“Jimmy!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Jimmy Fallon! Can I have your autograph?! Jimmy!”… “Jimmy!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Jimmy Fallon! Can I have your autograph?! Jimmy!”

I don’t know what happened. One minute I was an 18-year-old college student absorbing the culture of New York City on her spring break, and the next moment I had transformed into a screeching, squealing, giggling pre-teen. I was the victim of a celebrity encounter.

The cast of “Saturday Night Live” poured out of the NBC building at 1:30 a.m. Sunday, and I was there waiting to greet them. NBC security instructed all fans to remain behind the barricades while the cast exited the building. Like a good obsessive fan, I listened.

I handed my friend a camera and instructed her to photograph me with as many cast members as possible. I waited, pen and autograph paper in sweaty palm, to meet my celebrities. I had it all planned out.

I was going to tell Tina Fey that I admired her for becoming the first female head writer for “Saturday Night Live.” I was going to tell her how she cracks me up on “Weekend Update.”

When Tracey Morgan came out, I was going to do my best Brian Fellow voice and tell him “he cr-azy!” I was going to tell Rachel Dratch that she does a really good Calista Flockhart.

Maya Rudolph was going to hear how awesome her character on “Wake-Up Wakefield” is, and how my friends and I do that “my future husband Randy Goldman” thing all the time. I was going to tell Jeff Richards that he does the best drunk girl imitation in town.

That never happened. Jeff Richards came out first, and instead of telling him how highly I think of him (because I’m sure that he wants to know), I managed to yell, “Hey Drunk Girl! Can I get a picture with you?”

When Rachel Dratch appeared, I quickly and loudly summoned her over to me with words and dramatic hand movements. She was talking on a cell phone and used her index finger to give me the “hold on a sec” signal. That’s when it hit me.

I don’t know these people. I may see them on television every week and laugh at their jokes and imitate their characters, but I don’t know them. And most evidently, they do not know me.

I was yelling at Rachel Dratch to get off the telephone with someone who she actually does know in order to get her photograph taken with a perfect stranger so that her face could be taped up in a random college dorm room.

So, I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have tried to meet my favorite celebrities. I know now that I don’t want to know them for real. I just want to think that when they put on skits, they do it for me. And I don’t want to think about the fact that they will never ever remember meeting me in Times Square. Oh well, at least we still have a date for Saturday night at 11:30.