The Rules of Regifting

I bet Stitch is an excellent regifter.

'Tis the season of spending money. Fa la la la la...you know the rest. With only one (count it–ONE!) shopping day left until Christmas, you may be racking your brain trying to think of the Perfect Gift. Fear not, my friends. You can turn your home and closet into your personal shopping boutique.

While gift cards are always a nice last-minute choice (especially if it's the receiver's favorite store), regifting is also a viable solution. Now I know what you're probably thinking: "Regifting? Oh my gosh, that's sooo tacky!"But think again. If you follow these simple rules, you can make regifting just as thoughtful as buying a brand new gift.

And, if you do it right, the receiver will never ever know. It will be our little secret. You can thank my later.

1. Do give an unused gift. This may seem like a no-brainer, but it's worth mentioning anyway. The point is to recycle a gift, not give someone else your leftovers.

2. Do give a gift that has some significance to the receiver. Regifting requires the same amount of thought as regular gifts. You don't want to give your 10-year-old cousin the socks Grandma gave you for your birthday. Your cousin will hate you forever.

3. Do switch it up. Sure, going green is the latest trend, but you shouldn't reuse the original wrapping paper in this case, especially if it was a birthday/baby shower/bridal gift. Different wrapping paper will make your gift feel like new.

4. Don't give within the same circle. Or else, you risk your receiver finding out the truth abut her gift. For the best regifting strategy, give withing different groups. For example, the Victoria's Secret gift set your high school BFF gave you is perfectly fine to give to your college roommate–as long as they're not friends either.

5. Don't tell a soul. Again, this may seem obvious, but it's worth repeating. No one has to know you're regifting. It's better that way, trust me.

There's nothing wrong with spreading a little Christmas cheer and saving some cash in the process. Your wallet will appreciate it. Merry Christmas, everyone!

I Bleed Purple

In case you haven't figured it out yet, purple is my favorite color (thus, the name of this very blog). This is convenient because the Baltimore Ravens is my favorite football team, so much so I would like Ravens purple bridesmaids dresses someday.

Now I don't claim to be the foremost expert on football, because I'm not (although, at the time of this writing, I am the top seed in my office fantasy league heading into the playoffs. The Purple People Eaters are awesome!). I didn't pay much attention to the sport until the Ravens began playing in the 1996 season (sorry, Cleveland) and I couldn't get enough of the team during our Super Bowl run in the 2000 season (sorry, Giants–okay, not really).

There's something, in my opinion, truly magical about a team's ability to unite an entire city. For the last two years during our playoff runs, the city of Baltimore has been awash in purple. I couldn't have been happier–well, maybe if we'd actually made it to and then won the Super Bowl.

I celebrate when they celebrate. I hurt when they hurt. Yes, it is that serious. Football (or any other sport for that matter) is hardly ever "just" a game. It's personal, especially when our arch rivals the Pittsburgh Steelers are in town. Our pride as a city is on the line.

Now some people will disagree and they have valid points. Yes, professional athletes are grossly overpaid and, contrary to popular belief, they are not role models. That's what parents and other relatives are for. Like celebrities, athletes are there to entertain.

But when you look at what the Saints did for New Orleans–a city still feeling the effects of Hurricane Katrina–by winning Super Bowl XLIV, there's no denying the power of athletic events to bring hope to thousands of people. And you can have fun in the process. With two games left in the regular season and the playoffs in sight, I only have one thing to say: GO RAVENS! Make your fans proud!

Hail to You, Mr. Evans

Every now and then, a teacher comes along who not only touches your life, but leaves an indelible imprint. During my time as a student, I've been blessed to have several such teachers. Sadly, last Saturday morning, one of them passed away after a battle with lung cancer.

Mr. Charles O'Donovan Evans, 80, was my western civilization teacher as a freshman at Mount de Sales Academy, an all-girls Catholic preparatory school. His class was by far the hardest class I've ever had–harder than my college courses. Mr. Evans gave me the first 'C' I'd ever received and I later found out this was a rite of passage at MDS. No one passed that first exam. I eventually passed the class, but not without hard work and countless hours of studying.

