So last week, post-Schmooz-A-Palooza®, this princess boarded THE Princess and sailed off to visit the Mexican Riviera. The ship was absolutely filled with young quarter-life crisis kids and the most outgoing of us (which was thankfully the majority) clicked right from the start, making this the perfect young maiden’s voyage. Ringing in twenty-ten with three thousand of my closest strangers was a surprising blast, and although the New Year’s kiss usually has girls feeling more than single and guys dealing with the whole “I don’t want to give her the wrong relationship idea” thing, this was just one giant ALL-night party that left those hypnotized by various intoxicants free to either (dis) or engage in a little NYE lip-locking. The entire ship, no matter what age, seemed to party sans drama ‘til twenty-ten’s first dawn. The entire experience was by far one of my fave trips, and it completely had me craving another cruise sooner rather than later. Though most people consider an out-of-the-country fling a temporary one, the last time I met someone on a cruise, we ended up dating on and off for two years. Mind you we didn’t kiss and tell during the weeklong vacay, we waited until we were safely back on So-Cal soil to sexperiment. All and all the trip down the Pacific Coast was sinsational, if that’s how this year started, I can’t wait to see what else it brings. Something wonderfully wicked this way comes.

So the Schmooz-A-Palooza® came and went and all those who think it’s nice to be naughty ventured out to the Sunset strip for an evening that was absolutely unbelievable.  Mix a little couture, cocktails, and a cute crowd and nothing could go wrong.  I was lucky enough to have my fave wing girls on hand for various cute boyfriend sightings.  Boyfriend: Noun, slang for possible future dating contestant.  There were too many boyfriend sightings to count, and with the various raised hemlines, I’m sure these boys weren’t disappointed.  With everyone dressed to impress, liquid courage in hand, and a million different options, it made me wish St. Nick would haunt Hollywood at least twice a year.  You may think making out is not entirely a spectator sport but locking lips was not exactly a behind the scenes event that night.  In fact, the backstage pass was handed out by several people, and though it wasn’t all access, the stalkerazzi still had something to talk about the next day.  We left oh-nine looking fine.  Here’s hoping twenty-ten is a total dime…

I rarely get excited for events of any sort of religious nature, but the Schmooz-A-Palooza is coming up around the corner and is always an exception. Rather than a mixer where one goes to meet Mr. Right, she goes to meet and greet Mr. (or Misses!) Right Now, in a low-key, no pressure type of setting. The three floors filled with scandalously-clad kids allow for absolutely no boredom, and an endless array of active options. More or less, this night (unlike all other nights) serves as one giant reunion, and in addition to meeting people of a newer nature, ghosts from friends past, present, and future come from The Valley and the Westside to join in the festivities of a party so grand it takes an entire year to put together. So rather than stuff stockings and wait for the obese jolly man who could certainly use a fat flush stat, get to the party that everyone else and their mother will be at. More than likely you have work off the next day anyway and you never need an excuse to let loose on the famed sunset strip.

This past Monday night, I ventured past the hills and into West Hollywood for what I thought would be just another night out of drinking and dancing. When I got to Apple lounge, I inadvertently found myself in the middle of matzo ball madness, and it seems I should have brought a passport in order to gain admittance to this direct import from the Holy land. It was insanity as soon as I walked through the door. Between the jewtastic mob of people and the various exclamations of Hebrew phrases, I was considering adding rosetta stone to my next birthday wishlist. I had several encounters with people from my past right there in my present and I instantaneously had flash backs to the Schmooz-A-Palooza, where a girl can’t walk 10 feet before running into some former friend, bringing the six degrees of Jewish separation to life in a whole new way. Israeli music was mixed in to mingle with whatever has recently dropped on Power 106, and the dancefloor was like a mob scene that could rival Times Square on any given New Year’s Eve. All in all, the entire evening offered a much needed break for jaded young Hollywood enthusiasts and this alternative form of play was long overdue. In a city where a girl can eat cuisine from various continents with all the ease and grace of a seasoned celebrity posessing unlimited funds, she should be able to party like one. My late night IHOP (international house of partying) escapade was a success and had me lusting for another out of country experience. Yesterday Israeli Insanity, today California casual, tomorrow Cancun!