New Year’s Resolutions
 
Okay, time for those New Year’s resolutions.  If you’re like me your list is written on a scroll.  The problem with these lists is that they point out what we feel is WRONG or LACKING and what we want to CHANGE about ourselves.
Trust me, once I get started, I can find a whole lot of things wrong with me.  I end up beating myself up!
 
I think we should change the rules in 2008.  Instead of writing about those things we want to change, how about we list what we’re doing RIGHT!  Just think what a list like that is going to do to that little voice in your head that finds one reason after another to criticize you. 
 
I know that, despite my flaws, I can find SOMETHING really good about myself.  Something I don’t want to change.  I’m going to concentrate on that in 2008 instead of going on a fault-finding mission.
 
Really, can you think of a better way to start a brand new year than giving yourself a big hug for all the great things you do?
 
 
 

Okay, group, just when I thought I was out of things to complain about at Christmas, blam!, another one hit me squarely in the face.
 
Let’s talk about those who send cards letting us know that, instead of buying us a gift, they chose to use the money to make a donation to some cause we’ve never heard of.  In other words, we did OUR part and bought THEM a present, but they decided to send what should have been OURS to protect the soon-to-be-extinct Hubba-Hubba monkey located deep within the Amazon Rain Forest.
 
Yeah, riiight! 
 
I think I’d like to see the receipt.  And while we’re at it, I want to know why moi isn’t getting the tax writeoff.  That was MY donation.  I didn’t get my usual gift from Bath and Body because this person felt it was important to spare another species of monkey when there are only like six million species in the Amazon jungle to begin with, and now I don’t even get to claim it on my income tax!  What’s with that?
 
Next year I’m going to make up a cause and tell everyone that’s where the money for their Christmas gift went.  Maybe I’ll ask for donations.  I’ll tell people I’m trying to save some rare species of butterfly because everybody loves butterflies, and then I’m going to stash every bit of that money into Charlotte Hughes’s cosmetic surgery fund.  Hello tummy tuck, liposuction, and mini facelift!  Hello to regular botox treatments.
 
Monkeys are a dime a dozen.  There is only one ME.  What was that?  I think I just heard a collective sigh of relief out there.

First, I’d like to thank those of you who have responded to my blogs — I see that we have a lot in common in our hectic life!  Also, I’m amazed at how many of you have registered for the weekly gifts being offered.  We’ve already had four winners, and the freebies will continue until my book hits shelves on Feb 26th.  Be sure to tell your friends so they’ll have a chance at winning.
 
Well, folks, it won’t be long until I pack up my sleigh and head to my mom’s where we’ll try to sleep 10 people and two dogs in a two-bedroom house.  I have to hire a dog nanny to take care of my dogs; otherwise, we’d have FIVE dogs.  Trying to make sleeping arrangements for that many people is like trying to solve one of those Sudoku puzzles.  Thank God my mom has three sofas, and we all show up with blow up beds!
 
Because I didn’t want to look like a slouch, I bought all this fancy paper and ribbon to wrap my gifts, and I’m here to tell you they look like something you’d find in Macy’s window.  After about two hours of wrapping, during which time I stabbed myself in the finger with a pair of scissors and ended up with two paper cuts, I said hell with it.  (I’d already cut my lip licking Christmas cards.)  So, I grabbed gift bags and stuffed everything inside.  And wouldn’t you know it, I was rushing down the stairs this morning trying to get everything ready, and I slipped.  Slid three-fourths of the way down before I grabbed a picket and saved my own life.  The only thing that spared me was my big butt; nevertheless, I spent the day on a heating pad.  By tomorrow I’ll feel like somebody beat the crap out of me in an alley.
 
That’s the problem with all this rushing around — people bumping into each other in the stores, shopping carts colliding, fender benders on every block.  What’s the big rush?  It’s not like Christmas is going to stop coming around every year if we don’t take a five minute breather.  That’s why they invented hot chocolate and egg nog — so we’d slow down and enjoy ourselves.
 
I want all of you to do me a big favor so I don’t have to fret while I’m away.  Slow down!  Enjoy the moment!  And please, if you’re traveling, be careful because there are crazies out there like me on the highway.  Make it a safe holiday!
 
My warmest wishes to you and your loved ones.

