Lies That Chelsea Handler Told Me Part 13

It's no secret that Chelsea and her dad have a love/hate relations.h.i.+p. He has asked her for money on more than one occasion, even though he has plenty of his own. He a.s.sumes that now that she's making money she should be taking care of him. The way the two of them communicate completely stresses me out, because I just want everything with her family to be fine. So I came up with the idea to mend fences for her. If it also resulted in a little bit of payback, then I'd consider that a bonus.

One day Chelsea received a phone call from one of her sisters letting her know how much their father appreciated the beautiful letter Chelsea had sent him. When Chelsea asked what letter she was talking about, her sister read it to her: Dear Daddy,I am so sorry that we have had any arguments over the past couple of years about money or about anything else. I've really been thinking about things and I have come to realize that you're right. I am now in a position to support you financially. The fact that you have enough money to support yourself and your cleaning lady doesn't matter. You brought me into this world and as a thank-you I should be there to see you out of it. You are an amazing man, regardless of what any of the past renters of our home in Martha's Vineyard have said. From now on what's mine is yours! I can't wait to see you next Christmas. Maybe we can go sledding, LOL!-Chelsea Chelsea instantly knew that the letter was written by me. She told her sister that n.o.body else would talk like that except Eva. "Doesn't he recognize his own daughter's handwriting?" she asked.

"It was typed," Shana explained.

Chelsea sent me a text that read, Nice one Nice one. That was the only reaction she gave me. I actually think the whole thing made her want to promote me, and she might have, if there had been a position to promote me to.

I was glad the letter got a bit of a response from her, but it just proved to me that when it comes to pranks, Chelsea Handler can't be beat. Even though Jo now knows the truth about my s.e.x life, part of what Chelsea said stuck in his head. Every once in a while, when I don't answer my phone, he thinks I'm at a homeless shelter picking out my next s.e.x partner. Kevin and Brian still try to offer to let me "meet up" with one of their single lesbian friends. On top of that, Chelsea's brother Roy still treats me like I'm mildly r.e.t.a.r.ded. Last time I was at Chelsea's pool, he handed me two inflatable arm bands and a rubber duckie and suggested I stay in the shallow end.

For the record: I am still not positive that Eva's legs are made from real human parts, or that Eva herself is even human. She is a very strange duck, and her posture leaves a lot of room for improvement. She is a better person than I am, but that doesn't really mean much. She is also a better daughter to my father than I am, but my father has s.e.x on a regular basis with his cleaning lady. I would also like to point out that up until I met Eva, she wore blue eye shadow on her lids. For the record: I am still not positive that Eva's legs are made from real human parts, or that Eva herself is even human. She is a very strange duck, and her posture leaves a lot of room for improvement. She is a better person than I am, but that doesn't really mean much. She is also a better daughter to my father than I am, but my father has s.e.x on a regular basis with his cleaning lady. I would also like to point out that up until I met Eva, she wore blue eye shadow on her lids.-Chelsea

This photo sums up my relations.h.i.+p with Eva perfectly. I look on with confusion when I see a boat headed straight for us in the Bahamas, as Eva smiles like a lunatic. This photo sums up my relations.h.i.+p with Eva perfectly. I look on with confusion when I see a boat headed straight for us in the Bahamas, as Eva smiles like a lunatic.

Chapter Ten.

Lies and Other Things I Wish Were Lies AMY MEYER.

LIES.

I would never lie; I willfully partic.i.p.ate in a campaign of misinformation. I would never lie; I willfully partic.i.p.ate in a campaign of misinformation.-FOX MULDER

Me; my mom, Kris; and Chelsea before her show in Kansas City. Me; my mom, Kris; and Chelsea before her show in Kansas City.

I have known Chelsea, or "Handy," for over four years, and it is no surprise to me that I was asked to weave a tale of her creative and sordid lies. Don't get me wrong. Handy is sweet, generous, and loyal to a fault, but she have known Chelsea, or "Handy," for over four years, and it is no surprise to me that I was asked to weave a tale of her creative and sordid lies. Don't get me wrong. Handy is sweet, generous, and loyal to a fault, but she loves loves to lie. Her delight over lying is woven through with a sweet slice of sadism. We love her without exactly knowing why. Well, on second thought, we could always chalk it up to Stockholm syndrome. to lie. Her delight over lying is woven through with a sweet slice of sadism. We love her without exactly knowing why. Well, on second thought, we could always chalk it up to Stockholm syndrome.

