Yours truly is pictured above trying to be chic donning a tuxedo shirt while under deadlines, notes, and a pile of ”run of show” programs.

Photo’s by me, don’t reproduce without permission!

I imagined that going to Fashion Week would be easy: dress up, sit down, watch the show, mingle, and leave. I’m learning that there’s a lot of running around in 4 inch shoes to catch a cabs, standing in long lines, check-in negotiations, with early mornings and late nights. My back still hurts.

Despite this, I’m having an unbelievable amount of fun. Today was so spectacular I don’t know where to begin in recounting it.

I was only scheduled for the Malan Breton show at 9 a.m. Malan was my favorite on “Project Runway,” so I was extremely excited to view his designs. Most days this week I’m too lazy to dress up, but with the prospect of meeting Malan hanging over my head, I put on a Max Mara top with a onyx and velvet bead necklace, a trumpet skirt, DKNY opaque black tights, and patent leather pumps.

At the tents the line was forming for Malan’s show and as soon as I got in line, Emmett McCarthy, a designer from “Project Runway” and owner of his own store E=MC stood behind me. I looked at him twice and smiled to myself for the five or six minutes that he stood there. Of course, a PR woman raced up and pulled him father up in line. Stars never have to wait in line at Fashion Week.

When I reached the Promenade, I noticed how poor attendance was. Even the most coveted first row seats were empty. I was dying to sit in the first row, not only can you see the designs up close but you’re on all the films of the show that are produced. Right before the show everyone filled in the seats, and I was right by the beginning of the runway in the front row!

Malan ’s designs were amazing and during the finale he took the runway linking arms with a model. The place was swarming with “Project Runway” people. On my way out I walked down the runway and squeezed past Diana (the one who was called “dirty Diana” for her drinking on an episode) and dozens of others. Nole Marin was in the front row.

After the show I called my boss who told me to stay at the tents until she arrived. So I parked myself on a couch and looked through the gift bag under my seat. So far, Malan’s given out the best goodies. Each front row guest was given Michael Buble’s new CD, a make-up kit, a gift certificate to a spa, a magazine, a key chain, and an umbrella just like the ones his models carried down the runway.

I called Dione to give her an update. She loves Malan just as much as I did, and was excited to hear that I got to sit in the first row. As I talked, I looked around the room, and instantly spotted Mike Rosenthal, less then 2 feet away. Mike was an occasional photographer on the show “Style Her Famous” and in my book, the most attractive male in the entire planet. Upon seeing him, I began to hiss into the phone.

“Dione, Mike Rosenthal is right behind me, he looks absolutely gorgeous,” I said. Dione gasped.

“Are you serious?” she asked. I turned repeatedly to watch he and another woman (most likely his girlfriend) stand around chatting. I was in shock, especially since I thought he lived in L.A. Dione told me that if I spotted Daniel Vosovic to let her know, then we hung up and I kept sneaking glances at Mr. Rosenberg.

A girl sat next to me and we began to chat about the show and celebrity watch, as dozens of famous people rushed in for the Michael Kors show. Malan appeared and stood around mingling. I began to gush over him, his designs, and the show, and my new friend warned me that he’d been standing behind me the whole time. I turned, looked at him, and he smiled.

My new friend went and spoke to him, and came back to tell me everything he’d said. We squealed and chatted some more, watching Anna Wintour, Andre Leon Talley, Nina Garcia and a slew of other personalities be harassed by the paparazzi.

Around noon my boss met me and we picked up our press gift bags, then walked back through the front door. The Michael Kors show was letting out, and people were everywhere at the front steps. As soon as I slipped inside, I was tapped on the shoulder.

“Can I take a photograph of you and your outfit?” asked a guy.

“Sure,” I said, and began to pose horribly. He was shooting people wearing fashionable things for a Japanese fashion magazine. I thanked him, and danced myself through the lobby. I joked all week that it was my goal to be wearing something fashionable enough to be photographed for the magazines. Now I know that the Max Mara ensemble I purchased on my annual out-of-town shopping trip to pick up the newest seasons pieces was well worth it.

When I finished taking pictures I spotted Daniel Vosovic, and called Dione for a squeal fest.

Tomorrow I’m scheduled for three shows Rebecca Taylor, Reem Acra, and Custo Barcelona, so it will be busy; but luckily they are all after 1 p.m. I can finally sleep in.