I was standing on the corner of M and 32nd at 6:33 on Tuesday night watching as the ex-Staples building filled to capacity with VISA wielding, drop-till-you-shop, fashionistas. Traffic on M Street came to a crawl as men fresh from the office in their SLRs wondered where all these beautiful (rich) blondes came from. The music was pumping inside, the door checkers stood guard with their clipboards and guest lists as thick as the wait for a Birkin bag. I could taste the sale racks. I could smell the self-indulgent pleasure of buying completely unnecessary things for me — just me. Tonight I would be Glamazon. I was ready to shop.

I know some of you are reading this thinking, "This poor, depraved woman acts as if she has never been to a true sample sale, either in NYC or LA (read: not DC). She has no clue that (a) this not a true 'sample sale' by definition and (b) the size and scope pales in comparison to so many others." Fine. I'm a big honkey from back-water Bethesda. I read Lucky magazine. But don't ever try to tell me I can't spot a deal from a mile away. And the first District Sample Sale of our proud nation's capital had plenty.

I walked up to the door and got my wrist band for free martinis, mini quiches, and of course, the much anticipated goodie bag. "I'm only 3 minutes late," I think, "there will be plenty of bags left." Wrong. So wrong. The pristine and petite Lancome bags with an elegant black flower logo had all been snatched up. There was even a piece of black tape across the top of the bag so you couldn't peek (reach)inside someone else's and see what you were missing. I moved up the ramp, past the DJ and headed for the bar, thinking I better get a drink before they start watering them down, but the line was already 10 deep. Ok, time to strategize.

The place was jumping. Women with enviable handbags were all in manic mode, feverishly looking through boxes, racks and piles of clothes. Hands were digging through jewelry, wallets, scarves, headbands — anything that was priced to move. Clothes came off mannequins and displays. There were no dressing rooms so people just tried on whatever they needed to under the cover of the masses. I saw other women walking by me with large shopping bags that said Wink, Sugar, Valise. I went into jealous panic mode. "What did they get?!" At this point it didn't matter if I needed it or if it even fit right, I had to get something. Like a desperate teenager at 'N Sync concert I had to throw myself into the fray.