22-Hour Malibu Bash: Paris, Pillow Fights, Paparazzi and Puppies

RSVPs:  Paris Hilton, Macy Gray, Sylvester Stallone...
When:  Aug. 10-11
Where:  Polaroid Beach House

Considering I’m attending a party, a sleepover and a hangover barbecue in Malibu, I decided to switch up my column format with a special play-by-play of my festive two-day fete so you wouldn't miss a thing. Here goes...

9 p.m.:  I'm back at the Polaroid Beach House, this time for a Diesel Intimates Slumber Party. I've lost track how many times I've hit this oceanic hot spot this summer. There are no celebs yet, just fashionistas, media types and two adorable pups, the Puggle carrying the same moniker as moi—Sydne! This might get confusing. And at least one of us is a bitch!

9:45 p.m.:  After two Svedka vodka and sodas, I realize I haven't eaten dinner. I hit the kitchen and sample the personal chef’s mini PB&Js, sliders and sloppy joes. The other Sydne eats my leftover bun.

10:02 p.m.:  I discover my E! buddies Ben Lyons and Michael Yo are here. Ben and I discuss E!’s upcoming courtyard party featuring Eve. I tell him how last year I drank so much I had to sleep at my boss' house. He tells me he's going to walk home from the bender Monday. Smart move.

10:15 p.m.:  Nicky Hilton arrives with boyfriend David Katzenberg. I see the typically dour heiress smile once—for about half a second.

11 p.m.:  Mike Silverman, the octogenarian who lives next door, tells me a lady has to have elegance. He then moves his chair to a spot inside for a better view of the Diesel lingerie models—who are preparing upstairs with trays full of shots. Sheer elegance!

11:26 p.m.:  The panty raid begins. Beautiful girls and boys in bras, thongs and tightie-whities stampede down the stairs and start smacking each other with pillows. Feathers fly everywhere, and the models run back up.

11:42 p.m.:  Two poor souls are in charge of cleaning up the feathers. They can't find a vacuum, so instead use a broom to get the white mess off the carpet and West Elm furniture. I'm in charge of getting feathers out of my pal’s hair.

11:49 p.m.:  The models take a lap around the patio. A guy smacks a female model’s basically bare bum. She giggles. 

12:30 a.m.:  They're still sweeping inside. The cleanup crew is not giggling.

12:38 a.m.:  Paris Hilton arrives in her PJs: a blue print camisole with matching minishorts. She talks to a fellow blonde and strokes her Chihuahua before taking the pooch home to her nearby pad to join the rest of her canine crew.

12:49 a.m.:  Two models frolic over to elegant oldster Mike’s house next door to borrow a vacuum. My friend finds a feather in her cleavage. That's it for tonight's feather report. 

12:55 a.m.:  One of the models begins puking upstairs. I'm definitely not sleeping in that bedroom.

1:02 a.m.:  Jason "Gummy Bear" Davis tells me he's sober now. Rehab really is quite the trend of summer 2007. 

1:30 a.m.:  Everyone goes inside for karaoke. I'm going to need another drink.

4:30 a.m.:  People are eating mac and cheese spread onto glazed doughnuts! I really must get to sleep. Mmmm...doughnuts. Mmmm...mac and cheese.

6 a.m.:  My head finally hits a cot. Okay, I am sleeping now. Zzzzzz...No, seriously, I'm sleeping up a storm here.

10:59 a.m.:  Wha? Huh? I'm sort of awake now. The paparazzi queue outside Paris’ house, setting up their cameras for her barbecue. The grill of their dreams. Damn them for waking me!

12:14 p.m.:  People like Jericho’s Ashley Scott start laying out on the patio to catch the morning rays. “Has anyone fed Sydne?” someone inside asks. How nice! They’re bringing me breakfast. Oh wait, they’re talking about the Puggle. 

1:25 p.m.:  Eightysomething Mike from next door asks for his vacuum cleaner. Someone brings it over and says, “Thank you. It saved our night last night.” I grab a mimosa and take a walk on the beach, trying to save the morning, uh, the afternoon. Paris’ bouncer steps outside, toting his guest list. Dressed in a fashionable but heat-absorbing all-black suit, he must be burning up. 

1:31 p.m.:  Model-actress-deejay-pizzeria proprietor Caroline D’Amore arrives in a metallic pink bikini and Diesel shorts. She asks that the deejay booth be set up outside. 

1:45 p.m.:  Men start playing beach volleyball without a net. Paris’ bouncer takes another peek outside. The paparazzi look like they’re getting anxious. Or maybe just roasted.