Being Chelsea's stylist has afforded me the opportunity to be privy to many intimate moments of her life. Here are some that she has agreed to let me print.

Chelsea loved to lie to her ex-boyfriend Ted. I actually believe his sweet and loyal gullibility is the reason their relations.h.i.+p was extended by six months.

On more than one occasion, while Chelsea was getting her hair done for the show, I watched her pick up the phone, call Ted, and tell him that she had fallen down the stairs and broken her collarbone, lost hearing in one or both ears, or was pregnant with his child. On one occasion I witnessed her say she was pregnant while she had a margarita and cigarette in hand. Time and time again, Ted believed her; he believed the woman he was madly in love with was carrying his child. Why would anyone lie about that? Because they are a sick f.u.c.k, that's why. Although if Chelsea ever carried a baby to full term, she would be a wonderful mother. Not only is she compa.s.sionate and protective, she incessantly spoils the ones she loves (in between lying to them).

Each time she attempted to convince Ted that he was going to be a silver-haired daddy, she would up the ante. On her initial attempt she was very serious and stressed out.

"Ted, I'm late. I just took a pregnancy test and it came out positive. I can't even think straight, my hormones are all out of whack, and... I just ate Taco Bell for lunch. There has got to be a baby inside me."

When Ted responded, "Everything is going to be okay, honey. I love you, and we will figure this out together," she replied, "You are so ridiculous," and hung up the phone.

The second and third time went something like this: Chelsea crying, "Ted, I'm pregnant and I'm not kidding. None of my clothes fit. I think I'm already showing."

In Ted's typical problem-solving style, he suggested she wear Spanx, to which she barked, "Ted, that will give the baby brain damage. I don't want the baby to be slow. We already have Chuy."

Why, I'm sure you're asking yourself, would Ted have believed these shenanigans? Because Chelsea is infectious. She can be so warm and fun that you want to believe her just to be part of her world. I'm here to tell you that that world is overrated.

A favorite Ted lie of mine, and one that I think is so telling of their relations.h.i.+p, is the "very, very, very, superior Chelsea" lie. This happened on a Tuesday night. It was just the two of them, so I'm a.s.suming her ADD a.s.s was in high gear and she was bored out of her mind.

They were having dinner at some fancy restaurant and Chelsea said, "Oh, so I got the results back from my IQ test today. I scored a hundred and fifty. Is that good?"

I can only presume this line was delivered in complete seriousness and as an aside, right before ordering some albacore sas.h.i.+mi. Like, "Yeah, Albert Einstein's IQ was one-sixty and I'm Chelsea Handler cruising through the west side of Los Angeles with my very superior IQ of one-fifty. It ain't no thang."

There are so many responses you can imagine or hope that a boyfriend would have upon hearing that his girlfriend is another Einstein. But one wouldn't expect him to put his head in his hands and, after a long beat of silence, say, "I was afraid of something like this."

The revelation of Chelsea's genius IQ completely changed the dynamic of their relations.h.i.+p. Ted is a very smart and capable man-he was the CEO of our company at the time-and had the wherewithal to bag Chelsea Handler, but make no mistake about it: Ted is not not a genius. From that moment on, there was no denying that she now had the upper hand in the relations.h.i.+p. (Technically, this would make Ted the "bottom.") If they ever argued over the show or even about restaurant choices, all she had to say was "I'm sorry, which one of us is the genius?" a genius. From that moment on, there was no denying that she now had the upper hand in the relations.h.i.+p. (Technically, this would make Ted the "bottom.") If they ever argued over the show or even about restaurant choices, all she had to say was "I'm sorry, which one of us is the genius?"

Chelsea Handler is a sharp cookie and has a beautifully bizarre brain. She may also be many things, but she is not not a genius. a genius.

To be honest, I have no idea how many times Chelsea has lied to me. Most likely it's already occurred at least twice this morning.

During our first season on air, she and our executive producer, Tom, told me that we were going to hang Chuy on the cross for the Christmas episode. The art department was building a cross, and I had one day to pull together a Jesus costume. Tom and Chelsea let me know it was really important to make the costume look authentic. If we were going to p.i.s.s off the Christians, it had to be done right.