This may sound strange, but what I’d really like for Christmas is a wife. I want a Donna Reed type wife, one who knows how hard I work and does what she can to make my life a little easier.  Of course, we’ve come a long way since Donna Reed, but I can still fantasize, can’t I? Think how wonderful it would be to have a genuine help mate. If Donna Reed was living in my house I wouldn’t spend all day at my computer; then try to find edible food in my mostly empty refrigerator. Not only would Donna do the grocery shopping and run my never-ending list of errands, she would have my dinner on the table when I turned off my computer at the end of the day. I would have clean clothes to wear. I wouldn’t have to wonder what to get people for Christmas, nor would I be stuck with all the shopping and writing out Christmas cards.

My husband will never be Donna Reed. He is totally clueless about Christmas. He wouldn’t know what to buy people, and he couldn’t wrap a Christmas gift if his life depended on it. He is equally clueless about writing out Christmas card. (Sigh) Sometimes I wonder if he plays dumb so he doesn’t have to do any of it. Because I am a wife it is all taken care of. All he has to do is show up for Christmas and unwrap his gifts, and have Christmas dinner, NONE of which he volunteered to prepare while our family was discussing what each of us should bring.

They say behind every successful man is a woman. Duh!

Merry Christmas!

Charlotte

In our last session we discussed idiots who spend millions of dollars buying diamond collars for their pets.  I thought that was weird.  But just when I think I’ve heard and seen it all, someone comes along and does something that just blows me out of the water.
 
Kitty wigs.
 
No lie.  You can now buy a wig for your cat. 
 
If you log onto www.kittywigs.com you’ll be able to choose from an assortment of wig styles for the kitty in your life — Pink Passion, Bashful Blonde, Silver Fox, and Electric Blue.  You’ll see photos of cats actually modeling the wigs, just in case you’re like me and have to see it to believe it.
 
I’m trying to imagine my male tabby wearing a kitty wig.  I’m trying to imagine why I would want to put a wig on him.  Who puts wigs on their cats? 
 
I’m beginning to wonder why more people in this world aren’t medicated.

Those stupid Christmas letters! If you’re like me, you get them every year, folks bragging about their perfect marriage, perfect kids, their perfect life in general. I feel like hurling every time I read one. So this year I’m sending out my own Christmas letter.

Charlotte Hughes’ Annual Christmas Letter

Dear Friends and Family:

As always, I wait anxiously for your newsy, edge-of-the-seat Christmas letters; and I shout with glee to find them in my mailbox. So, I’ve decided to share my Christmas news.

As I write this, I am in a heated debate with myself as to where I should put up my Christmas tree. The focal point in my living room is my fireplace and overhead TV. If I put my tree there I would be able to better enjoy it. However, my neighbors and their young children would be deprived of seeing my tree, which is quite spectacular, if I don’t mind saying so myself, and I know Christmas is a time for sharing. Having said that, I’ll have to admit, I can’t stand these people. The kids run through my yard and tease my dogs, and it is hell-on-earth putting up with the little snot-nosed brats. Their mothers congregate in my cul-de-sac after dinner on the pretence of watching their children play, but I know damn well they’re trashing me.

I’m also debating where to hang my Christmas wreath. I have a wrap-around front porch, called a “lowcountry home,” which means I actually have two front doors, one on each side of the house. Nobody really knows which door is considered the front door because they look exactly alike. It is very confusing because when the doorbell rings I have to choose which door to answer first. (Like I have nothing else better to do, right?) What usually happens is I open one door, find nobody there; then have to walk through my entire house to reach the other door, only to discover the person obviously thought he or she was knocking on the wrong door and moved to the other. This can go on, this back and forth business, for quite a while, and it just pisses me off and makes me wish I’d never let that stupid Realtor talk me into buying this place. And having a total of three doors in my home makes it three times easier for some thief/rapist/murderer to break in, so you can see why I suspect the architect was taking illegal drugs when he designed it.

I am unclear if I should wrap my gifts this year or put them in gift bags. Wrapping takes longer, but it feels more personal. Anybody can stuff a gift in a bag and cover it with tissue paper. Of course, the latter of the two would save me time and energy, but again, this is the Christmas season, and I should be thinking of others, not myself. Of course, nobody else I know seems concerned; to tell you the truth, my family and friends are thoughtless as hell about such things. They’d just as soon give me my gift in the Wal-Mart bag it came in. Some people are so self-centered, and it just burns my butt to have to get them anything to begin with. Fortunately, a couple of my family members are in jail as I write this so I’ve marked their thieving asses off my list.