2 p.m.:  Paris steps out on her balcony. The photogs go nuts, snapping like you’d think it was President Bush saying he'd just ended the war in Iraq. At nearby Polaroid House, the Diesel bras and panties left over from last night are secured on a clothesline by the entrance. Caroline is spinning the Proclaimers’ “500 Miles.” The Diesel Hangover Barbecue has officially begun. Getting into the spirit of things, I guzzle a water and two aspirin. 

2:13 p.m.:  Paris finally walks outside in a hot-pink bikini and white shorts. The paparazzi get even crazier, if that's possible. The heiress remains unfazed, saying hi to her neighbor Mike and chatting with guests like her actress auntie Kyle Richards.

2:34 p.m.:  The volleyball net is officially set up. “Sydne is so wet,” someone giggles. No, I’m not. I turn around. The dog emerges from the ocean. A propeller plane carries a sign. I see Britney Spears’ name and wonder if it will be followed with her phone number (It happened recently to Luke Wilson). No such luck. It's just an ad.

3 p.m.:  Paris runs inside and comes back to the sand with her Chihuahua. The paps scream her name and try to circle the house. They’re shooed back to the tide line, which is legally where they are supposed to stay.

3:20 p.m.:  After disappearing for five minutes, Paris reappears carrying a blond tot. She stages these adorable photo ops like a pro. Jason Davis greets Paris with a kiss hello and smiles at her toddler prop.

3:36 p.m.:  Gummy Bear Jason leaves chez Paris to get some tanning lotion at Polaroid. What is he thinking, wearing a green sarong over his shorts? He proceeds to draw a happy face on his big belly with Clinique lotion. I'm not smiling. If this is sobriety, maybe he should drink.

3:55 p.m.:  I go to the Clinique station to get my makeup touched up—with all these cameras around, I need to look my best.

4:11 p.m.:  Macy Gray exits Paris’ place and strolls past the paps to the ocean with Paris’ publicist Elliot Mintz.

4:14 p.m.:  Macy races back to the house to avoid the swarming cameras. The Simple Life’s Hunter Cross emerges. Guess he and Paris really did keep in touch after the show.

4:30 p.m.:  I walk down the beach to the LG House to check out its Puma Urban Mobility Party. Highlights include: Aisha Taylor posing with surfboards. Yawn. I'm told I just missed Suzanne Somers. Double yawn.

4:33 p.m.:  'N Sync's JC Chasez enjoys some beers, while fresh-out-of-rehab Hills star Jason Wahler stays sober with Monster Energy drinks he carried in from his car.

4:38 p.m.:  Sylvester Stallone gets out of his new black Bentley Flying Spur and walks in with Jennifer Flavin and their three daughters. The family sits next to British novelist Jackie Collins (Hollywood Wives). Rocky still looks like he could kick some ass. 

4:50 p.m.:  LG has been fun, but I miss watching Paris, so I head back to Polaroid.

4:59 p.m.:  Guess Jason Wahler wanted to see Paris, too. He's in the ocean by the time I get back to the house. When he leaves the water, little girls run over and ask for pictures and autographs. He obliges, says, "Peace," then walks inside Polaroid to dry off. I follow him and realize JC came over too. So did Aisha! Wonder if Sly will relocate?

5:10 p.m.:  JC starts playing beach football. I hope he doesn’t pull a Brody Jenner and break his finger.

5:21 p.m.:  To unwind after splashing in the surf, Jason hops in the hot tub. JC ends his football game sans broken digits. “This water’s for Sydne,” a boy behind me says. Finally, someone’s talking about me! I chug the Evian bottle.

6 p.m.:  Technically, the party’s over. But end times are nonexistent in Malibu. A volleyball game is still in full force, Ashley Scott is giving on-camera interviews and Caroline is still dancing behind her deejay booth—now she's spinning vintage Tupac instead of the trendy Mickey Avalon track she was spinning earlier.

6:40 p.m.:  Macy, Jason and Hunter come back out. The paparazzi pick up their lenses again. My friend Erica and I get up the nerve to talk to Hunter. He tells us he doesn't have a publicist because he's not into the reality biz, but he’ll get one once he has made it as an actor. In the meantime, he's still getting adjusted to L.A. He finally got a car!

6:42 p.m.:  Macy and Elliot come to Polaroid to grab a drink. Could Paris really have run out of al those bottle of 42 Below vodka? “I’ve lost Sydne,” a publicist at the house says. I’m right here, I almost exclaim, realizing it’s that damned dog again!

7 p.m.:  I'm starving, but the only food left is mac and cheese. I walk to my car on Malibu Road, where more paparazzi are poised for footage of guests exiting Paris’ pad. As much fun as this 22-hour party was, it’s time for Sydne the human to head home.