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Monaco Eve

Thursday, 22 July, 12:30 a.m. Central European Summer Time (CEST)
I arrived at the hotel at 5 p.m., checked in, unpacked a bit. Got all my work stuff out, and went to a 5:30 staff meeting.

At the meeting, JB (the lead on this event) hands out envelopes to everyone. "What's this?" I hope it's money. "That's your invite to the Salvidor Dali art show tonight. The Prince will be there. You must have an invitation to enter."

Great. I was told I would not be "on the list" for that event tonight. I'd planned to take a hot bath and go to bed early. Eleven hours on a plane. No make up to speak of. Dirty hair. Tired as shit. BUT NOW I'M GOING TO MEET THE PRINCE!! I mean, I can't NOT go! I have 30 minutes to transform myself into something royal-worthy. Which I do. Of course. B/c that's the kind of girl I am.

The event is crowded and hot. Europeans just aren't into their AC the way we are in these southern states. A mob of photogs, security and Eurotrash crowd the Prince the entire time. I hardly get to see him, but I try to position myself near a piece of art so that he'll see me as he walks through. I did catch his eye, if only for a second. This cleavage is worth it's weight in gold, I tell ya.

The protocol is that no one can leave before His Highness. Once he departs, the place clears out like rats off a sinking ship.

A group of nine of us go to dinner at La Maison de Caviar. We sit outside and it all just feels so...European. I have smoked salmon blini and garlic shrimp. Wine flows like a river here. It's almost midnight when we get back to the hotel. I'm so tired. I call home and it's good to hear My Kid & Big Daddy's voices. I take a hot bath and finally fall into bed.