Weekend party count: 5

1) A small dinner on Friday night in honor of two friends' birthdays. It was at a great little Italian restaurant hidden in an otherwise residential neighborhood not too far from me, and it was LOVELY.

2) A balls-out holiday party at Rick's Friday night. I got there as it was winding down, but it was still packed with people, and I got to chat with some chorus boys I'd never talked to—including one adorable guy who (natch) already has a boyfriend.

3) A winter solstice cookie decorating party Saturday afternoon. We rolled dough. We cut out conspicuously non-denominational cookie shapes. We baked. We frosted. We ate the broken ones. ("Oh no! Another broken one!") We stumbled out of the house in desperate need of insulin.

4) A balls-out holiday party on Saturday night. This one also had a good mix of chorus boys, and—big gay sappy homos that we are—we eventually found ourselves singing carols in glorious harmony around the piano. (Could you just barf?) This time I dragged along my hunky Florida friends Andrew and Keith, who were in town to see a friend of theirs in the closing weekend of Diva Diaries, a cute little show with intelligently written music, fabulous costumes and larger-than-life talent. For all you Sondheim fans (and for those of you who aren't, that sting you feel on your cheek is from me reaching through the ether to SLAP you), the show is essentially a drag-queen Follies complete with a theater on the wrecking block, ancient unrequited love bubbling awkwardly to the surface, and the ghosts of long-forgotten glory days strutting around the stage in marabou and feathers. What's not to love?

5) A nice little get-together tonight in the Land Of Absolutely No Parking with a surprise ending: The host, who works for Sephora, gave us each nice gifts of skin-care products—with (scandal! intrigue!) the opportunity to steal the gifts we liked better from other party-goers. I came home with a dutifully stolen skin-cleansing kit that promises to "reduce the effects of aging." And as soon as I see any of these so-called "effects of aging," I'll be sure to let you know.

WHEW! I'm all partied out. For those of you who can still feel your toes, as of last night it's colder than FUCK in Chicago. And I'm ready to climb under 27 blankets for a long snuggly sleep. Good night!