This past weekend, my friend Amanda (and, weirdly enough, my completely-unrelated-friend Stacey) went to something called the “Bachelor’s Ball”. Apparently there have been one hundred some-odd of these things previously (this one was touted as the “103rd Annual”).

Now, I know absolutely nothing about it, or who puts it on, or where it was held, although I vaguely remember hearing that it was at some hotel in Beverly Hills. I was told that the tables people were assigned to were set up by theme. How cute. Amanda’s table had an “aviator” theme; leather jackets, scarves and goggles, oh my! Stacey’s table had an “In and Out Burger” theme, complete with shirts that had slogans like “You can’t beat our meat” on the back. How clever.

But knowing what I know about how men handle dating in Los Angeles, the idea of a secret-handshake club having a “Bachelor’s Ball” once a year for a century, wherein they encourage the coeds to dress up in thematic costumes — sluttily, of course — and go drink at some swank Beverly Hills Hotel sort of reminds me of that first scene in the movie Blade.

Or maybe the girls don’t exactly wander in the hotel to pulsing rave music, only to get covered in blood from the sprinkler system and eaten alive by vampires. But something tells me the two scenes are at least somewhat similar.