Your brother-in-law plays semi-pro baseball. So you get him a neon yellow outfielders softball glove. Your aunt is a master chef (or likes to think she is). So you get her a $9.99 64-piece knife set from the shop-at-home network. Your dad is a Corvette nut. So you get him a Ford hat. Your kid brother lives online, playing WoW and blogging as long as his eyes remain open. So you get him The Internet for Newbies hand guide. You get the idea. Let the experts get their own gear. That’s why they’re the experts and you’re not.

Unless you’re buying for a 9 year old, gag gifts shouldn’t even be a consideration on your next gift buying journey. The stuff may sound funny enough –  Fake Wining Lottery Tickets, Remote Control Fart Machine, Fake Parking Tickets, Electric Shocking Pen, Super Fart Spray, Embarrassing Fake Receipts, Snotty Nose Egg Separator, Farting Santa or Mooning Santa — but come on. Nobody really wants this stuff. Well, Ok. We actually would like to have one of those egg separators. Hey, we’re only human.

Well, perhaps we expressed too much enthusiasm, because the following Christmas she sent an enormous parcel full of the most eccentric jewels and baubles we had ever seen. There were earrings with long vibrant feathers, necklaces with colorful plastic beads, some the size of golf balls and childish bracelets that looked like they’d come out of a vending machine. To humor her (and entertain each other) we draped ourselves in the jewels, snapped a few photos and sent them off to her, with no intention of ever wearing them in public. Well, when we phoned to thank her a few hours later, she told us she had specifically designed the jewels to wear to a fancy ballet we had tickets for (and which we would know a lot of people at) the following night.

We gently had to tell her we had already chosen our outfits, including accessories, and while we said it with kindness, it didn’t stop the hurt look in her eyes. It’s a complicated scenario that many people are likely familiar with. We’re still not sure what the right way to handle moments like these. I love the thought behind the gifts, and am so appreciative of the effort, but after already asking her not to send those items, what else can we do to  avoid this annual awkwardness? To give her a hint, this year we gave her a gift certificate to her favorite department store, and another to a coffee shop she likes to frequent, and she loved the concept of the cards so much, we hope it inspires her gift for next year.

by Bianca Bartz of Trendhunter

You’ve got one. Everyone does. That person on your gift list that is absolutely impossible to shop for. Mine is my mother– she’s the woman who has everything and anything she doesn’t have she just buys for herself anyway. She’s a collector of stuff– bird houses, antique door stoppers, stuffed animals– so you’d think that would make her easy to buy for, but it doesn’t. Here’s an example.

As a kid I started to buy her Snowbabies. They are tiny cherub-like figurines taking part in winter-time activities like building snowmen, pulling a sled or making snow angels. Their $20 price point makes them the perfect “mom” gift for kids whose income is comprised solely of a weekly allowance. So for a few blissful years Snowbabies were my go-to gift. I don’t know if the collection was growing too slowly for my mother’s impatient taste or if her passion for the chubby statuettes was just too intense but the little things started multiplying. Soon my mother’s collection rivaled that of the inventory at the gift store in the mall that sold them and I could no longer tell which ones she owned and which ones she didn’t. So I gave up. Snowbabies were no longer my thing– they were hers.

I think my mother has even contrived collections just to give us something to give her. There was a penguin phase, a moose moment and of course, the cherished hummingbirds. But even buying something for her collection isn’t always a safe move. I remember watching her unwrap a gift from a long-distance relative that came in the mail just before Christmas. Inside was a hummingbird ornament, albeit a slightly tacky one, but the unsuspecting relative probably thought she was making a lovely addition to my mom’s collection. Mom thought otherwise.

She’s also had a thing for jig-saw puzzles (only 1,000 pieces or more) and Audrey Hepburn. So last Christmas I knew I had a win-win when I came across the Audrey Hepburn puzzle at a bookstore chain. “Jackpot,” I thought. “She’s going to love this.” I threw in some Sudoku books (another temporary passion of hers) and called it good. Until I talked to my sister.

“I found mom the perfect Christmas gift,” my sister announced a few days before the big day.

“Oh yeah? Me too!” I told her, fairly certain that mine would beat out hers.

“I got this Audrey Hepburn puzzle for her,” my sister said.

Surely, it wasn’t the same one.

“No way. I did, too,” I exclaimed. “What are we talking here– Breakfast at Tiffany’s? My Fair Lady? Charade?”

“Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” she clarified.

“Yep, I got her the exact same puzzle,” I said.

But not only did we both get her the same puzzle, we both bought her Sudoku books, as well.

Neither of us wanted to tackle a repeat shopping trip to find another present for mom. So we agreed that rather than rushing to the store to try to find a more unique gift, my sister and I would keep our little secret. We wrapped up the pair of puzzles and both books and presented them to my mother on Christmas morning. She opened the first one, and gushed with glee. When she opened the second one my sister and I acted startled by the coincidence.

“I guess you two know me well,” she laughed.

