Tuesday night, as the sea of Rolling Stone staff headed out to see Bob Dylan in Brooklyn or Radiohead in Jersey, I took the road less respected to see Good Charlotte, Metro Station and Boys Like Girls at Roseland Ballroom. A band I once defended as "blink-182 with talent," Good Charlotte was a fun, dependable act that somehow earned a place in my heart through a childhood of budgetless but respectable Warped Tour performances and ambitious, borderline nonsensical tour couplings (Justin Timberlake's FutureSex/LoveShow Tour? Srsly?). But never in my 22 years had I seen GC like this.

The trusty folks at Columbia gave me a pair of mezzanine tickets. At Roseland, this means you can enter the second level, and depending on availability, set up camp at a table (balcony-stage-right) to set your stuff down and get premium photo access. Hoping for a good shot, I did just that, and not long after Metro Station departed, I nestled into a prime high-top overlooking the stage. This is when I got a tap on the shoulder.

"Who are you?" a dude in a black shirt asked. "Who are you with?"

I could barely get my name out before a speaker went terribly awry during an on-stage soundcheck. Black shirt dude & I plugged our ears.

"I'm not going to make you move," he said quickly, "but this is a Good Charlotte table. These three seats next to you are going to be filled, and I'm going to ask you to be very discreet about who I fill them with." He raised his eyebrows at me.

This is the part of the story that is completely bonkers. This is the punchline people tell you, when you begin to repeat in your head, "You lying sack of shit." This is the kind of thing that simply doesn't happen.

Paris Hilton and her parents join me at my table. No security, no entourage. Not even a hidden camera for a new reality show "Punk’d by Paris." Just three warm handshakes and the most camera phone flashes I'd ever seen in my life. Did I want to ask about her brilliant McCain rebuttal? Of course. Did I want to know if she was hallucinating about an upcoming album & "singing career?" You bet.

But I didn't. Instead, I took my photos, ducked out of iPhone shots, and looked over every once in awhile to catch Paris blowing kisses to boyfriend Benji Madden (onstage), and sing along to "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous" (the irony!). Did Paris actually know Good Charlotte existed this time last year? I do not have an answer. All I know is that the 14-year-old in me got to watch her favorite band while hanging with their girlfriend Paris Hilton in the balcony. Now that's hot.