We were a little late arriving. I think this is what's called "fashionably late," but I reject all forms of fashion, and this makes being late a lot less fun. Everyone was seated at tables with wine. The tables were arranged around trees with white Christmas lights in their canopies, an effect which enraptures potheads and the nearsighted. I am the latter.

TheProducer recognized a few friends, a portly lady with freckles named Audrey, and another woman who could have passed as Audrey's post gastric bypass photo. Freckles and everything. They were wearing gauzy things with knotted jewelry. I wanted to arrange them into a pile on the paving stones below and fall into a pleasant sleep.

Producer and I took a seat on the side of a disabled fountain while Tom, the host of the charity, was wheeled on stage in one of those groovy Stephen Hawkins chairs, and I say that with ease because he seemed to think it was as groovy as I did. He was backing up, spinning left, reversing, spurting, breaking, and when he made it to the mic, he said "the great thing about being in a wheel chair is that you don't worry about your bald spot any more." He thanked people, and then Tracy Ullman joined him to auction off cardio strip tease sessions and trips to the wine country. Spot lighting magnified the dander molting from the trees. Tracy said, "Look! It's snowing in LA. It's a miracle for Tom's party!"

The Producer began bidding for a trip to San Fransisco. When no one would spar with her she yelled "COME ON! I'M AN INDEPENDENT PRODUCER! YOU PEOPLE ACTUALLY HAVE MONEY!" Eventually her former boss stepped in and a congenial bidding war ensued, which he won. It was suggested that the Producer was rash with her bids, and being that we arrived in a '91 Volvo, I can see how this argument is valid.

The highest bid of the evening was for a private dinner party hosted by a local chef. No one was much interested in the item, so Tracy promised to come over and 'serve the entrees.' The bidding picked up, and just as it was about to level off again, she promised to serve the entrees in a maid's outfit.

A five-month-old Labradoodle (Chocolate Lab/Poodle mix) was brought to the stage by a gauzy woman I had not yet met. The pup was a terrified ball of fluff, alternately shaking and then stuffing its snout into the gauze to escape the crowd and lighting. Audrey ended up winning her. She came up to the stage to collect her, which didn't go well. The pup refused to move, and this is pretty much how the auction ended, with Audrey sitting next to her very first dog, awkwardly petting it and saying to herself 'what the fuck did I just do?'

It was announced that the silent auction was still running for another ten minutes. People milled around the tables that flanked the stage, some writing out their bids, some not. I immediately went to the pup, sat on the stones and cuddled with her. She was mellow for a baby, and I suspected that she was either retarded or in shock. I decided it was the latter. Audrey looked shocked as well. She kept mumbling about 'going to the store' and 'getting a crate' with a dazed look on her face.

Me: "It's going to be okay. You're going to love being a dog mommy."

A slightly built girl knelt down on the other side of the pup and began scratching her too. She had pale eyes, blue I think, and perfectly sculpted eyebrows that looked like tipped parentheses. Her hair was almost black, kind of rough looking under the gloss stylists are using to mask abuse now. I thought I must have met her the last time I was in LA, because she seemed familiar. She was sweet, and I could tell this by the way the dog leaned in. Dogs are much better judges of character than I am. Much, much better.

A clip from a documentary about Tom began playing on the wall of the studio, which was rather fascinating in that it showed just how much work and singularity of purpose goes into being a writer/director on set in a wheel chair with limited muscle control. It followed Tom during the making of his recent film, "Bickford Schmeckler's Cool Ideas," a young comedy. I know nothing of it aside from the clip I saw, which showed a table full of kids in a back room playing Dungeons and Dragons. The girl with the glossed black hair was in the movie, but in it, she was platinum blonde. That's when it hit me.

The girl with the glossed black hair is the girl who plays the role of "Alex," punk rock lesbian and Mischa Barton lover on the OC. I irrationally hate this girl for her misleading portrayal of girl-on-girl action, rancid in its awkwardness , yet I cannot look away. I want to punch her for being so hot that I can't turn off the TV when angered by her completely inadequate kisses.

But when I scan the party to find her again and see the resemblances, she's still on her knees by the puppy. Not only is she not "Alex," she is not at all like her. She doesn't even look like her.

So LA freaked me out, but in a pleasant way. Isn't that nice?