One clever guy, Paz, apparently thought it was a smart idea to crash Paris Hilton’s early 30th birthday party and post it to his Facebook. The Moulin Rouge-themed bash was held at V-Moda Fortress in Los Angeles the other night (she officially hits the 3 decade mark today).
Apparently Paz’s friend Kevin is well connected in “the scene” and was able to get them into the celebrity laced soiree. As described by him:
By comparison to the entrance, the actual party seems tame. Of course, that’s “tame” as defined in Hollywood. In Hollywood, having drinks served to you by naked, bodypainted nymphs with Tinkerbell wings is “tame.” In Hollywood, hiring an 8 foot tall Iron Man impersonator to breakdance is “tame-ish”. On planet earth, however, these things may or may not be considered absurd to the poiint of gravitational field disruption.
Now is a good time to mention there were 6 open bars.
While at this wonderful party, Paz came across the horrible fact that the $2,000 cake with the birthday girl’s name on it might go to waste. Rather than do the sensible thing and let it slide, he became somewhat of a vigilante. He blames this on the amount of booze he had imbibed.
Its getting late. As the party thins out, I glance toward cakeville and realize not a slice of frosted deliciousness has been served.
“What’s the deal with the cake?” I finally ask one of the waiters.
“Oh that red one? They’ll probably just throw it out…”
I am Jack’s incredulous stomach.
It was at this inebriated moment I decided no one was going to waste $2000 worth of anything on my watch.
“HeEy,” I mumble to Kevin… “I have to rescue that cake.”
And this is when he decides to grab the cake and sneak it out past security. All in a goodwill attempt to save an over-the-top confection from its untimely demise. In his words this is how it went down:
I make for the front door as Kev makes for the valet. I summon some gumption and begin to walk purposefully back into the party.
I brush shoulders with the guy who resembles the head of security.
“Hey man,” I say to him with an air of I-know-what-I’m-doing. “The cake is in that room, right?”
“Yes, sir,” he acknowledges with a slight bow toward the rear of the house.
I take my cue and make a bullet for cake city.
In one fluid motion, I sidestep a confused waiter, seize the prize, and about face to the door.
I pass the security chief again on the way out.
I nod purposefully… he nods in return.
40 seconds later I’m in the front seat of a Nissan Maxima with 70 lbs. of awesome in my lap.
As the sun rises, I crash hard. In the morning, I’ll awake to an interesting surprise in the den.
It’s red. It’s delicious. And I don’t know WTF I’m going to do with it.