It was hard to top last year’s party on that beautiful boat in Newport, but this Saturday the OC Weekly Holiday Party & Fashion Show hit an all-time high with one of the best parties of the holiday season (if I do say so myself).

Britney Spears may have been a no-show, but that didn’t seem to be a problem for the hundreds upon hundreds of people who showed up to get down with the OCW at the stunningly elegant Gods & Heros in Costa Mesa.

A fashion show by Addiction started the night, followed by another show by Catwalk. The clothes were cute and the models were beautiful. So pretty and thin in fact, I vowed never to eat again.

Until I came across the Cupcakery.

And Burrell’s Wood Pit BBQ. And Widmer’s Hefeweizen. All free for excess consumption.

Whatever, that’s what New Year's resolutions are for.

Our toy drive brought in about three tons of stuffed animals and games for the kiddies. Thanks to everyone who donated!

I think there were enough karma points to smooth over the notorious Christmas party scandals of OCW proportions that I promised several people I would never repeat.

Check out the slideshow!

Flashback: Frederick J. Rizzolo, a Vegas titty bar owner, poses with Michael S. Carona, our self-proclaimed "Christian" sheriff, before Rizzolo was sent to federal prison this summer.

Carona first told reporters he didn't know Rizzolo, who--according to the FBI--has connections to legendary mobsters in Chicago. Then this photograph appeared on our pages and the sheriff's story switched. Rizzolo, he said, is an honest businessman. FBI didn't agree. As a high-ranking law enforcement officer said at the time that Carona is "dirty, stupid or both."

In July, the Los Angeles Times reported that the Law Enforcement Intelligence Unit (LEIU, an international crime fighting organziation, has indefinitely blocked Carona and his department from reviewing "criminal intelligence information" because of the sheriff's documented relationships with Rizzolo and con artist Joseph Medawar, who is also now serving a federal prison sentence.

During his first term, Carona's campaign accepted $40,000 in illegal campaign contributions from Charles Gabbard, a convicted felon (murder, robbery etc) who wanted the sheriff to lobby on his behalf with state officials. After the money exchange, our sheriff wrote a supportive letter for Gabbard.

I guess Carona likes to surround himself with colorful people. His hand-picked second in command, George Jaramillo, is currently serving a jail sentence after a bribery investigation. Carona's long-time drinking pal, defense attorney Joe Cavallo of Haidl Gang Rape fame, faces felony charges in an upcoming trial for allegedly running a bail bonds scam inside Carona's jail.

Who's your next colorful partner, Mikey?

My friends specifically told me not to blog this.

"Too many people will come!" They shouted.

But for you, faithful blog reader, I am going to let you in on a little secret.

Every Wednesday from 10 to 11 p.m., the Avalon in Costa Mesa gives out....

FREE BEER.

Pabst, actually. And only until they run out (which is usually 10:15).

Then, a post-free alcohol dance party ensues.

OK, keep it hush hush now.

Apples & Oranges, Mute's club held at Proof in Santa Ana, rocked the house last night.

First of all, the way Proof is set up practically guarantees a good time: One long room snazzily decorated with blue lights (red lights over the bar), not-quite-porno photography and lots of places to sit including luxe black couches (no VIP needed, how refreshing!).

Out the back is another equal size area outside and another (smaller) bar.

The rotating DJ set was genius, having one inside and another outside kept things from even getting close to dull. Them Jeans knocked my socks off.

The crowd was so stylish, girls were showin off the gams in babydoll and trapeze dresses while lots of the boys wore those sexy little hats that aren't quite fedoras... what are they called? Anyways, they're hot.

Quite a few photographers were roaming around; I'll get a picture up from one of them eventually, so sit tight.

Rony's Photobooth had set up a shoot outside, and anyone wanting to get their model on was welcome to join in. You know I did.

I've found my new favorite Friday nightclub, as long as I get there early to get drinks. By midnight the average drink wait was eternity.

Not that Proof was understaffed; there were just so many people who knew where the real party was.

UPDATE: Club photos are up.

Last night was the Club XO opening at Kolla’s Nightclub in Lake Forest.

How can I put this politely? It blew ass.

I would always rather write a positive review than a negative one, so it pains me to say last night started out abysmal, and only got mediocre from there.

And the awfulness started before OC Weekly receptionist Leslie and I even got in the door.

We walked up to the front of the club where a few men were standing around aimlessly, and I looked around for the mandatory ID-check guy. No one was acknowledging us, so I figured they must be checking ID’s inside, right? As I got closer to the door, I was stopped abruptly by the guy who was apparently the bouncer.

“IDs? You can’t just walk in like you own the place.”

How rude!

“What the fuck.” Leslie whispered behind me.

Announced today, MJM Innovations, a technology firm that focuses on transportation services, will launch the TaxiCard: a prepaid, reloadable card to be used for taxis and limos.

Jeffrey Venick, CEO, gave this statement: “TaxiCard is easy to use and manage because it eliminates the need to carry cash. . . . Each time the card is used, the transaction amount is automatically deducted from the balance.”

It’s kind of like a credit card! A credit card that can only be used for taxis.

Wait . . . why not just use a credit card in the first place? Do we really need one more thing to carry around when we go bar-hopping? I already have a hard enough time keeping track of my keys, driver's license, lip gloss . . .

Unless, of course, you're worried that sneaky cab driver is going to steal your identity in the three seconds he’s handling your MasterCard.