Fifty bucks doesn’t go that far when you’re a newlywed shopping for your husband. I really can’t blame anyone but myself because that $50 limit idea– it was mine. I just figured with all of the expenses of the wedding and the honeymoon and starting our lives together that $50 would be plenty. But when you throw in the pressure of trying to find the perfect gift for our first Christmas as a married couple, well, let’s just say $50 may as well be a nickel.

I settled on a pair of clearance snowboarding gloves, marked down to $30 since they were last year’s style. That left me with just enough money for an ab ball. I know– not very romantic but it seemed like a good gift given my husband’s passion for working out. Since we were flying across the country to spend time with my family out west, only the compact gifts were allowed to come along. So he opened the ab ball before our departure. The gloves would be his Christmas morning surprise.

Somewhere between South Carolina and Seattle my husband’s bag was lost. Not only did it contain necessities like his undies and contact lens solution, but his dark green case also held the Christmas presents we had so carefully and lovingly chosen for each other. My husband believed the one saving grace he had was the gift he had purchased online and had shipped directly to my sister’s Seattle home.

“At least you’ll have one present to open,” he proudly announced.

But despite promises of on-time arrival, that gift never showed.

Phone calls with the airline revealed that the likelihood of his suitcase’s arrival before December 25 would be nothing short of a Christmas miracle equal to Tiny Tim walking crutch-less. So when we heard a knock on the door early Christmas morning, that’s what we called it– a miracle. We were more excited to see that bag courier than Santa himself. (Although Santa may have been a bit jollier.)

When it came time to exchange gifts, the $50 limit my husband and I had established became visually clear. My family members’ gift piles would have filled a pair of Mini Coopers to capacity, while my husband and I could have easily stashed our gifts in the glove box and still had room for all of those fast food napkins. In front of me I had two envelopes– not even a gift to unwrap. In front of my husband sat one small package.

Typically our family tradition is to go around in a circle, with each person opening one gift at a time until the unwrapping is done. Since this year everyone had twenty more presents than we did, my husband and I patiently waited for the gift tallies to even out. We squelched our jealousy while my sister’s fiancé opened not one, but two new watches. We feigned excitement when my sister revealed her remote control vacuum cleaner. We smiled politely as my dad unwrapped his new ski coat, complete with matching snow pants.

Finally it was our turn. I opened my first envelope. A magazine subscription. A good use of money considering it’s a gift that keeps giving for a whole year, I thought. My husband, God bless him, opened his sole package and showed more excitement over his new snowboarding gloves than Halle Berry did when she won the Oscar for Best Actress.

I picked up my last present, slowly opening the crisp envelope, savoring my Christmas moment. Little did I know that inside would be the best, most loving, awesome gift a girl could ask for. I pulled out the slip of paper inside, and read the words printed in large black letters. “Treat for Tired Feet: This coupon, when presented, entitles you to a free 20 minute foot rub. No expiration. Card has once a day limit. Value: Money can’t touch this.”

My husband only got two snowboarding trips in before shredding his glove on a snow fence. But hardly a day goes by that I don’t get use out of that foot massage coupon. It true what they say– quality is way more important the quantity. There are few gifts I would want more than what I received that December on our newlywed Christmas.

Have you ever noticed how tough it can be to buy presents for people outside of your own age bracket? I never quite know what my 80-year-old grandfather would like. Does he really want another pair of slippers? And since I don’t have children myself, I find it hard to tell what toys are just right for my three-year-old second cousin. Is he too young for an ant farm? Well, I don’t think I’m the only one with this problem. In fact, I know I’m not.

Let me take you back to my freshman year of college. The year is 1998. Google just launched. The Euro made its debut and boy bands had reached the peak of their success. I was living the life that most college kids enjoy: sleep, class, eat, Jerry Springer, class, eat, sleep. I lived in a mint green house with five roommates. Our kitchen was invaded by fruit flies and the dirty dishes often outnumbered the clean ones. The shower pressure rivaled the flow from a drain pipe on a drizzly day. A Dawson’s Creek poster was our featured piece of living room artwork.

When Christmas rolled around I was likely hoping for more baby doll t-shirts (with slogans like, I’m here, what are your other two wishes), a Ricky Martin CD, and if I was really lucky, a laptop complete with a floppy drive and 64 megabytes of RAM. Maybe my grandma never got my wish list. Or maybe she was just trying to help me into the world of adulthood.

But when I opened her holiday package that year, I didn’t find sarcastic baby doll t-shirts or shiny new CDs. Instead I got a set of snowman cheese spreaders, complete with a Christmas tree holder. But wait– that’s not all. Grandma generously included six coordinating red felt placemats, edged in green rick rack ribbon and featuring snowmen in a various degrees of happiness. Two of the giant placemats would have covered the small circle surface we called our kitchen table. And the only cheese our fridge contained came inside the package of a frozen pizza.

