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.