I am also not certain about the gift-giving etiquette as far as those who perform services throughout the year. I know my neighbors give a small monetary gift to our mail carrier and the newspaper delivery person, but am I suppose to buy something for the damn garbage man and the people who collect my recycled items as well? This is what happens when you start giving to this class of people. They start expecting it. If I don’t give them an arm and a leg every year, my letter carrier will see that my mail gets lost, and that stupid paper guy will throw my newspaper in the bird bath at least twice a week, just to get even. I have never liked my mail carrier, and I have nothing good to say about the newspaper delivery person.

Another area of confusion is, should I send a check to the Salvation Army in the letter they sent me asking for a contribution or should I continue to put money in that stupid kettle in front of Wal-Mart? I would like to send them a nice check this year, maybe ten bucks, but then I’ll get dirty looks from that hateful bell ringer if I don’t put money in the kettle each time I pass by. The Salvation Army could be a little more selective about their bell-ringers in my opinion.

I hope you all have a joyful Christmas. Until next year…

Charlotte

Okay, just when I think I’ve HEARD IT ALL, something comes along that makes me wonder why more people aren’t taking medication.
 
The reason I say this is because there are people out there who have too damn much money, and they make idiots out of themselves trying to spend it.
 
Get this: there is a company called ILoveDogsDiamonds.com selling diamond studded dog collars.  They have a 52-carat diamond collar selling for $1.8 million.  Fortunately, for people like me, they sell less expensive ones.  Whew, that’s a relief since I’ve been pacing the floor wondering what to get my dogs for Christmas.  Suddenly, a rawhide bone sounds kind of lame.  Who the hell buys a dog a $1.8M collar?
 
And get this!  Oprah, THE PERSON we all look to for common sense answers, has set up a trust for $30 million to provide for her five dogs and various other pets, in case something happens to her.  And, yes, Oprah’s dogs wear diamond studded collars.
 
I’m trying to figure out why five dogs would even NEED $30M bucks to see them through their lives, even if they live longer than any dog listed in the “Guiness Book of World Records.”  Of course, depending on how expensive their collars are, they’ll have to pay personal property insurance.  I suppose that could get pricey.  And did I hear some time back that Oprah had a nanny for these dogs?  That would probably add up.  Oh, yeah, and then you got to think about the person who goes behind them with the pooper scooper because I just can’t see Oprah with a pooper scooper in her hands.  Plus, the grooming.  I’ll bet those dogs use Jennifer Aniston’s hair dresser.  I’ll bet they get weekly pedicures.  I don’t know if this is true, but I heard Oprah’s dogs sleep with her.  This might explain why she and Steadman haven’t married.
 
I also read that Oprah’s dogs had better healthcare than most humans.  Don’t we have something like 50 million kids without healthcare in this country?  I’m trying to wrap my head around this.
 
I wonder what these dogs eat, for pete’s sake?  It’s not like they can order off a menu.  “I’ll have the filet mignon, extra rare, with bernaise sauce.”
 
I’ll tell you one thing, I’ll bet Oprah didn’t have the flea problem I had with my pets this year.  I don’t know any fleas that can afford to live on dogs with a $30M trust fund. 
 
You know, I was amazed to hear that Tom Cruise’s new house cost something like $35M dollars.  I’m like, da-um, I hope his kitchen has stainless steel appliances!  Now, can you imagine what Tom spent furnishing that house?  Jeez!
 
Tom’s place is nothing compared to the Mall-of-America lookalike owned by the late Aaron Spelling.  It’s worth $150M and has 56,000 square feet.  Can you imagine how big 56,000 square feet is?  It’s like the size of Rhode Island.  I’ll tell you one damn thing.  I think the CIA needs to take a look inside that house because Bin Laden could hang out in a place that size and never be found. 
 
Now, Spelling’s widow is trying to sell the house, but Realtors are only showing it to a “select” few.  Well, yeah!  When was the last time you walked into a real estate office and said, “I want something large enough to sleep the state of Texas, but I’ll not spend a dime over $149M.  That is my BOTTOM LINE!    And the poor Realtor has to say, “I’m so sorry, Sir, but the only thing we have that might fit your needs is more than you want to spend.  Have a nice day.”
 
Back to my original point.  Some people have too damn much money.  I can’t help but wonder what Oprah’s dogs are getting for Christmas this year.  I’ll bet those gifts aren’t coming from Pet Smart.