Mr. Evans was tough, but fair and he didn't accept nothing less than the best from us girls. But that's not to say we didn't have our fun. One of our favorite past times was altering the outline on Mr. Evans' chalkboard.

Just about every class included a "Pop Quiz." Inevitably, someone would erase the word "quiz," and replace it with everything from "tarts" to "music." Of course, our goal was to distract Mr. Evans from giving us the quiz entirely, but it hardly ever worked.

Let's be clear: history has never been my favorite class or my best subject by any means. Honestly, the only thing I really remember from west civ class was about Louis XIV and the palace of Versailles. But the life lessons will live on forever. Mr. Evans' class made me a better student and, eventually, a hard working professional.

When the older girls told us we'd love Mr. Evans after we had him as a teacher, we didn't believe them. But, nevertheless, they were right. At the end of my freshman year, I jokingly (but seriously) asked Mr. Evans not to leave until he taught my younger sister, who was in fourth grade at the time.

He kept his promise and, sure enough, after my sister had the please of experiencing west civ with Mr. Evans, he retired as a teacher and became the archivist for MdS–a position he would proudly hold until his death. Every time I returned to my alma mater, I would visit Mr. Evans and I'd catch him up on what I was doing in college and, later, in my career.

Mr. Evans was not just a teacher. He was (and still is) a Mount de Sales legend and institution. More importantly, he was like a grandfather to all of us, which made his death even harder. He can never be replaced and I speak for every member of the MDS community when I say he will be sorely missed.

Every Spirit Day, Mr. Evans would wear a tie with all of the class colors on it (blue, green, red and yellow). When asked which was his favorite class, Mr. Evans would always give the politically correct answer: "I love all of you girls." And we loved him, too.

Battle of the Best?

Who's the baddest chick in the game?

Can't we all just get along? Recently, a battle of the best female emcees has been brewing between relative newcomer Nicki Minaj and hip-hop heavyweight Lil' Kim. Now, I'm not a rap expert by any means, but I have to say: enough is enough, ladies.

On Nicki's debut CD, "Pink Friday," she disses Lil' Kim on the track "Roman's Revenge." Nicki Minaj calls Lil' Kim a "has-been" and says, "You outta work, I know it's tough." And Lil' Kim, never one to be outdone, slammed Nicki on "Black Friday," which was, appropriately enough, released on Black Friday and is a blatant slap in the face to Nicki's "Pink Friday." The Queen Bee raps: "It’ll be a murder scene, I’m turning Pink Friday to ‘Friday the 13th.' I hate you Lil’ Kim clone/clown."

The women go blow for blow and I have to admit, after listening to both songs, Lil' Kim definitely goes harder. The comparisons are impossible to avoid: both Lil' Kim and Nicki Minaj are female rappers in a mostly male dominated industry, both have been known to wear fluorescent wigs and both woman have larger-than-life personas, which are largely thanks in part to their shameless sexuality. But Lil' Kim came first and, in my opinion, she did it better. Miss Minaj, if it weren't for Lil' Kim, you wouldn't be here. Show some respect.

Nevertheless, we, as Black women, need to support each other and help build each other up instead of tearing each other down. Seriously, both of you are the minority in your field and you're both very good at what you do. You're better than a large number of the male rappers out there. Lil' Kim held her own with Biggie and Nicki Minaj hands down has the best verse on "Monster," which features Kanye West, Jay-Z and Rick Ross. Instead of insulting each other, I'd love to see you join forces for good and defy the angry Black woman stereotypes. That will make everyone's head really spin.

Ladies, Whip Your Hair

As much as I don't particularly like this tune from Willow Smith, I cannot help but admire the song's theme of individuality. A woman's hair is such an important part of who she is. Personally, I know if my hair doesn't look good, I don't feel good. A fabulous hairdo can change your whole mood and we often look to celebs for inspiration.