"No problem," I a.s.sured them. I already had the muslin cloth to make Chuy's loincloth. Warner Bros.' costume department had the rope sandals we needed for Chuy's nugget feet. All I had to do was make a crown of thorns. "Oh and how b.l.o.o.d.y do you want to make him?" I asked.

"Amy, the man was nailed to a cross," Chelsea told me. "It wasn't a pretty situation. But this is is Christmas, so find a happy middle ground." Christmas, so find a happy middle ground."

The next day Chelsea was in her makeup chair when I paraded Jesus Chuy in for her approval. If you can make Chelsea laugh, it's a pretty good feeling, even if you don't realize that she's laughing at you.

"Oh, my G.o.d, Amy, get Tom down here!" she howled, holding her v.a.g.i.n.a as she's known to do when she's comedically aroused. Seconds later, Tom appeared in Chelsea's office and fell into hysterics. I felt amazing. Then Chelsea instructed Chuy to practice the line "f.u.c.k the Jews!"

"f.u.c.k the Yews," Chuy exclaimed. "f.u.c.k the Yews!"

I was horrified. "We are not going to have him say, 'f.u.c.k the Jews,' Chelsea, are we?"

She was now searching through her underwear drawer while holding her v.a.g.i.n.a, looking for a fresh pair to replace the ones she had clearly soiled.

"Chelsea, are we really going to have him say that?"

"No! Amy! No, we aren't doing any of this," she said, rolling around on the floor with her legs in the air. "Do you think the network would ever let us dress him as a b.l.o.o.d.y Jesus and yell, 'f.u.c.k the...' " She couldn't get it out. Her laughter had turned silent; she wasn't making a noise, but her shoulders were shaking. "I have to say," she managed to get out after a few moments, "you did an amazing job on that outfit." Then she stood up, with fresh panties in hand, wiped the tears from her face, and headed to the bathroom. "He looks amazing. But, seriously, take it off. We have a show to do."

Let me clarify. I'm not stupid, but Handy gets me time and time again. In exchange for my hard work, Chelsea had allowed me to swaddle Chuy and place him in a manger. Later that day, she left an envelope with a thousand dollars in cash on my desk, with a note that said, "I appreciate your dedication to your craft, even though you're very stupid."

Chelsea and me lying in bed in New York City the day Chelsea and me lying in bed in New York City the day Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang came out. came out.

THINGS THAT I WISH WERE LIES.

As her stylist, I see Chelsea naked on a regular basis. That's pretty intimate, so I try to maintain a professional atmosphere during fittings. "What-the-f.u.c.k-ever" is usually what I'm met with.

While getting her dressed-which, I might add is my job-all of the following things have happened to me. (Please keep in mind that I was working during these experiences.) She smacked me in the face with her t.i.ts.

Burping in my face? Done.

Once, while standing in front of the mirror b.u.t.t-a.s.s naked, she said, "Hey, Amy, look at this piece of leftover toilet paper." I had already turned my head and looked at what she was pointing at before I realized what she was saying.

When I first started working with her, I wore dresses and skirts all the time. Because she likes to expose her staff's genitalia, I now wear underwear and pants.

I was introduced as her big lesbian stylist in person and on national television.

Peeing in front of me? Those were the days.

She has trimmed her fifteen pubic hairs in my presence. At this point in our relations.h.i.+p, I think some mystery could be a good thing.

One of the perks of my fabulous and fun job is that I get to travel with Chelsea. My responsibilities on the road are a cross between those of butler and camp counselor. I pack her, unpack her, lay out her clothes, and make sure the group gets where we are going on time and that no one is left behind when we are drunk. The upside to catering to Chelsea's every need is that I get to travel all over the world with my friends while laughing my a.s.s off. And we always get to stay at fabulous hotels. The downside is the following: Every night before bed, Chelsea orders a movie. Sometimes the films she chooses are great. Usually they are not. She inevitably falls asleep within the first fifteen minutes of the flick. Sometimes I do, too. Which is why we have watched Eat Pray Love Eat Pray Love three times. We have yet to experience "Love." Sometimes the s.h.i.+tty movies get me hooked and I can't fall asleep until Tom Cruise has saved someone. three times. We have yet to experience "Love." Sometimes the s.h.i.+tty movies get me hooked and I can't fall asleep until Tom Cruise has saved someone.

