Don't Go There, Santa (or five gifts that should send you running for cover)

Season's Greetings from SnarkyLand!

After three years of complementary sensitivity training from the Ohio University Department of Residence Life, one misplaced Christmas card (met by an emphatic Mazel Tov!), and having chosen the corporate path in life, I use 'Season's Greetings' as an all-inclusive holiday greeting to strangers (be my friend and you may get a customized greeting).

This penchant for political correctness doesn't mean that Christmas has not twisted its red and green, tinsel covered fingers around my very core. Being one who is especially susceptible to marketing (read: easily distracted by bright lights and shiny objects) I can't help but bask in the glow of any holiday (save Valentine's Day).

There are two undeniable truths about me. I like to shop* and I like to procrastinate. So here, on the first day of Hanukkah and T minus four days to Christmas, I offer you my holiday gift giving guide (in the form of five gifts that, in a procrastination-fueled frenzy, you should avoid).

The gift that I can’t even type the name of (it’s that uncomfortable for me):
I saw this in the Bed Bath & Beyond ad two weeks ago. It has to be a joke, right? BB&B is celebrating the elimination of their linen-focused foe by inserting a tiny joke in their weekly ad. I thought, ‘hey, maybe BB&B is secretly giving away a million dollars in gift cards to anyone who shows up at customer service asking for this item’. I can even see Ed McMahon jumping up from behind the counter. It has to be a joke… it just HAS to be.

Nope, it's real.

Given my tendency to be a standoffish prude, I can’t even comment on this without turning four different shades of red (so in the interest of my complexion, this gift gets no commentary). However, here is my pledge: Never never never, no matter how comfortable or angry I get in a relationship, will I ever buy something like this as a gift. Scout’s Honor.

“Conversation” Shirts:
First, I adore Signals. I could go on ad nauseam about the warm, NPR-y feeling I get when I flip through the pages of this catalog and imagine myself wearing a Thoreau-quotation necklace while reading up on the history of Ireland and basking in the warm glow of my table-top fireplace. But I won’t subject you to one of my incessant hipster rants. I’ll just reiterate that Signals is a much loved and respected part of my holiday browsing.

(Takes breath)

Signals, how could you do this?

I’m not really sure what to say to someone wearing a shirt like this (thus negating the benefit of having a “Conversation Shirt”). If I was able to converse, I know I’d either make some comment about the size (so does the triple X Chicago style include Schaumberg and Evanston in addition to The Loop?) or point out that the best way to flatter one’s armpit is to place the tip of the Eiffel Tower so it is pointing directly toward the underarm area.

Planned Parenthood… gift certificate?
Gift cards are nice but problematic for a few reasons. One, the receiver can see exactly how much their friendship is worth to you. So if my friend gets me a $25 IKEA gift card while I’ve gotten her a $30 IKEA gift card, I would immediately love her $5 less. Two, the gift card (much like an actual gift) has to be selected carefully. For example, if I un-enveloped a card to Hot Topic, I’d be tempted to mock the gift (given an inexplicable sense of propriety, I am surprisingly polite in person so it’s unlikely that I would actually mock).

The last reason is the crux of this misplaced gift. It’s the sheer bewilderment brought on by gift cards. True story: last year, my ex boyfriend got me a gift card to a spa and subtly asked if I wanted him to include a hair cut in the gift (note, the beginning stages of my bangs infatuation were met with a degree of distain by my then-significant other). I’ve found that some gift cards leave the giftee with more questions than pleasant feelings.

I am positive that is exactly how getting this would make me feel.

Planned Parenthood, I get what you are doing and I do respect it to a point. But maybe ‘gift’ isn’t the best word choice (healthcare voucher, anyone?)

Leave her alone, she just bein’ Miley!
No question, I completely and unabashedly rock out to that Miley Cyrus song on the radio (solidarity fist pound to my friend Jeremy). I can relate to little Miley/Hannah. We’re wholesome, adorable, modest, and avoid bad publicity unless it involves a male underwear model or Jonas brother. I really do love her a little and think that if we met, I’d become like her big sister and buy her first Lemondrop on her 21st birthday.

Sigh.

So last week in a most un-Miley fashion, I went to Sam’s Club (stop judging) and ate my way through the store (I said stop judging, K?). I learned that at Sam’s Club, there is absolutely nothing that I want to buy and absolutely everything that I want to laugh at. Sadly I also learned that there is a whole new level of intrusion into Miley’s little contented life:

Now, you too, can own an entire 81 piece, 3 foot replica of Hannah Montana’s home. I foresee many a stalker planning a strike on the Cyrus compound, guided by this very dollhouse.

Breaks my achy heart.

Living, I mean eating, History:
And you thought that I was done with politics… If Jon Stewart is still in the game, so am I, my friends (insert McCain impression).

I’ll be honest, after the election, I thought I was done with snarkiness in suits, ties, and lipstick. I didn’t think I could possibly find anything funny about campaign triage, cabinet positions, or even the excessive coverage of possible Obama dog choices. But then all things commercial caught wind of a sales opportunity and brought me back to life.
I would give anyone a dollar if they would buy this, drink their favorite beer out of it out of it, and send me a picture. Considering that the thing retails for $109 on sale I’m not sure I’d even take me up on that dollar.

*there are many, many caveats to this statement which you will find as you try to pull me screaming out of my car and into a Best Buy.