I recently spent my second year in a row in Hollywood on Halloween. And for the second year in a row, the trip involved A-list movie stars, B-list rock stars, and D-list Erin Granat. D for Dork. Because somehow, no matter the circumstance, I always manage to make a fool of myself.

The first such occasion was the Thursday night before Halloween. The duo of Beth and Erin, a.k.a. Just B.E., a.k.a. Visual Assassins, a.k.a.Floozy and Lovewhore, were invited back to the American Film Institute annual FILM FEST to "volunteer," which involved standing around gawking at celebrities, occasionally escorting a VIP to their seat.

We got to attend the premiere of "Doubt," and so in the same movie theater as us were such idols as Meryl Streep and Amy Adams. We were thrilled. So thrilled, in fact, that we got really hungry. So halfway through the movie (which is really well done but is about nuns in the 1950s so is rather dull), I decide to get a hot dog. Cause I love hot dogs. So I'm sitting there, in my red movie premiere appropriate dress, when I take my first bite. And splat! mustard and relish falls all over me.

Beth starts giggling and I start wiping at the stain, which causes the napkin fibers to shed- you know when paper products do that sometimes? So instead of cleaning it adds to the mess? Long story short, I made Beth walk in front of me until we got to the car where we rolled up the dress and safety pinned it to hide the stain. It sorta looked right. Sorta looked Fourth Street/Hollywood Boulevard. But I guess that makes sense.

The condiment catastrophe was just a warm-up however. We had scored tickets to Marilyn Manson's Halloween party at the Roosevelt Hotel, so the next night that's where we went. I absolutely idolize that man and his white skin, reptile eyes, platform boots, and penchant for freakish, vampire-esque activities, so I was raring to go. First priority: a sick costume. Should I be "To: Men, From: God" like in past years? Or recycle my Elvis costume? Nah. I had to think of something GREAT, this was going to be the Prince of Darkness, after all. A girl has to make an impression!

Then, like a rocket shooting into the sky or a shot of Rumpleminz hitting your gut, I had it! We would be (in no particular order): Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll! How amazing is that?!?!? Okay, truth is I blatantly stole this costume idea from Casey Hiller as we shared beers at Chapel, but it's Halloween- ethics don't apply!

So we convinced the lovely Ashley (our H-ween co-conspirator and generous hostess) to join the trifecta, and we were off! Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll to take over Manson's party!

So...it sorta went like that. Like many Hollywood events, there were so many people you could hardly move, and so many douchebags and birdbrains you didn't really want to walk around anyway. So we partied in the room where Mix Master Mike (of Beastie Boys fame) was the DJ and generally had a rocking good time. Highlights are as follows:

Reality Rescue- We were sitting down to rest our tired feet and drunken brains when a Slutty Dorothy came over (as his first duty in office, can Obama please bring his "change" to the embarrassing girl costume ritual of taking wholesome childhood characters and making them sex-ified?! It's kinda wrong.) and asked very sweetly if she could get us some water. We look up and it's none other than Kristin Cavallari, that ditzy broad from that ditzy show "The Most Vapid Representation of American High School of the Real Laguna Beach," or whatever they called it. You know you're pretty fucked up when a reality TV star is asking if you need help.

Manson's Speech- After the Cavallari episode but before I got too into my Rock and Roll character and threw my drink on Beth and right around the same time that we took a picture with a guy dressed as Jesus, Marilyn Manson gave us a Happy Halloween speech. It went like this.

"Happy Halloween, motherfuckers. All I have to say is tonight, if you have sex without a condom, take the morning after pill. Snort it. It works."

So eloquent. So to the point.

(Please also imagine Manson giving the speech dressed as he was in his very own Halloween costume- himself (all black, the make-up), with just a cardboard sign around his neck that said "AIDS")

Why 'D' is for Dork- And finally, what you've been waiting for, what Erin did to embarrass herself yet again.

After the moving speech by our Halloween host, Ashley saw a few friends of hers, girls that work as Mr. Death and Darkness's assistants. They start talking then we all start walking towards Teddy's, a cool cavernous club in the Roosevelt. I'm not sure why we're going there until one of the assistants, dressed as a death bride with tears of blood down her face, turns to me and says:

"Want to go meet Manson?" 

And perhaps it was the loud music or the multitude of vodkas or perhaps it's just what I wish she would have said, but for some reason I heard:

"Want to go meet Hanson?"

To which I enthusiastically replied:

"Oh yeah! Cool! Mmmbop- right on!"

To which the death bride gave me a death look and Beth started snorting with laughter. Beth tells me what she said in actuality and I drop my head in shame. Why can't I ever be cool? Why not, ever, just once?

Finally, to wrap up the evening up semi-humiliation and quasi-celebration, we decide to follow a group of fun looking people around the hotel. Maybe they're going to an after party in a room! We can go too and be just like Paris and Lindsay! Hooray! So we follow this group of people who are for some reason taking the stairs rather than the elevator, up to the top floor. Sweet! They must be VIPs!

We burst out of the stairwell, a big laughing group, and into the hallway, where I almost run right into Marilyn Manson. This group of "fun people" was definitely his entourage, and they were definitely going to drink each other's blood or sacrifice small animals or whatever is was, and we were now determined to go too.

We cruise down the hall of the Roosevelt, trying to act cool and suave, round a corner, watch Manson's looming black frame turn into a room, wait while the gaggle of girls he has collected throughout the night and his random Goth friends file in, then Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll step up.

"Wait a minute," the guy at the door says, as Manson and friends settle into the room. He ushers the three of us aside, lets in the final few groupies, and then proceeds to slam the door in our face. Wa-bam! Shot down by the King of Weird and his family of freaks.

Bummed out but inwardly quite relieved (I mean, what would I have done in that room anyways? A girl from Gardnerville that wears relish-stained dresses and still gets a bit giddy over Isaac, Taylor, and Zac?), we walk back downstairs and out in the street to hail a cab. Which quickly proves impossible because while we were dancing around inside, outside in the street there was a gang fight and the riot police have blocked off the street.

Using her ingenuity and the benefit of her costume simply being "Sex," Ashley convinces a group of Marines fresh out of Fallujah to give us a ride home in the limo they rented. We had to listen to them extol the virtues of McCain and my Rock and Roll mohawk got flattened trying to stick my head out of the sunroof, but at least we got home in one piece.

And though I might preside on the D-list and probably will never advance to the C-list ('C' as in cool), at least I can give hope to small-town girls everywhere: With the right costume and the right friends by your side, you too can unabashedly squeal over boy bands and have the door of a rock star slammed in your face.

Until next year.