Haven’t posted in a while — just wanted you to know I am alive and using the holiday week to recharge for the final stretch of my Super Bowl journey.

With the holidays here and most of the big-wigs who’d be required to approve a $3 million sponsorship already sipping hot chocolate in Aspen or on a plane to their in-laws in Cleveland, I’m in the very frustrating situation of having a nearly ticked-out fundraising clock and no practical way to get any closer to my goal. Which leaves me brainstorming some impractical ways: 

Should I be the first to sit on Santa’s lap and ask for a Super Bowl spot?  Or maybe I’ll start collecting money in a different currency . . .

“What’s this?” the NBC ad sales guy would ask.

“It’s three million dollars,” I’d answer.

“I’m sorry,” he’d say.  “We don’t accept foil-covered chocolate Chanukah coins.”

Obviously I’m kidding.  Even in this economy, no network would sell a thirty second commercial on the nation’s most-watched broadcast in exchange for holiday chocolates.  

At the very least, it will require Pez.

I keep seeing the Bernard Madoff story on the news and find it ironic that many of Madoff’s investors had given him three million dollars — the exact amount I need for my Super Bowl spot.   I’m sure the majority of these investors are now kicking themselves, thinking, I could’ve helped that nice girl Amila find a husband instead of getting screwed by Bernie.

Finally heard back from the potential husband who claimed he had an artificial log to go with the artificial fireplace I once won on the “Price Is Right.”  

Turns out he’s an artificial suitor.  He’s pushing a comedy CD he put together and I think was hoping I could help him out with some publicity.

Why is it so hard to find one great guy who wants to get his name in the paper — in the Weddings section?

My Super Bowl commercial aside, I haven’t ruled out the possibility that the man of my dreams might contact me just from the publicity, but so far no luck. One guy who saw the L.A. Times article wrote: “I read you once won an artificial fireplace on the price is right.  Well for sometime now I have had an artificial log with no place to artifically burn it.” I actually liked this guy’s approach — there are worse sins than not capitalizing the “P” and the “R” in “Price is Right” — so I asked for more info but haven’t heard back.  Apparently he was in his yard chopping the log and got fatally injured by a shard of polyurethane.

Other guys emailed with warm sentiments like, “Impressed you’re in Mensa.  How big r your breasts?”, charming foreign guys gushed, “I edmire what your doing sexy sexy and hope you end up in a Soup Bowl,” and I’ve heard from dating book authors of both genders with offers like,“I’m willing to send you my book for free and want nothing other than the satisfaction of helping you find your soulmate.  P.S. If you need a dating coach, mention this email for ten percent off my $500 hourly rate.”   

Even celebrities have reached out, like the guy who signed his email, “America’s most famous limousine driver.”  I’m tempted to call, if only to find out, does this guy drive his own limo to his red carpet appearances? Or does he have the second most famous limo driver drive him? 

Really, though, I truly appreciate anyone who writes, so a big thanks to all of you guys.  And if someone doesn’t turn out to be my future husband, if he (or she) is an executive at a dating service, a diamond manufacturer or a marketing guy at Uncle Ben’s looking to have their rice thrown at my wedding, I’d love to talk with them about sponsoring my ad.

Okay, hope I didn’t just piss off the famous limo driver.  I may need him someday to write “Just Married” in his rear window.