Oh, by the way, TaxiCard is only available for drivers who accept Discover, a.k.a. the redheaded step-child of the credit family.

Venick said TaxiCard will appeal to a broad range of customers, especially students and senior citizens.

“We’re confident that parents of college students will appreciate the assurance that a student carrying a TaxiCard won’t be stranded somewhere without a ride,” Venick stated. “It’s a great way to help seniors close the mobility gap that occurs when life expectancy exceeds driving expectancy.”

Ha!

What they really mean is TaxiCard will appeal to a broad range of drunks with bad credit.

That would have been a good campaign: Keeping more drunks off the road.

I guess it could make a good gift card, though. “Here, sweetie! Go get shitfaced.”

Saturday night was the opening of Voo Doo, a new club-show-concoction at the Basement Lounge in Long Beach. Advertised as a “burlesque show” to begin at 11 p.m., I brought my friend Angie who is a burlesque dancer herself, that way I could get an opinion from a professional’s point of view.

So here comes midnight looming dangerously close, I’m two Lemon Drops in, and so far it looks like just another night at the underground lounge (which is actually pretty happening).

“Do you know what time the show starts?” I shouted at somebody over the music.
They’re not sure.

I know shows always run late, especially new ones, but it had been a very looong day (one which had involved sweltering heat, a fridge packed with beer and an inflatable boxing ring). I knew I wasn’t going to last too much longer.

But then a couple security guards started shuffling people around, making a path from the stage to the bar.

The music changed to this sexy, thrashing song as two girls climbed on top of the bar. I was too far away to see the main stage up front, but I could tell there was something going on there too. I tried to squish my way to the front of the very tall crowd, but it just wasn’t going to happen.

The girls on the bar could keep an audience though, and keep this sleepy girl’s attention. They were exuberant, writhing around and doing these acrobatic flips from bars bolted to the ceiling. The dancers’ energy was spastically high, and they managed to keep in perfect time with the hurried beats of songs I couldn’t quite recognize. Angie, who is more of an old-school burlesque dancer was equally impressed, and mentioned how well choreographed the routine was.

It was dramatic and cool and incredibly sexy.

Last night was the opening of Lalita, a new Monday club at Fury, and Leslie (Le Receptionist) came along with me to provide her brilliant photography skills. This was my first time going to Fury, and weekday night clubs are always questionable in terms of awesomeness. Sometimes they absolutely go off, like Call Sick, and sometimes they sink (I won’t name anybody). Really, it’s either hit or miss.

“So, what kind of music?” Leslie asked me.
I have no idea.

“What’s the crowd like?”
Beats me.

Basically, we were venturing into uncharted waters. Whatever: It was Monday night, and there was nothing better to do.

I said, if it sucks, we’ll go eat somewhere.

Suck it did not. In fact, I’m putting Lalita in the “absolutely goes off” category.

It was packed, and there was a line of hopefuls outside waiting to get in that snaked around the building. All the waitresses wore little red kimono minidresses, which was a cute touch, and the bartenders were heavy-handed with the alcohol.

Being in Newport, I was afraid the crowd would be rife with the typical spray-tans-and-silicone uppityness, but it was actually pretty chill. The invitation said, “Dress to Impress,” which everybody did, but there was a relaxed attitude hovering over the black suits and slinky dresses.

The dance floor could be bigger, but it didn’t matter. For the first few hours, it belonged to the breakdancers anyway.

One wall was covered in a checkerboard pattern of screens that shifted from shot to shot of grainy black-and-white photography. It was so visually delicious I almost didn’t realize some of the subjects were Lindsay Lohan and Avenged Sevenfold. Almost.

Everything was lushly decorated with black upholstery and Eastern red accents. The club’s layout swept downwards, pulling you toward the central bar, aglow with red light shining through hundreds of neatly lined bottles. It looked like it was on fire.

You must, must, must check out Leslie’s slideshow!

The night started out innocently enough. I went to Riannon’s to meet up with my usual Long Beach crew to go dancing at the überhip Club Touch It. If I could only have known how the night would have turned out, I could have . . . hell, I don’t know what I could have done to prepare myself. That’s why I love Long Beach so much: all the crazy locals you meet when you're out with a bunch of loud, drunk people.

So we taxied it to Touch It. Mikey B. was there, of course, playing the Host With the Most, with about a hundred of his closest friends. The music was vibrating through everything, making the cocktails shimmy and shake like the girls who took over the go-go boxes. Everyone was so beautiful I took some pictures for all of you out in cyberspace, so be sure to check out the slideshow.

Dancing, dancing, drinks, more dancing.

Last night, I went to the Jane magazine/Rimmel Cosmetics party at the Beauty Bar in LA. Just because it was a Tuesday didn’t stop me from going out. I know our beloved Orange County can rock midweek, but it doesn’t hurt to see how our globally famous northern neighbor does it and maybe take some notes. I also went because these kind of shindigs usually give pretty good swag (I can’t say no to free makeup). And there was an open bar (again, can’t say no).

The Beauty Bar is the ultimate example of Kitschy Chic. Bubble-gum-pink walls caked with glitter frame original ‘50s beauty posters with slogans such as “Lipstick makes you pretty!” During the day, it serves as a beauty salon (Martini with your manicure? My favorite is the Platinum Blonde), and at night turns into one of LA’s coolest little spots.