ry to make eye contact," says Bonnie; but it's not bloody likely. I'd have to be on fire to stick out in this crowd of lookers and lookieloos. So I did what any sane person would do. I started waving my arms like a maniac.

"I'm on the list." Nothing.

"I'm supposed to be inside." Who am I kidding?

"I'm a member of the press and if I don't get inside my boss will have me killed." Eureka!

Christina Vlahos, PR Director with Ink, asks me my name.

"I'm Diederik from martiniboys.com," I shout over the din.

"No, I'm Diederik from martiniboys.com," says the man next to me and I stomp on his shiny leather shoe.

"I don't see you on the list," says Christina.

"Well, I'm supposed to be on the list," I explain. "Haven't you ever heard of martiniboys.com?" The man limping next to me is swallowed by the crowd.

"Yeah," she says then disappears. I look to Bonnie and she looks nonplussed.

A moment later, Christina returns and says that there was some confusion with the list and martiniboys.com wasn't included. "How many are you?" she asks.

"Just me and my plus one."

"Come on in," she says and pulls the rope aside just enough for Bonnie and me to squeeze through. We thank her kindly and approach the giant wooden door at the end of the red carpet.