Hi to everyone! I’m working hard, trying to promote my brand new book, HIGH ANXIETY, but I wanted to come up for air and set something straight: I am NOT dead.

I discovered, quite by accident, that there are at least three other women bearing my name. (And, here, I thought I was special.) I hope I have my information right, but it seems one of them is 115 years old, the other one just died at 85, and the last one is po’d at some man and spewing bad language all over the place. Of course, it’s difficult to talk about men without using bad language, am I right?

I hope I don’t live to be 115. For me that would mean adult diapers, gumming food, and wearing my bra around my waist because I don’t think breasts were created to live 115 years.  As for my butt; we’ll, I shudder to think of it because I’ve seen my butt at 55. It happened by accident — I sure as hell wouldn’t have done it on purpose — as I was getting in the shower and happen to glance over my shoulder at the huge wall mirror. The only person who has a bigger butt than me is my aunt on my mother’s side of the family, and she’s not doing well. If she dies that means I’m going to have the biggest butt in the family.

I’m not even sure I want to live to see 85. By then, what’s left of my mind will have been long gone. My kids will hire a caretaker for me named Cruella or Attila. Medicare and social security will be nonexistent, and I’ll have to eat cheap dog food as opposed to healthier ones like Pedigree or Science Diet.

As for the woman spewing curse words over some man; well, that could have easily been me.

I want Michelle Obama’s arms!

Hey, I know you guys have noticed that our new First Lady has awesome arms, but what I want to know is how she got them. I hate flabby underarms, but mine are headed in that direction. I used to do aerobics religiously. I even used weights. I’m thinking of starting back.

Notice I said I’m “thinking” about it. I don’t want to rush into anything. Anyway, I’d love to know what exercise is good for underarm flab. Also, is there anything to be done about inner thigh flab? I’m not just talking about muscles that need tightening; I’m talking about the added flesh that makes thighs unattractive.

 If anybody out there knows the secret to getting rid of this flab, please let me know!

Guest blog at Romance Vagabonds:  Whoever said that laughter is the best medicine was right on. I love making people laugh. Especially now, when the news is full of doom and gloom. If only we could worry less and laugh more.

I’ve received mail from terminally ill patients who claimed my books lifted their spirits and gave them a lot of chuckles during some of their darkest days. There is no greater compliment. If I can help someone escape their problems or great sadness, even for a little while, it brings me joy.

To read the entire blog click here.

        I am amazed that so many people think authors have a glamorous life. In my case, nothing could be farther from the truth. Imagine a middle-aged woman in unattractive pajamas sitting at her computer with three dogs at her feet; one of which has a problem with flatulence. That woman would be me.

        Oh, sure, authors look good at book signings, but for many of us that’s the only time we tweeze our eyebrows, wear pantyhose, and exfoliate. And for someone who wears socks or sneakers around the house every day, putting me in low heels is tortuous. My last book tour almost crippled me.

        Most authors are not naturally witty and charming. Unless we’re very drunk, of course, but who wants to end the evening with puke in her hair? Plus, it’s not safe to drink on Zoloft.

        It’s not easy to be interesting .. to see the rest of the post go to Coffeetime Romance’s Blog

I just have to tell everyone — Barbie turned 50 years old today. Can you believe that _itch still fits in the clothes she wore at 20?

I am back from two weeks of book signings — during which time I was forced to wear makeup and pantyhose — and I’d like to thank those who showed up. One reader brought me home made candy so many thanks to PJ for that! Now get this: We left Alpharetta, Georgia, bound for Lithonia, Georgia, on Sunday, March 1st and hit a snow storm! Actually, it was a blizzard! I’m not exaggerating! I always said if I wore makeup and pantyhose hell would freeze over so I’m sort of thinking I had something to do with that snow storm.

Although I’ll have to go to a couple of signings at the end of the month, I am SO GLAD to be home. I missed my pets, even the dachshund with the flatulence problem. He is sprawled across my feet as I sit here and type this. Every time he farts I spray him with Lysol. I’m not sure it’s good for his fur, but it keeps me from barfing on my keyboard.

So now I have two weeks to finish my book. There is also a box of unopened chocolate in the house, left over from boxes I purchased for bookstore sellers. I hope all of you will keep me in your thoughts and prayers as I try to stay out of it.

Big warm hug to everyone!

When I decided to write a comedic mystery series about a female psychologist and her crazy family, friends, and patients, I knew I was going to have to research various mental disorders. Little did I know what I would discover about myself!

