Let’s talk about cheapskate relatives.
 
I feel it’s my duty to remind you that while some of your relatives enjoy receiving, they are not always so great at giving.  Some are downright miserly.  Oh, they just LOVE that 100% Cashmere sweater you gave them, but they’re the ones who always give those cheap deviled egg platters.  You know what I’m talking about.  Like how many more do we need?  I’ve got at least five I’ll GIVE someone if they’ll come get the damn things!
 
So here’s what I did, and I put a stop that silly business.  I told everybody in my family we should hang on to our receipts in case, oh, let’s say, something doesn’t fit or we already have those color bedroom slippers.  If somebody thinks they’re going to have to cough up a receipt they’ll think twice about getting you another deviled egg platter.
 
Or maybe not.  I’ve got relatives in my family named George-Albert, Clara-Belle, Carrie-Lou — I have no idea why my ancestors felt it necessary to give everybody two names, it’s not like you can actually lose part of your name and have to fall back on the second one.  But people with names like that are pretty much drawn to the Dollar Tree if they think they can find a deviled egg platter.
 
This is sort of off the subject, not that I’ve ever let that stop me before, but have you ever wondered why they don’t make really expensive deviled egg platters?  I’ve never seen one made of Waterford crystal.  I don’t think Vera Wang offers them in her Wedgwood Collection.  That’s because rich people don’t eat deviled eggs.  How many times have you seen a photo of Jennifer Aniston or George Clooney eating a deviled egg?  But you can bet your butt they know what real Cashmere feels like.
 
Bottom line?  The only person getting Cashmere this year is me.  The bad news?  I’ll probably have to buy it for myself.
 
 

With Thanksgiving behind us and Christmas looming, it’s just natural for people to start looking for tall places from which they can jump.  Statistics prove that more people get depressed during the holidays. 
 
The reason for this is because we are forced to buy gifts for people we don’t like.  Most of the time we are related to these people so there is NO WAY OUT.  Fortunately, a lot of department stores have caught on, and they carry dirt cheap gifts for that not-so-special someone in your family.
 
One perfect dirt cheap gift is the ugly boxed handkerchiefs.  They cost less than five bucks.  I highly recommend those for the creeps in your family.  At the same time I would be amiss if I didn’t warn you that YOU might receive such a gift.  That does not make you a bad person.  It only proves you have bad relatives.  Dr. Charlotte recommends that you rewrap the gift and give it right back to the jerk the following year.
 
Another way to alleviate stress is to recycles all the stupid or worthless gifts you receive throughout the year.  A friend of mine has a closet filled with cheap crystal bowls, vases, small appliances, picture frames, cosmetic bags, and, you guess it, boxed handkerchiefs.  About two weeks before Christmas, she opens that closet and goes shopping. 
 
I hope this tip will help you in planning for the holidays.  I’ll have plenty of helpful suggestions for you over the next few weeks on account of I don’t like most of the people in my family.  Perhaps you’ll be able to ad a few tips of your own to our therapy sessions.
 
In the meantime, rememeber: chocolate is the only perfect food.
 

Well, for all you procrastinators and slackers who didn’t participate in my contest, you missed out on a basket of Godiva chocolates!  Dr. Charlotte forgot how pricey baskets of Godiva chocolates were so from now on she will be offering boxed Godiva.  That way she will be able to run contests and pay her utility bills at the same time.  But there is going to be one happy lady in North Fort Myers, Florida in a few days!  Yay for Christine V. in North Fort Myers.  I’m not using her last name in case she doesn’t want anyone to know she’s getting it.  She might not be one of those people who likes to share.  But then, chocolate, men, and toothbrushes are not my favorite things to share.
 
I chose to write about procrastination because that is one of my worst flaws.  For one thing, I’m pretty sure I have ADHD, even though I’m really not qualified to diagnose myself or others.  I should probably be on medication for it, but I would have to make an appointment to see a doctor, then dread going, then try to find something to WEAR to the doctor and it’s just too much work.  I’d have to actually focus.  It would take planning.  I just felt a huge shudder run through my entire body at the thought.  If I could do all of THAT I wouldn’t have to worry about going to the doctor.
 
I’ve tried setting up schedules for myself.  I usually lose them.  When I manage NOT to lose them, and I actually stick to one for any length of time, say three or four hours, I’m pretty proud.  Then, all hell breaks lose — it could be as simple as me stubbing my toe or one of my dogs hurling on the rug — and my schedule is shot for like 6 months.
 
So I operate on the FEAR FACTOR.  
 
“If you don’t exercise your heart is going to EXPLODE and spew out your ears.”
“If you don’t SIT DOWN and write checks for those bills you are going to be sleeping in a gutter filled with SPIDERS.”
“If you don’t make your book deadline, they will foreclose on your house and you will have to move in with MOTHER.”
 
This is not an easy way to live.

When you’re writing a series based on a female psychologist and her “troubled” patients, you spend a lot of time reading books on abnormal psychology, as well as the DSM — the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.
 
A word of warning:  If you even think you might have one or two emotional issues, you do not want to read these books.  Already, I ‘m pretty sure I’m suffering from about half of the disorders listed in the DSM.  I’m not even sure chocolate could fix these problems.
 
Right now I’m researching Gender Identity Disorder.  The patient feels like a man trapped in a woman’s body.
 
In a way, I can relate.  I am trapped in the body of a 53-year-old woman, and I don’t know how the hell I got here!
 
I’m not even smart enough to be 53.  I think I should be wiser, but I’m still trying to get my act together.  Aren’t we supposed to already have our acts together by the time we reach 53?
 
Does anybody else out there feel this way?  What is 53 supposed to feel like?  Does anybody know?