I tried to get you a watch fob, but no one would buy my hair.

Christmas is looming before me.

I do not mean that Christmas is weaving something in front of me.

I know that Christmas is coming because the whole town is already done up in lights. And they do not pussyfoot around with the political correctness here; nosir. None of that neutral "Happy Holidays" for them. We are talking angels, Santas, the works. Not a word about Kwanzaa. And 50% of this town is African-American.

So, Christmas is waving its red nose before me and I have gifts to give people and I CANNOT BUY THEM.

Once again I am annoyed with myself for not knowing how to quilt or sew or cook or knit or glue or tie anything. I am TERRIBLE at all crafts. I would have made a ridiculous Civil War woman, as my handiwork would not have gone to help any cause whatsoever.

For my Aunt Mary, who has always spent 17 million dollars on me every year, we are creating a website featuring her pottery. Aunt Mary started this whole pottery thing as a hobby a few years back, and it turns out she is like the Michelangelo of the wheel or whatever. People cut each other to buy her stuff. Now, personally, I thought she should name her website "Mary Potter, Wizard of the Kiln" but she won't let me.

I have no idea what I am going to make her husband, my Uncle Omar. I hope he does not wish for an embroidered quilt that I also hand-painted.

My mother wants me to print out my entire blog for her, which strikes me as a tad -- what's the phrase I need, here? -- up my own ass of me to do. "Here's all me all the time! Enjoy!"

My nurse advice book I am making for my cousin is coming along nicely, so that's a relief. Again, if you know any nurses, have them send me advice! Anything they would want to tell a new nurse. Just click the comments at the bottom, here.

Fortunately, my father doesn't celebrate Christmas, despite the fact that he looks precisely like Santa Claus. In fact, he PLAYED Santa at his workplace for years, and loved it. So, anyway, that old Scrooge is eliminated. And Marvin Gardens' whole family is Jewish, thank God.

Remind me to tell you about the time Marvin went shopping with me for a Christmas ensemble for some party. The fact that we are still united in holy matrimony, and that I was not chopped up into small pieces and buried under the mall, is a Christmas miracle in itself.

I will solider on with my lack of Christmas craftswomanship. Do you think everyone would like an interpretive dance for Christmas?! There we go! Somebody pick the song for me. I could put it on YouTube for everyone to enjoy.