Read Charlotte Hughes

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

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

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 cheap gifts for that not-so-special someone in your family. If you still somehow get stressed by choosing the perfect gift, consider taking a look at the Gellati Cannabis Strain review by fresh bros.

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, get more tips on loosing stress by checking the new Delta 8 THC cigarettes review.  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.

Jeez, it’s countdown to Halloween.  I’ve got to go out and find candy that I won’t eat before the kids start ringing my doorbell.  It didn’t help that Godiva sent three — yes, three! — catalogs in one day.  I think my mail carrier screwed up.  Either that or she caught a good look at my ass and figured it would take that many catalogs to see me through until the next mailing.

I wish they’d make candy that would stick to your dental work.   I’ve discovered it’s not worth chewing gum if you have dental work.  It’s like trying to get candle wax off your favorite blouse.  If the health professionals really wanted to fight obesity they would make everything fattening stick to your dental work. 

I just had a thought.  I don’t like black licorice.  There might be hope for me yet!

Friday started out as a pretty good day.  I went to my local pharmacy to pick up my mood stabilizing medication.  I like to keep this medication on hand in case I run out of chocolate in the middle of the night, and my seratonin level drops below my uterus and I turn into Satan’s daughter.

So there I was feeling darn good about life…  Then I noticed the damn Halloween decorations.  Not to mention racks of costumes ranging from Glenda, the Good Witch to Britney Spears’ black bikini outfit she wore on stage — in a size 18.  From there my mood went south.

Halloween in my neighborhood is like a broom ride to hell and back.  Everybody within a 50 mile radius shows up, and I have to buy enough candy to feed Rhode Island.  The reason for this is because I live in a big neighborhood, the houses are close together, and the streets are well lit. 

Nevertheless, I think it’s tacky to show up in somebody else’s neighborhood and expect them to give you candy.  Isn’t that like crashing a party?  I think parents should be forced to show their driver’s license at the door, and prove they live here before just assuming I can feed the gazillion or so kids who already live in my neighorhood PLUS the ones that don’t. 

But that’s not even the worst of it!  Half the parents show up with bags of their own!  Excuse me?  If these ADULTS expect me to feed their kids AND fill their bags as well, they need to have a damn good reason.  Like maybe they have a sick kid at home who couldn’t go trick-or-treating.  And I’d really like to see a photo of that sick child, along with a doctor’s written statement.

Okay, so I grit my teeth and just go along with it.  Finally, around 9 p.m., it starts slowing down.  UNTIL, that is, the teenagers show up with bags.  We’re talking grocery sacks.  Hello?  Why aren’t these kids out working and buying their own candy?

Here’s what I’m going to do this year.  I’m going to get a board and measure off three or four feet.  (Sort of like they do at the fair on certain rides.)  And I’m going to attach a sign to it that reads, “You have to be shorter than this line in order to get candy at my house.”

So, I ask you, is it me? 

Charlotte