I just crashed the party of the year, and it almost felt better than Taylor Swift’s arse looks.

I’m as schooled in the art of celebrity stalking as I am with partying. Just ask every single one of my ex boyfriends: I am a psycho stalker.  And, what better opportunity do I have to shine than T. Swizzle’s legendary Rhode Island Fourth of July extravaganza? Mix lil’ Rhody with a dose of celebrity culture and add on some of that stalker stuff and I am happier than Tom Hiddleston’s agent!

I sacrificed my health for this stalker mission. I mean, have you seen me? I’m paler than Tom Hiddleston’s British inner thigh. I planted myself, my husband and children on a beach for eight hours to possibly spy Taylor Swift. I should have drunk a bottle of SPF 120 to make it through the day.

Just when I thought this skin damage was for naught, out descended the squad. Yes, Taylor Swift and her bevy of beautiful people opened the gates of her $17 million Watch Hill mansion and swam in the Atlantic Ocean right next to me and my chafed thighs. Their appearance was accomplished in a dizzying whirl of speed and exhilaration;  out they ran, in sync with their shared loveliness, tautness and fondness for Solo cups. (Stars, they really are JUST like us!)

The sexual spark between Taylor Swift and Tom Hiddleston was hotter than Gigi Hadid’s Prada shades. Soon after Taylor and Tom splashed into the water, she hopped onto his back with a mischievous look of love. They looked perfect together and I’m not even going to question why Tom Hiddleston wore a shirt into the water, let’s peg that to British modesty.

And it was over as quickly as Taylor’s love for what’s-his-name, Calvin Harris. After a few photos, giggles and shared hugs, the squad ascended up the stairs and into the heaven that must be Taylor’s life. I saw Blake Lively’s burgeoning belly and Ruby Rose’s many tattoos.  Taylor’s brother Austin and I shared a glance and I wondered what his future holds, will being lost in Taylor’s shadow wreak havoc on this handsome man, or will he find his own fame? Austin, may I suggest that you marry Selena Gomez? Somebody has to get her away from any kind of microphone.

As the crowd dissipated, I saw Selena. She didn’t participate in the oceanic frolic but she did watch from afar. She stood at the top of the stairs, holding a large hat, while looking pensive.  I could sense her Bieber love-sickness from below. Poor Selena, don’t pout, there’s always Austin Swift.

Back at the ocean, we revelers were left with the type of feeling you get after paying for Taylor Swift tickets, “did that really just happen, did I really just do that?” Well, it did and I have the TMZ photo to prove it. In the madness of the moment, I almost forgot that I actually had children at the beach, but voila, here is evidence. That little boy staring straight ahead, the only person within a mile nonplussed by the hysteria is Holden, my son.

Stalk on, baby.