The story you are about to read is true. The names have changed to protect my friend who was vomiting all over a popstar's house.

A few days before New Year's, I ended up invited to a party in the Hollywood Hills to ring in 2004. I shouldn't say whose house it was because if he reads this, we will NEVER be invited back. I will say this- he's in a boy band, and not one of those pretend boybands like 98 degrees or O-Town or the Jackson Five.

A friend of a friend knew the guy, so I somehow ended up on the guest list. That afternoon, my buddy asked me what I was going to wear. I responded, "clothes." I'm not the kind of guy who buys a special outfit for anything, let alone for a boy band. Because, see, I like women.

There were about 100 people there. A bunch of people from all those Fox and WB coming of age sitcoms, some dude from The Sandlot, half of one of those other boy bands (oh no! drama!), and some other random actor-people I didn't recognize. Allegedly, Winona Ryder was there but I don't believe it because my jacket was still in the closet after she left. But who came to the party is not important. What's important is how often my friend threw up.

My friend, um, "John," had been talking to a girl for an hour and a half before she mentioned her boyfriend. AN HOUR AND A HALF. There are two party fouls girls with boyfriends are guilty of. Mentioning the boyfriend after being arm in arm with someone for an HOUR AND A HALF, or mentioning the boyfriend way too early. I'd rather the second one, and I'm sure John would have, too. Though that can also be annoying.

"So, where you from?"

"I'm from Indiana. And so is my boyfriend."

After she dropped the "boyfriend" line, John had a little too much to drink. And then he did like 8 more shots. So when it was time for us to say Bye Bye Bye, I discovered John passed out on the cooler outside. John is a VERY large guy, and while I dragged him indoors, he came VERY close to falling in the pool. I contemplated letting him just for the story.

But I managed to get him through the house and down to the street, all while calling a cab. The thing you need to understand about houses in the Hollywood Hills is that the driveways are about three blocks long and steeper than most of San Francisco. John stumbling, falling, and yelling, "Don't control me!" made getting him down to the street a remarkable accomplishment.

Our cab came, but someone took it while I was trying to get John to not die. We called a few more, and people took those, too. Then one of them clearly came for us, and someone even took that. I shouldn't tell you who did it. But it would have been awesome if as he stole my cab, he said, "Welcome to The O.C.!"

While we waited an hour til we were finally picked up, "John" lay there on the red brick, completely passed out. The final vomit count was 5 – once in each bathroom, once on the lawn, once over the railing, and once just lying on the ground. So I did what anyone would do in my situation- I took a picture with my new camera phone so we'd have proof. Maybe I should tell Sprint so they can use the story in their next commercial.

Oh man. I can't wait to see this episode of Cribs.

1. Did you know that according to the latest Axe deodorant survey, more than 90 percent of women have hooked-up with more than one guy in a night? Neither did I. But knowing is half the battle. The other half is french kissing.

2. Did you know that out sponsor and Puma have joined forces to release an exclusive, limited edition shoe called the "Freedom Trail". Puma is only producing 250 pairs and each one will be numbered?

3. Did you know that I have my first new Observational Humor of the year entitled "Why Are All My Stands Red?" or that Aaron Karo has a new Ruminations called "Chicks, Beer & SportsCenter?" Now ya do.