<http://schema.org/articleBody>
" There are two kinds of people in this world: those who show up at Halloween parties all decked out in a costume they clearly took time to conceive and construct, and those who show up wearing a cowboy hat. I fall into the latter category.  So when Blythe called last week to invite me to a costume party, I dusted off the old Stetson, took out the Levis, and considered my work done. Then she called yesterday and asked what I was planning to be.  &amp;quot;A cowboy,&amp;quot; I told her.  &amp;quot;Oh no, you didn&amp;#039;t.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;What?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;No, no, no. This is a real Hollywood party. People go all out. I ain&amp;#039;t showing up with some cowpoke. We need a Plan B.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;I guess I could throw on a hooded sweatshirt and sunglasses and go as the Unabomber.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;What is this \u2014 1992? Jesus. Why don&amp;#039;t you just go as Bill Clinton, and I&amp;#039;ll be Monica Lewinksy?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;That&amp;#039;s not a bad idea, actually. You could wear little knee pads.&amp;quot;  That night, we hit the Internet to brainstorm ideas. We wanted to go as Larry Craig and the cop who busted him, but thought building a bathroom stall would be too much work. Then we wanted to go as Britney Spears and Paris Hilton, but Blythe feared that they&amp;#039;d actually be at the party. We finally ended up settling on Tom and Katie, or &amp;quot;TomKat,&amp;quot; as Blythe annoyingly called them. We even threw in a baby carriage and a doll to stand in for Suri.  The party was way up in the hills at some rich dude&amp;#039;s house. He&amp;#039;d apparently made a fortune on horse racing because there were gaudy statues of horses all over his enormous property. The girl-to-guy ratio was about 50 girls to 1 guy, which made for a lot of naughty nurses, devilish devils, and sexy pussycats.  I felt like an idiot walking around in a leather coat and sunglasses. It was hot as hell, and I couldn&amp;#039;t see a damn thing. Nobody could figure out who I was \u2014 Keanu Reeves in The Matrix? The Terminator? David Caruso? For some reason, they had an easier time with Blythe. Maybe because \u2014 and I had never noticed this before \u2014 she looked a little bit like Katie Holmes. She&amp;#039;s tall and pretty, dark eyes, cute little grin. Halfway through the party, I wanted to dip my Dawson in her creek. But she was having too good a time dancing with a bunch of X-ed out teens on the dance floor.  I stood and watched, getting my drink on. I might have been drunk, but I wasn&amp;#039;t drunk enough to dance to techno. Despite all the eye candy, the party itself was incredibly boring. There were no celebrities that I could see, and I couldn&amp;#039;t see \u2014 so that was a problem. Am I getting older, or does everyone in Los Angeles look like they work at Forever 21? I felt like a horny grandpa at the party. It didn&amp;#039;t help when some drunk girl asked if I was Joe Pesci.  Catching Blythe&amp;#039;s eye, I gestured toward the door. &amp;quot;One more minute,&amp;quot; she mouthed. There was no way I could hear her over the throbbing music. Blythe was quite the dancer. It was sexy watching her get down. I wished I hadn&amp;#039;t been born with a debilitating dancing disorder. Seriously, I&amp;#039;m like ADD on the dance floor. People tend to get hurt in my path.  I turned away for a minute to take in some of the new costumes that had just arrived, and when I turned back, Blythe was talking to some guy dressed as a pirate. &amp;quot;Ahoy, man. Gar!&amp;quot; I called.  They didn&amp;#039;t hear me. Blythe looked as though he&amp;#039;d just told her a family member had died. By this point, she was about 50 bodies deep in the middle of a heaving mass of bodies, so I couldn&amp;#039;t get to her easily. And the music was so damn loud, I couldn&amp;#039;t hear a thing \u2014 just watch. The pirate put his hand on her shoulder. She pushed it away. He put his hand under her chin, she shoved him hard and ran in the other direction.  The party was absolutely mobbed, and it took me 10 minutes just to get to the other side of the room. When I finally found her, she was waiting in her car with the radio on.  &amp;quot;What&amp;#039;s wrong?&amp;quot; I asked.   &amp;quot;Get in. Let&amp;#039;s just get out of here!&amp;quot; "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.redbookmag.com/love-sex/mens-perspective/a2344/diary-he-110107/>