Maybe everyone else in Hollywood knows this, but I’m pretty new to The Big Hollywood Private Party thing. So, you have to understand, when Keith and I arrived at the Stone Rose and my name was *actually* on the list, I was already thrilled and amazed. (No, it’s not that I thought Jessica was “just being nice” — heck, she’d invited me even before I’d interviewed her — it’s just the usual nervous doing something new for the first time thing.) But there are pretty much always random famous people at industry parties.

First up, Greg Grunberg. We’d been at the party for about an hour. We’d done the cool schmooze with most of the film’s stars and crew members, plus a few of Jessica’s best friends (all of whom were really thrilled with the article I had written) and a couple of actors she’s hoping to have “break out” with my help (hey… if I can help, GREAT! I’ll try). We’d had a couple of cocktails and a few nibbles of the yummy food they kept putting out, and found a great little spot to sit on the awesome patio. Soon, another couple leaned over, introduced themselves (I think we all joked about the shrimp or something), and when Greg came over to join them, he was introduced to us as well. Shake hands, all cool, blah blah blah. So, he’s not really involved with this project but he knows the people. Same as me at this point, right? Right. No weirdness.

And then there’s Kevin Sorbo. Kevin Sorbo? Really? Hmm. Well, that’s kind of cool. I can’t figure what his attachment to this group might be (nor is it any of my business to do so, really), but he’s enjoying himself and people are enjoying him, so I figure maybe there’s some other project in the works and that’s just how this town works. Or, heck, maybe people are just friends with famous people and invite them like anyone else. It’s just that it’s a little odd somehow. And it shouldn’t be (and it isn’t, when I know the celeb… but it’s weird when I don’t).

So when Alfonso Ribeiro shows up, it’s getting a little late. We’ve now had more than a few cocktails, Keith has told “the luckiest man in the world” story, my DVD cover has been autographed by a half-dozen members of the cast (and Jessica, of course), and I’ve been pegged as “and guest” in a handful of photos by random photographers. Fair enough. Alfonso is working the room. Keith approaches him to remind him that we know people in common (Alfonso directed an episode of a TV show our friend starred in, and we went to a taping, blah blah blah) and it’s clear the man has women on his mind (and Keith’s in his way). Very funny watching someone who shouldn’t have to work at it having to REALLY work at it (it’s like being at a college bar at last call and seeing the BMOC doing whatever it takes to go home with someone… even though he should be able to go home with anyone anytime anyway, right?).

Enter Andy Dick. Now something happens. Most of the crowd has gone by now. The servers are clearing off the tables to make room for these enormous cotton candy platters and other yummy dessert items. Everyone is hugging Jessica and her publicist goodnight and saying thank you and congrats. Most importantly: The tab has been closed. It’s like Andy Dick walks in and The National Anthem plays on an old-timey TV station (sign-off ’til morning). But it gets louder, more frenetic, and bizarrely more “Hollywood” all of a sudden. I feel like I’m at a rave. Still, I head over to Andy to ask whether his recent emails to the director of a film I’m casting are actually coming from him (and I should be approaching him about doing the project) or not. “Yeah, I don’t really DO the online thing. If she’s hearing from ‘me’ through MySpace or something, it’s my web guy, not me.” (Note to self: Never have someone think they’re hearing from “me” when it’s really “my people” doing the correspondence. At least be true in that respect.)

So, maybe the rest of the world knows that when Andy Dick arrives, it’s time to go. I learned it for myself on Monday. So, we left the Stick It DVD party and went to Dan Tana’s, where I spent the rest of the night groping my friends, slamming too many free drinks, and talking about Oliver Freaking Stone.

(And, apparently, where I lowered my tolerance to the point that, come Wednesday morning, I was laid out with some sort of flu that I’m still fighting. Bleh. Oh well… well-earned, I s’pose.)