I mean, seriously, who hasn't gone to her hair stylist for the "Rihanna"? Whether it's the angled bob, faux-hawk or now the Ronald McDonald-red. Ten years ago, it was the "Jennifer" inspired by "Friends" star and Brad Pitt's ex Jennifer Aniston.

The point of Willow's song–as I understand it–is to be comfortable enough with yourself to whip your hair back and forth. I can respect that. Too often we're told how our hair should look, how long or short or straight it should be. And, if you're Black, there's the natural versus relaxed debate that has been going on since the dawn of time. The list goes on and on. I say: you do you and I'll do me.

I prefer to wear my hair relaxed (or straight ), but I don't think that makes me any less of a Black woman as some of my natural hair counterparts would have you believe. Likewise, if you want to wear tracks, weaves or wigs, than go for it. If it makes you feel beautiful and more confident, then rock on.

As the song says, "Don't matter if it's long, short, do it do it whip your hair." In the meantime, I'll be trying to figure out how a 9-year-old girl has more swag than I do.

Pass the Gravy, Please

Don't forget about me!

It's the most wonderful time of the year...or is it? While shopping at the mall this weekend, I couldn't help but notice the festive holiday decorations, Santa's workshop and Christmas carols playing softly in the background. I checked the date on my watch: definitely November 13. Roughly two weeks before Thanksgiving and more than an entire month before Christmas.

Now, don't get me wrong, I love Christmas music and decorations as much as the next person, but I follow a very strict personal rule of not playing holiday music until after Thanksgiving.

The reason is quite simple: I like to celebrate each holiday in its own time and it highly annoys me that other holidays (i.e. Halloween and Thanksgiving) are overshadowed by Christmas. Trust me, once Turkey Day has passed, I will be rocking around the Christmas tree to my holiday music playlist. But until then, turkey rules.

I was disgusted when I saw Christmas displays at Home Depot before Halloween. Christmas has become a huge marketing ploy, more than a celebration of Jesus' birth (I mean, seriously, Black Friday commercials already?). I love giving (and getting) gifts, too, but that's not the "reason for the season" as my grandmother would say.

Thanksgiving is just as important as Christmas. Actually, a part of me likes it more than Christmas because it takes all of the fun stuff (food, family and football) without the pressure of buying gifts. More importantly, Thanksgiving is–as its name suggests–a time to give thanks for your family, your friends, a roof over your head and food on the table. Life's too short not to be thankful for the many blessings we all have. So wait your turn, Santa, we haven't even carved the turkey yet. You'll have your chance soon enough.

What a Difference a Decade Makes...

A little fuzzy, but this is me as Scary Spice at 13. Girl Power!

Ten years ago, I was an awkward, nerdy and insecure 13-year-old girl. And while I'm still a huge nerd and I can be a bit awkward at times, I'm proud to announce I am no longer insecure.

Now I'm not claiming to be the most confident woman on the planet because I'm not. Like most (honest) people, I have my good days and my bad days, but I try my best not to dwell on the bad days.

Probably the biggest difference between me at 13 and me at 23 is I'm finally comfortable in my own skin. I cannot tell you how many nights I cried myself to sleep begging God to make me as pretty as the blond pop stars on the cover of my teen magazines. Even though I was surrounded by strong, beautiful black women (my mom, my hair stylist and teachers, etc.), I just didn't feel like I was (or could be) one of them.

Now, flash forward 10 years, and I'm proud to say I'm a young black woman and I wouldn't have it any other way. I wouldn't trade my experience and insecurities for the world, because they made me who I am today and inspired me to make the world a better place for every little girl out there dealing with the same issues.

I love my full lips, wide hips and thick thighs. My brown skin is a symbol of beauty and strength, not ugliness and weakness. This was by no means an overnight success story. It took me a long time to get to where I am today, but thanks to the love and support from my family and friends and my faith in God, I've made it. Better late than never, right? Here's to the next 10 years!