I was scheduled to hit the Lela Rose show at 10 a.m. this morning, but a few minor mishaps in the morning left me waiting on 42nd Street in the cold. My boss-slash-editor met me for breakfast, and then told me she’d meet me outside of the tents at 1:30 a.m., and urged me to explore the tents before my first fashion show that night.

I nervously climbed up the Bryant Park stairs, flashed my pass at the guards, and entered the Mercedes Benz Fashion Week lobby. It was like no other tent in the world, with walls, lights, heat, couches. There were dozens of lounging areas and promotional displays with free stuff. I walked around a couple of times before settling on one of the couches. One of the shows let out, Herve Ledger, and I saw Anna Wintour (editor in chief of Vogue) walking alone out of the show. She turned to look at me through her sunglasses. I was staring like an idiot, especially since I was a Vogue subscriber. I was shocked that she was without an entourage.

I was introduced to a girl from D.C., who wanted to know where Bendel’s was, and she was asking the right person. We ended up chatting and since I needed to stop by the library decided to walk there together. I was without my trusty Olympus Camedia E-10 DSLR, so she took a photo of me–press badge and all–outside of the tents.

The library was closed, so I took a stroll and stopped to shop in Lord and Taylors. I met my boss and her business partner at the tents, so we went inside and people watched. There were so many celebrities and socialites! While we waited I spotted tons of people from past seasons of Project Runway, and America’s Next Top Model along with socialite Fabiola Beracasa, and shook hands with an actress from “Guiding Light.” That night I saw socialite Olivia Palermo, Ms. Jay from America’s Next Top Model, Rod Stewart’s daughter Kimberly(I think), and Miss USA. I know I’m probably leaving someone out.

Photographers for publications and websites were everywhere. Many noted magazines had cameramen out asking people for pictures if they were wearing fashionable outfits. My goal is to be fashionable enough before the end of the week to be asked to have my picture taken!

I was shot once, accepting a French martini (it tasted like cough syrup) from a guy. As I left with my new friend that afternoon, a photographer (someone said paparazzi?) shot me as I exited. “I’m no one important!” I exclaimed, but I secretly adored being watched by the passers on the street as I exited the Fashion Week tents.

I raced home that afternoon to change into something more chic, since I wasn’t pleased with my outfit. So I changed into an Alara top with a bow, a knit sweater and a coat from Zara, paired with dark denim skinny jeans and four inch patent Italian leather platform shoes. Catching the bus in those would be heck, so I asked my doorman to call a cab.

I felt like a star as the cab pulled up to fashion week and I got out, passed the people on the street, showed my pass and walked in. It was more busy and crowded than it was that afternoon. Since I was alone, I sat on a couch to watch people go by again.

I was there for the 9 p.m. Terexov show. While waiting in line for my seat assignment, chatted up a few bloggers and met a few new faces. I sat next to them all inside the tents on the fourth row. Nigel Barker from America’s Next Top Model sat across from me, and he smiled nicely at me.

 ”My sister is going to die!” I said, knowing that Dione is in love with him and his smooth Australian accent. Everyone tried to push me to take a picture with him, but then the lights went down and the Terexov show began.

It was everything I’d imagined: lots of flashbulbs, gorgeous clothes and pumping electronic music. At the end of the show, another girl and I walked up the runway and went backstage, where a cloud of people were surrounding the designer, Alexandr Terekhov, a sheepish looking guy with boyish features. Me and my new friend were pushing against film cameras and squeezing past models to watch him. Since I didn’t need an interview, I skipped out early, and on my walk back to the lobby, strutted down the runway cautiously in my four-inch-heels.

Outside everyone was watching the end of the Super Bowl on a big screen TV. I hailed a cab home and smiled the whole ride back. I’m in disbelief that I get to do all that again tomorrow morning.