LA Rulzz

At lunch last week, a co-worker of mine described an encounter he had had with an A-list celebrity a few months ago. It was interesting for a handful of reasons, but namely because it involved Paris Hilton. I can't describe the fascination I have for this young, indecent woman (a zeal that is only matched by the intensity I track her former partner-in-crime, Nicole Richie). My only rebuttal is that following celebs is a whole lot safer than doing crack. Or something like that.

So the story goes that my co-worker finds himself out with an attractive-looking group of people, with a ratio of girls to guys that's in the groups' favor. (In LA this is approximately 5 girls, 2 guys.) Anyways, they get into this club that apparently is really hard to get into if you're not someone important. The majority of his story revolves around the fickle attention of this girl he's interested in, but the highlight of the evening is while my co-worker is going wild on the dance floor, he manages to smack (and cup?) Paris Hilton's breast, as she's leaving the club, with his open hand that's flying through the air. He says that she just sort of stopped, shrugged and kept walking. Shrugged and kept walking! I can actually picture her not even blinking when this took place. And that is so cool. No, not grabbing the underdeveloped cleavage (like I should talk) of one Ms. Paris Hilton. But the fact that she didn't even seem fazed by it.

And that's why LA rules.
Kinda.