Something happens around the middle of November.

The back-to-school frenzy leads into the Jewish holiday chaos and then comes the Halloween madness and once that’s over I breathe a sigh of relief for a very brief, brief moment because around the ides of November it happens: HOLIDAY PARTIES. I love a good party. I really do. I’m not one of those people who cries “I’ll be the one behind the planter!” I fancy myself both introverted and extroverted at the same time and as long as your party doesn’t look like it belongs on the Jersey Shore and I’m not required to wear any kind of crop-topped sequined shirt or required to do any kind of dancing — with the exception of the Thriller dance — and/or any kind of fist-pumping, I’m there! I work from home and have a closet full of unworn heels, and love to reconnect with people I haven’t seen during my hibernation.

Also, I have dresses. With birds on them.

There seems to be something almost every night of the week. I’m not complaining, of course, but I do really need to pick and choose what I go to, because roping my 12-year-old into unpaid babysitting gigs and figuring out the subway/the drive/the parking situation is a little bit head-exploding-esque for me. Just this last week and a bit, I went to four very different kinds of parties. I would not have missed any of them for the world, but now I’m tired and I just want to wear my elasticated pants and a giant hoodie that I bought because someone on Big Brother once wore it (not even a word of a lie).

But there’s no stopping, really.

Behold! It’s FESTIVE SEASON ALI!

First, there was the YMC does Ross Petty’s The Little Mermaid where we ran into our old nanny and I may have cried the most happy tears of all time before the party even began (note to self: waterproof mascara). Also, if you click here, YOU can win a night to see The Little Mermaid too.  I can’t promise that you will run into your old nannies, but I can promise that you will laugh until you cry and you will probably have What Does The Fox Say? in your head for the rest of your days. I’m sorry/not sorry in advance. And maybe the cup song. And maaaaaaybe you will want want to run out and buy some rollerskates afterwards, but that might just be me reminiscing about growing up in Wisconsin where it doesn’t get much more exciting than indoor rollerskating and bowling.

Then, there was the annual Thanksgiving Potluck For Misplaced Americans which I always attend solo since my Canadian half usually spends American Thanksgiving day in Detroit watching MY Packers play football. This year, I ate three different kinds of pie AND I competed in the Menurky bowl and had to sweat through some grueling tasks that included a staring contest and a Survivor-esque puzzle-making challenge. Luckily, I didn’t have to do it in a bathing suit—and on national tv. So, there’s that. (I won both my challenges, which is nice for a change since I never win anything of any kind. Oh wait. ONCE I won a clock that had a flamingo on it. And once I won an apple pie.)

Then, the wonderful Holiday party of our good friends Ray and Cynthia, where I have the habit of walking away with the least-desired Kris Kringle gift in the room. Last year I got a toothbrush and toothpaste, which is a practical gift, yes, but also something anyone with good hygiene can pick up at a dental cleaning, so, yay me? And this year! This year, I got a cd filled with illegally downloaded acoustic music, I think? The gift was well-meaning, of course, and from someone who I rather like and enjoy, it was just…I mean…just, I’d just love to walk away with a good Starbucks tumbler or exploding Jenga or the homemade tomato sauce and eggplant in a jar (because OMG) or a pair of Superman knee-his with CAPES ON THEM.

And finally, the one I didn’t have to even put real pants on for: Our NOW-ANNUAL Hanukkah Doughnut Taste-Testing party, whereupon we sampled holiday filled doughnuts from 5 different Toronto kosher bakeries with several of our favorite family members to decide once and for all which bakery makes the best ones. My favorites were from Sobeys, because I like a more dough-to-filling ratio, unlike the rest of the doughnut eaters. They were big on the filling, which, ick. Give me a hunk of fried dough any day of the week—not even the 8 days of Hanukkah—and I’m a happy, happy girl.

Got any parties you need me to attend? I can do a mean puzzle, do a very public Claire Danes meets Dawson Leery ugly cry, and always pick the worst Kris Kringle prize.

I’ll even wear my Hanukkah glasses.