In shopping for crazy people to inhabit my story, one place I turned to was the “DSM” or “Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.” While reading through the diagnoses, it didn’t take long for me to realize I had a crap load of issues. For example, I’m fairly convinced that I have ADHD, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Anxiety Disorder, combined with maybe a sprinkling of passive aggressiveness and something akin to bipolar illness. Bipolar people spend too much money. That would explain why my large storage closet resembles a strip mall. In my defense, I try to buy things on sale all year because I have so many gifts to give at Christmas. Still, my unprofessional diagnosis of myself was scary. Also, menopause brings a lot of mood swings. What if I have multiple personality disorder as well, I thought! Knowing what I know, I’m almost afraid to be alone with myself. (this is a guest blog at Love Is An Exploding Cigar, Please see the rest of it and comment): http://loveisanexplodingcigar.com/charlottehughes/welcome_guest_author_charlotte_hughes

Virtually Nuts, the online book tour is underway. Stop and see Charlotte at 11 sites in a month. Today she is having coffee and an interview at Much Cheaper Than Therapy:

http://muchcheaperthantherapy.blogspot.com/2009/02/interview-with-charlotte-hughes.html

Well, if you’re like me, you’re having a difficult time finding a reason to be merry this Christmas. All you have to do is turn on the news channels to find out our country is in deep doodoo. 

Finally, I decided to stop watching the news for a while, get away from all the doom and gloom. 

It’s not that easy to find uplifting shows right now. I don’t want to watch “CSI,” “Forensic Files,” or “Snapped,” because I don’t want to see all the blood and guts. Same thing with the bio and history channel. The bio channel seems intent on covering the lives of bloody kings and various other rulers. I don’t want to be reminded what a monster Hilter was. 

And don’t even talk to me about watching “Animal Planet” or similar shows because there is always some lion or tiger chasing a rabbit who doesn’t stand a chance; and if you don’t change the channel quickly enough you’ll have to watch “the kill,” which includes tearing the poor rabbit to smithereens. Then there’s some kind of planet-type channel where we’re told how our earth is in peril, and all the polar bears are dying. How depressing!  

It’s not that I don’t care. I care very much; but after a while I begin to feel helpless and hopeless. 

No wonder so many Americans are hooked on “American Idol,” and “Dancing with the Stars.” 

Thank God for the Hallmark channel! They’re running Christmas movies this month. Last night I watched three “feel good” movies back-to-back, and I awoke this morning feeling upbeat. I even put up my Christmas tree! 

But I have to confess, I almost didn’t bother. I was so bogged down with all the bad stuff that’s happening in the world I thought, why bother? Then, I realized that it was not all about me and my worries. Although Christmas sometimes feels too materialistic, it reminded me that I can still find joy, no matter what the doomsayers are predicting.  

The cool thing about this country is how determined us Americans are. We’re a bunch that, when challenged with a recession, we still cling to hope. Just like everyone else I’ve been affected by our troubled economy. Christmas is not going to be elaborate this year for our family, but for some reason I don’t care. We will give what we can. Like the rest of the country we will find at least one or two reasons to be grateful. If you’re having trouble finding that reason, make a gratitude list. I’ll bet, like me, you’ll find blessings in even the most difficult times. Americans never give up. What an awesome country we live in!

People are so worried about having their identity stolen. Not me. Nobody wants to be me because my life is boring. Okay, I have no life.

I know this is a dumb question, but if somebody steals your identity does that mean they have to pay your mortgage and credit cards? Do they have to show up at those boring family reunions where there is always an uncle who wants you to pull his finger?

I wouldn’t even steal my identity.

Does anybody know where I can buy this personal lubricant called “His and Hers?” I know this stuff has to be great because when the people in the commercials use it, they cut to a scene where the heavens open, a choir sings, and confetti falls from the sky.

I looked for it at Kmart but couldn’t find it. I figured it would be on the same aisle as the condoms and personal hygiene spray. It’s not like I can ask my pharmacist; I’ve known the guy sixteen years. You can’t trust those guys in the pharmacy because when they’re not filling prescriptions they’re gossiping. I know this for a fact because I’m usually the one spreading it. And it’s not like I can say, “Oh, I’m buying this for a friend of a friend.”

Even if I find it I’m going to have to go through the check-out line with it. Can you imagine what the cashier would think of me? It would be my luck if there wasn’t a price on it, and she had to call the manager over or get on the loud speaker: “Could we get a price check on His and Hers Personal Lubricant at register three?” My luck they’d ask me, “Hon, which aisle was it on?”

Of course, I’d have to act indignant and say, “I don’t even know what it is. Who the hell put that in my cart,” followed by me storming out of the store.

I don’t know what my ancestors did before somebody came up with personal lubricants. Probably used lard.