A decade has passed and to be honest, I have yet to use either of these lovely gifts. I do still have them, though, and just last week when I unpacked the Christmas ornaments I took out the placemats, unwrapped the cheese spreader from its bubble wrap and admired them. But then I put them back in storage box where they’ll stay until next December. The good news is I no longer live amongst fruit flies and I am blessed with decent water pressure, but maybe the fact that I have yet to require a cheese spreader in life makes me uncivilized. Or maybe it means I just don’t eat enough cheese. But when that day comes– that day when I can no longer live without cheese spreader– I will know where to find one. In the attic, inside a Christmas storage box, wrapped in bubble wrap.

photo by nateOne

You wouldn’t tell a friend that she needs to drop 40 pounds as quickly as she can, or inform another friend that her anger-jealously problems need to be taken care of in a timely fashion. So why tell them with a gift? Trust us, no matter how hot a diet is (South Beach! Atkins! Hamptons!), it is not cool to buy someone the accompanying diet book. And believe us when we say that no one appreciates getting a self-help book. It doesn’t matter if it’s on “Overcoming Self-Defeating Behavior” or “Breaking the Emotional Bad Habits That Make You Miserable,” nobody likes it when others think they need improving. Just be a friend to these folks, ask if there’s anything you can help them with, and buy them a damn candle set already.

image by tanakawho

When it comes to giving gifts, some people think I’m lazy and don’t put much thought into it, blindly grabbing whatever is at hand and wrapping it. Alas, just the opposite is true. I agonize over what to get everyone from my close friends to my sister who lives in Spain. (Spain?!? What could she possibly want? Do you know what they do for fun there? They let bulls chase people through the streets. Not criminals or anything either, the people volunteer!) Even after I’ve found something the agony doesn’t stop. I’ll frequently stay up nights wondering if the gift I had already purchased was really the best of all possible gifts.

Then I came up with The System. Like all leaps of genius, it is controversial and some say it is the creation of a mad man. To those rare few who can grasp its elegance and simplicity however, The System is a miracle that cuts down on the time, worry, and even the expense of holiday shopping.

Here’s how it works: In early November create a list of everyone you would like to give a gift to. Put this away and don’t think about.

On December 24^th, get up, go to the bank and take out the sum total of your budget in cash, then head to the largest mall in the area. Buy presents for everyone on the list.

It’s so straightforward! You don’t have to spend months worrying about what to get someone on your list… even if you come up with the prefect gift, a can of bull repellent for my sister maybe, they aren’t going to have it in stock anyway. So why worry about it? You know for a fact you’ll be done shopping in a few hours, because there is no more time. There’s absolutely no hoping to find something better at a later date. There is no later date.

The System also forces you to be creative in a way that shopping in early December when items are still in stock just doesn’t. With only things that no one else in the entire country wants on the shelves, it’s a bit easier to let yourself think outside of the box. I enjoy giving “why was this made” presents. One of the better gifts I’ve given a ceramic tea set that was made to look like it was crafted out of wicker. Now think about that for a moment. Why would anyone want a tea set made of wicker? No one would. But someone, somewhere, decided to take it one step further and make a FAKE wicker set. To what purpose? So you can fool your friends? Is whicker some kind of status symbol that I missed out on? This is a great gift because not only is it useful, but it’s a conversation piece like few others. So take my advice and relax in November and December and then blindly panic on Christmas Eve.

image by House Of Sims

My mother goes the opposite direction. All year long she lays up supplies for unforeseen but inevitable gift crises, stacking her closets and garage with literal piles of goods she got on sale but with no intention other than the possibility of giving them away in the future. (This is why it is not uncommon to receive a gift from my mother that is two or three years old, especially when one of the piles loses integrity and sheers off a face of cheap toys and baby clothing to reveal a rich vein of comedy DVDs and paperbacks.)

Fortunately, Mom’s a pretty good gift giver, so she only uses those items as filler, or as a gift to one of the dozens of extended family members to whom she feels a giftly duty. Her primary gifts, the ones
she’s proud of, are the weird ones that somehow intersect with her family’s quirks. One year I unwrapped a box with a starter bagpipe set, which was perfect: I was genuinely intrigued by it, but never would have bought it one my own.

I don’t actually buy gifts for all my family and friends every year. That is in part because I’m an uncaring jerk, but also because I hate giving something just for the sake of it. I’d rather send a card (or
more likely a text message or email) to remind people that they’re being thought of than something that they’re not going to cherish. By the same token, some years I may spend several hundred dollars on a
gift for one person, while the next year I might not get them anything much at all. Capricious, maybe, but at least it keeps them guessing!

What would be optimal would be a hybrid of both my mother and my systems: an ongoing acquisition of gifts throughout the year as the spirit moves me. It’s just that I so often am not thinking of others
when I’m out browsing the aisles on a hot June day, and perhaps that’s a lesson for me to remember: the whole point of buying a gift for someone is to memorialize your feelings for them, to make them happier
in some small way, and that should be happening all year long. And you can’t do that by giving them something they’re just going to throw away.