My ticket was given to me by none other than my good friend, fitness celebrity, John Basedow. We arranged to meet at 4:45 p.m. for the 5 o'clock show. We decided to meet by the entrance of the place because that's where everyone was gathered. The entrance, by the way, is a huge white tent over Bryant Park, located between 41st and 42nd street on 6th avenue. I was worried at first that I might miss where the entrance was, but as John said, "You can't miss it due to the large police barricade around the entrance." To me that was hysterical. I always heard about the fashion police, and now I will not only get to see them, but sachet past them.

I was a few minutes early so I got to observe the scene. Lines of people were gathered on each side, many with paper and pen for autographs. Guards and police were at the bottom of the stairs, and by the top. The secret police type guys, you know the ones that always look buff, with square shoulders and the ear piece, were flanking the entrance as well. Photographers were huddled around the entranceway ready to snap a picture of any celebrity they might see. I decide to talk to a photographer next to me. "Excuse me, do you know what any of these fashion people look like? I mean the Pamela Rolands, Judith Rilka's of the world?" The photographer looked at me, "Not really, but if I see someone else snapping away I'm going to do it too." A gorgeous girl walked by in a short shirt. The photographer snapped away. I looked over to him as if to say was she anybody, but he shrugged his shoulders and smiled, letting me know he was just testing out his film on eye candy.

Maybe these photographers should be armed with a deck of playing cards with the fashion people's face on it, their name underneath and a sample of their clothing line on the flip side.

Either way it felt good to know I wasn't the only ignorant one when it came to fashion.

As I was about to ask another photographer a question, John came whizzing by, and said, "Follow me." We walked up the entranceway as if we had purpose. No one bothered us.

Inside the first thing I noticed was this really funky lighting and a bunch of booths occupied by people like Aqua Fina water, WE channel, Moet Chandon etc.

I notice there is a huge line. We go to the front. Johns says, "Excuse me we have a special invite to go inside, our name is on the list for the Pamela Roland show."

The guard says, "Well sir you have to wait on that long line over there. All their names are on the list too." Wow, really?" John was not pleased since he was personally invited by their PR department, and I was his guest. I, however, found this whole thing fascinating. So much security for a fashion show, and so many people vying to get in.

Then John spots someone, or rather she spots him. It's a girl who works there and she happens to be one of his fans. They kiss hello and then John tells the girl what happened. She goes up to a guard, whispers some magic passwords, and ta da! The next thing I know we are whisked like VIP's to the front of the line. Now our names get checked off. However we are not home free. We now get the honor of standing on another line.

It's now 5:30 and this 5 PM show still hasn't started. I guess this is how they coined the term, "Fashionably late." Builds up suspense and tension I presume.

The line moves slowly and just as we're about to get into the show, past the big red curtain, the head of security announces, "Sorry folks, invite or not, no more room. It's filled to capacity inside. Please disperse."

Apparently people in line had not studied their SAT terms because no one moved. The guard repeats it louder, as if volume makes the definition clearer. The fashion hounds all look at him like a deer in the headlights. They blink. He repeats himself a third time. Finally the proverbial light bulb goes off and the crowd disperses.

I look at John. "Wow, is this how it works?" John says, "No, normally I have my press agent here and she takes care of it all." Okay, I say, "I'll be your press agent for a few minutes, what do I need to do?" "Go over there and tell the guard who I am, who our contact person is and see what happens."

So I stroll on over to the guard, and say, "Excuse me, this is fitness celebrity John Basedow. So and so personally invited us to the show. We are expected inside."

Well I either must have sounded official or that person I mentioned was really important, because before I could say another word, the head security guy was doing that secret service ear touch dance. He touches it, nods to another guy, who nods to a third guy, who looks up (at what I still have no clue) and we are magically whisked in. The show is already in session and there is standing room only, but we are in.

About two dozen cameramen are in this "press area" snapping away. People are lined up all along the runway, and there are rows of people inside the runway line.

We watch the show and I have to say, I was impressed with this Pamela lady. Her outfits are something I'd actually wear, not some weird lampshade plastic dress like outfit. They were dresses with class. I could almost picture Cinderella in one.

The show lasts all of 20 minutes. We go outside. Photographers rush to the next show. People disperse into the booths. As we head out of the show, John runs into Ronnie Wright, celebrity photographer to the stars. Ronnie met John at another event and they hit it off.

Ronnie smiles, John introduces me and the next thing I know, he is snapping pictures of us. Other photographers now gather around. Apparently Ronnie has juice as they say. What cracks me up is that I know from talking to the photographers outside, that some didn't even know who we were!

However once they find out John's the fitness celebrity guy, they make him take pictures flexing his muscles and, you guess it, once they realize I'm the fast talker, they ask me to take pictures with my mouth open. Yes, very attractive.

They ask us each for some press materials. John has a press kit on him. I don't. But luckily, I was just on the cover of Pulse Magazine, and I happen to have a copy in my bag (since I was going to show my Mom later that night) I whip out the copy. It suits their curiosity.

After our mini photo session, John spots two more of his friends, Jill -Michele Melean (A comic you may recognize from Mad TV and Reno 911), and Keith Collins ( a party promoter in NYC). We all hang around for a few minutes talking shop.

Meanwhile, Ronnie is still hanging with us, but I could tell he is watching like a hawk for any stray celebrities. As we're talking I see Ronnie's eye open wide. I follow his gaze. It's Kevin Cosner. Ronnie says hi, Kevin nods in recognition.

Pretty cool.

We hang around some more. John goes to get some water and the next thing I know we are invited into a private party for Moet Champagne. Since neither John nor I really drink, we go in, snap a picture, take a sip, and then casually leave.

Now we are hanging around all the photographers. Everyone is looking at what everyone else is wearing. One guy is wearing this bright neon jail-like outfit. I try to snap a picture of him but he scurries away. It seems as if everyone is trying to make a "statement."

TV stations are coming in and filming some footage. The "Big" parties for the night are discussed. Many of them are away from Byrant Park at undisclosed locations. The photographers are all trying to find out where so they can get the money shot.

Meanwhile, I'm just enjoying watching every one posture for each other. Eventually it's time to head out. We say goodbye to our new found friends. As I'm leaving a stranger says, "Excuse me, nice belt you have there, where did you get it? " I smile, "oh this, it's vintage Capo. Be worth a lot in a few years."

I smile and leave, apparently making my own statement.