Oh, sure, if you like beautiful movie stars ...

Apparently one cannot wander out onto the sidewalk with one’s martini. Liquor laws or something.

I had stepped outside to ask the nice geisha girl with the list if she knew where I could find Cheryl, the woman who had invited me to the opening night party at Tokio, a new karaoke bar/lounge/restaurant/hopeful hipster hangout in Hollywood. I was eager to be introduced to someone in particular.

My pal Nicole and I had arrived about a half-hour before, and, after much subtle nonverbal negotiation, had made our way through the mass of Asianophiles to the bar, presided over by barmaids who would have looked right at home in a Bangkok, er, club. The older fellow who made our drinks, however, wore a suit jacket and called me “Love.” Nicole had seen him walking in earlier with a bottle of liquor under one arm, which made us suspect that: 1) he was some sort of proprietor, and thus, 2) the joint was running short on both bartenders and booze.

And sushi too -- all that was left was some wilted edamame scattered about the bar.

The place was so spanking new, it still smelled like paint. Or maybe that was vodka, come to think of it.

Scanning the room, Nicole, who is from Philly, asked me: “Why are all the men in L.A. boy-sized?” She referred to both height and girth, and I had no answer for her. Perhaps, like my brothers, they lived on Cheetos and Coke during their formative years. “Also, the tzsjing has gotten completely out of control,” I complained. Would some man take a bold stand and please bring back the comb?

Then I spotted young Chris Weitz, the film director and one of Tokio’s co-owners, and decided I very much wanted to shake his hand. Hence my wandering outside in search of my connection, Cheryl.

At the door, the blue-eyed “Japanese” concubine shooed me back inside and fetched Cheryl, who took me over to Nathan (who, of course, being man-sized, is from New York), who introduced me to Chris Weitz, who allegedly opened Tokio because his best girl, Heather Graham, likes karaoke. Whatever Rollergirl wants, Rollergirl gets.

Chris and his brother, Paul, directed “American Pie” and “About a Boy,” and about this boy I can say: He is cute as pie. With my razor-sharp perception, I discerned this quickly as he asked about my martini and told me he cries frequently. Tall, dark and cute.

The full extent of his cuteness was just striking me -- and I had just slipped him my business card -- when a very, very pretty girl in a cropped turquoise tank top came over. “Hi! I’m Heather!” she said, and stuck out her hand to me in a friendly yet possessive manner. Foiled by the girlfriend yet again, though I was pleased to have moved up to a whole new caliber of girlfriend. No mere mortal woman can compete with Felicity Shagwell.

I rejoined Nicole, and, having made our appearance for the paparazzi, we left.

That night I dreamed that Chris Weitz and I made out and he dumped Heather.

Samantha Bonar can be reached at Samantha. bonar@latimes.com.