After a recent West Hollywood trip that went awry, and looked more like a scene from MTV’s Jersey Shore, I’ve been trying to keep it less club happy and more late-night low-key. Why anyone would want to fake tan enough to resemble an oompa loompa is beyond me, but then again, I’m so pale I could be a member of the famed fangtastic Cullen clan. It’s one thing to go and have a good time, but it’s quite another to go out and not remember if you had a good time, what you may or may not have said to cause your friend to stop talking to you, and if you do or do not need to get a prescription for Plan B today. If that’s what you’re looking for, just set your DVR to watch the next episode of “what not to do when out,” care of the east coast kids who should be auditioning for the next Axe Hair Crisis Relief commercial. Hollyweird is simply a cesspool for drunken debauchery, and tres fun in moderation, but only to find Mr. Right Now, not Mr. Right. So pack up that wristlet for a night on the town with caution, because True Life: I need a nice dude is not in the works just yet (but should be). So maintain your manners while walking the boulevard and kick the California calorie count to the curb prior to pre-gaming those cocktails, before you end up on the next episode of Intervention. See you over the hill again soon. The aforementioned rules and restrictions applicable to all 364 nights a year except the Schmooz-A-Palooza, because whatever happens on Sunset stays there…Santa’s too busy to tell on us.