My parents called the other day and asked what I want for Christmas. My mom reminded me that I used to be really “good” about this — I’d send them a list, even listing the stores that sold the items. But every year I get more and more in the mindset that I really don’t need anything — unless someone wants to treat me to a 10% down payment on a cute little ranch-style house, and really, if I can’t get around to saving it myself, why should I ask my parents to help?

“It’s not what you need,” my mom said. “It’s what you’d like.”

I started with a 24-pack of Sharpie ultrafine permanent markers. Last year when I pitched this idea I was greeted by dead silence, then a disbelieving: “You want markers for Christmas. And that’s it.” Well, yeah: I read a lot of page proofs at work, and whenever I make corrections or additions or changes, I want to make sure they’re visible. And I like to mix things up a bit, beyond the blue/black ink realm. (But not red: That reminds people of getting papers back in school with teachers’ marks all over them.) I also use ‘em when labeling CDs I’ve burned, or addressing manila envelopes, packages or those padded mailers. Plus, they look really cool on my desk, sitting in a spice rack, separated by color into groups of four (oranges, pinks, purples, browns, greens, blues). The other day when I was at Office Depot picking up photo-quality printer paper, I saw the 24-pack and almost bought it myself for immediate gratification. And the web site shows they actually have 39 colors. I have a new mission: tracking down the other 15.

I know I pimp Philosophy stuff all the time, but really, it’s a great line — and it’s buying local, because the company is based in the Valley. And I love, love, love Hope in a Jar moisturizer, which has been part part of my morning routine (and between testing other products at night, too) for years. I’m pretty sure on a really crazy day I’ve actually forgone brushing my teeth instead of skipping Hope in a Jar. I’ve always gone for the 2-ounce jar but last year Philosophy paired with a department store for a special-edition 4-ounce container, so I called their PR company … which inadvertently sent me an even larger container — the huge 8-ounce vat! It was like finding it at Costco quantities. My roommate and I divvied it up using a teaspoon, glopping it into our respective 2-ounce jars (and my 1-ounce travel-size container), and then I parceled the remainder out throughout the year.

For me the best way to start out a good dinner with friends is with champagne — not just at the holidays, either. I used to be on a perpetual quest to find the perfect set of 4 … or 6 … or 8 … glasses, but then the inevitable happened: Someone always broke one, and I would be left with 3, unable to replace it. And one year my friends Jeff and Greg bought me two really nice, heavy flutes from Crate & Barrel, which inspired me: Instead of trying to match everything, I decided to start collecting random ones two at a time. The only thing they’d have in common: They’re clear glass (or crystal) — no colored stems or bowls. Today I got a press release that included a link to these Float champagne flutes by Molo Design, in which the bowls aren’t suspended by stems, but rather in a cylinder. Pretty cool, huh? But at $98 a pair, I’m not sure this is the right year to be splurging for them. Plus, I’d be really upset if someone broke of them.

So I starting browsing the discount sites for flutes that went beyond the generic and boring ones you can buy by the case for a dollar at Ikea. I ended up springing for two of these handblown-glass Zara flutes, which I found for $4.95 each in the outlet section of the Crate & Barrel site. The bowls are actually squares, which makes them a little different, and the inverted-pyramid shape should make them easier to wash and dry than regular flutes, too — I hate trying to wedge a dish towel past the narrow rim of regular flutes in an effort to eradicate those water drops inside.

When it comes to recommending fragrances for readers, I try to err on the side of caution — even though I would never opt for Calvin Klein’s Obsession myself, for example, I can still appreciate why many people continue to buy it decades after its release. My tastes lie more in the unusual — I’d rather have a conversation-starting “What IS that?” scent than being the umpteenth guy in Acqua di Gio. (Sort of like how some rock snobs eschew their once-favorite bands once they hit critical mass, I guess.) On one hand, I’d like more people to appreciate the fragrances I like. On the other, this way I’m unique! If I won a spree in scent land, I’d grab Cumming the Fragrance (with hints of peat mud, rubber, and which my old roommate always co-opted whenever he wanted to spritz up); Fou d’Absinthe by L’Artisan Parfumeur (absinthe, pepper, pine); Cannabis Santal by Fresh (cannabis, patchouli, rose); and Odeur 53 by Comme de Garcons, whose description delights me so much I had to copy it: “oxygen, flash of metal, fire energy, washing drying in the wind, mineral carbon, sand dunes, nail polish, cellulose, pure air of the high mountains, ultimate fusion, burnt rubber, flaming rock.”

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