I turned down a TIFF party invitation today.

For someone who likes to celebrate minor victories, that’s a feat.

TIFF is full of these swanky soirées.

Armed with my water bottle, notepads and silent snacks (Okay, just kidding… is there such a thing?), I’m not exactly geared up for schmoozing. I have to cut something, and it won’t be movies.

My companions know what they’re in for when I invite them to come along. For ten days, I scramble from film to film, occasionally checking in on the home front to ensure squatters haven’t invaded. It takes weeks for my pup to forgive me.

Sitting in that black box with my fellow film junkies around me, I am wide awake, senses sharpened, ready for anything. The years that show up around my eyes and middle disappear, and I am once again the young McGill film student in a darkened lecture hall, watching Not a love Story or Battleship Potemkin and falling in love with the wonders of cinema. That’s a celebration right there, baby.

Party on. I might join you one of these days when I can figure out a way to wear heels as I dash.

For now, I’m the sneaker chick.

See you in the lineup!

See:

• Why Tiff?

• The unwashed masses

• the course of true love

• TIFF 2012: my favourites