashamed.

Fast forward to a little over a month later. I found myself back in LA for an insane series of interviews. And when I say insane, I am not kidding. I believe it should be declared illegal for anyone to interview close to fifty people in less than a week. That is just seriously wrong.

But I digress.

It was the last day of interviews and I had just finished listening to way too many teenage Hollywood actresses declare all kinds of things amazing. "My birthday party was amazing." "My castmates are amazing." "This show is amazing." "Our clothes are amazing." "My thongs are amazing." "My boob job is amazing."

Okay, I made up the last two. But wouldn't that have been interesting?

I discovered what was really truly amazing - being handed my freedom after close to fifty interviews with a side serving of cotton candy in a Chinese takeout box. I am not making that part up. They did give us cotton candy in a Chinese takeout box.

Again, I digress. I am sorry. But that's what happens when you do too many interviews.

I headed straight for the elevators to go back up to my room where Fifi and Lala were hiding. I was so ready to shop.

When the elevator doors opened, one of the journalists was already inside. I don't know his name and where he's from - Europe, I think. Like I've said before, I'm not very friendly on these trips. I walked in with the journalist from the Netherlands following close behind. We both punched in our floors.

The guy, who didn't speak to me the entire week, suddenly spoke. "Paris Hilton is in the lobby."

I guess he couldn't contain his excitement and he had no one else to share it with.

"No way!" I said, forgetting that I'm normally unfriendly on these trips. "She's still here?!"

"Yes, she's here. She has not left yet," he said, slowly, for my benefit. Maybe the guy thought I was dumb. Or slow. Or both.

"That means we have to go down," the girl from the Netherlands said. I nodded eagerly.

The elevator went up to our floors. We ignored the doors as they opened and shut. As the elevator made its way down again, the girl from the Netherlands said she thought she saw someone who looked like Paris in the hotel the day before but she thought it was just a look alike.

When we got to the lobby, we did a very good job of pretending to be nonchalant while craning our heads in search of Paris.

Then I spotted a camera man outside the hotel, by the driveway. Then I spotted Paris. I am very proud to report that I did not squeal. Or scream. Or make any embarrassing sound. I just held my breath.

She was wearing a blue tracksuit and a blue baseball cap. She was talking to three people who looked like freaks (but I was gaping at her through the hotel doors so who am I to judge?) while the camera man followed her. Then she got into her car - a powder blue Bentley convertible, stuck her arm out of the window, waved, said "Bye, guys!" and then drove off.

And for minutes after she drove off, the girl from the Netherlands and I just stood there, our face inches away from the glass, still gaping. Gaping at the empty driveway Paris had left.

That is my excuse for not being quick enough to take a photo of her - I could do nothing but gape. I wasn't even able to text Lala and Fifi to come down and join me at my gaping party. Fifi couldn't care less because she hates Paris but Lala was pissed.

The journalist from Brussels walked up and said, "Was that Paris Hilton?"

Still dazed, we just nodded. Brussels girl said, "Well that was a 90210 moment, wasn't it?" And the three of us stood there for a few more minutes, still gaping.

Brussels girl broke the silence again. "I don't think anyone else is coming. Maybe we should go."

The two of them walked out of the hotel while I walked back to the elevators like a zombie.

Funny how I had spent days talking to some of Hollywood's biggest TV stars. Serious actors, actors who have won awards, who have spent years in theater, who have made some big-ass movies. Did I gape at them? No.

I saved the gaping for someone whose biggest claim to fame is a night vision porn video. I can be her BFF, seriously.