Like Chelsea, I am a Pisces, which makes for a sensitive and empathetic person. I can't watch movies in which people have f.u.c.ked-up lives or have f.u.c.ked up their lives. I can't watch scary or traumatic movies, either. After one Sat.u.r.day night of partying, Chelsea made Johnny Kansas and me get into bed with her and we ordered Precious. Precious. We both protested her choice. She insisted there were some very funny scenes with Mariah Carey, and that the movie was actually a dark comedy. We gave in. Handy fell asleep within minutes, while Johnny and I both had nightmares for weeks. We both protested her choice. She insisted there were some very funny scenes with Mariah Carey, and that the movie was actually a dark comedy. We gave in. Handy fell asleep within minutes, while Johnny and I both had nightmares for weeks.

Chelsea loves to say really inappropriate things to people. She does this with a smile on her face and in a very sweet voice that is low enough to hear but that makes you think you may have heard wrong. This practice of hers never fails to mortify me. It makes me extremely uncomfortable. Here are some real-life examples: An African American bellhop walked into our hotel room to collect our bags. Chelsea walked out of the bathroom and smiled at him. He smiled back and said, "Good morning, Miss Handler. I hope you're enjoying your stay with us." She replied, "Yes, I am. Thank you." As he turned his back to place our bags on the luggage cart, she said in a sweet, soft voice intended only for my ears, "Wanna show me your big black c.o.c.k?" Halfway through the word c.o.c.k c.o.c.k, I exclaimed in a loud and authoritative voice, "And these bags need to go, too, sir. What a beautiful day it is here in sunny Baltimore!" I did not shut up until he'd walked out the door with a fifty-dollar tip.

After MTV's Video Music Awards, Chelsea took Gina (hair and makeup), all the writers, and me to Cabo to thank us for doing both the VMA and Chelsea Lately Chelsea Lately simultaneously. Chelsea wanted all of us to really relax, so she had her a.s.sistant set up a day at the spa for us. What a sweet boss. We get to the spa, check in, and our host takes us girls to the women's locker room for a tour. Obviously Spanish was this woman's first language, but she was speaking English, so I a.s.sumed she could understand it. As she was showing us the showers, Chelsea smiled and sweetly said, "Thanks. Do you take it up the tus.h.i.+e? My girlfriend here loves it in the a.n.a.l cavity." Our host showed us the steam room, and Chelsea responded with "Great. I'll bet you have a very hairy p.u.s.s.y." Next we were shown where to place our robes and dirty towels. Chelsea asked, "Wanna show me your pretty p.u.s.s.y?" The woman smiled through all of this, but I swear she was looking at us like we were nuts. Needless to say, I separated from the group as fast as possible. All of us are horrified when Chelsea does stuff like this, but the amazing thing is no one ever really seems to hear her except us. Her sisters have told me she has been pulling the under-her-breath s.h.i.+t for years, and that as long as she does it with a big smile on her face, the victim can never quite accept what he's heard. simultaneously. Chelsea wanted all of us to really relax, so she had her a.s.sistant set up a day at the spa for us. What a sweet boss. We get to the spa, check in, and our host takes us girls to the women's locker room for a tour. Obviously Spanish was this woman's first language, but she was speaking English, so I a.s.sumed she could understand it. As she was showing us the showers, Chelsea smiled and sweetly said, "Thanks. Do you take it up the tus.h.i.+e? My girlfriend here loves it in the a.n.a.l cavity." Our host showed us the steam room, and Chelsea responded with "Great. I'll bet you have a very hairy p.u.s.s.y." Next we were shown where to place our robes and dirty towels. Chelsea asked, "Wanna show me your pretty p.u.s.s.y?" The woman smiled through all of this, but I swear she was looking at us like we were nuts. Needless to say, I separated from the group as fast as possible. All of us are horrified when Chelsea does stuff like this, but the amazing thing is no one ever really seems to hear her except us. Her sisters have told me she has been pulling the under-her-breath s.h.i.+t for years, and that as long as she does it with a big smile on her face, the victim can never quite accept what he's heard.

Once, Chelsea shot a movie in Vancouver with Reese Witherspoon (cool, chic, smart, funny: we adore her). One day we wrapped early. We decided to head back to our room, order room service, watch movies, and take a Lunesta so we could fall asleep at 9:30 PM PM. Dream evening! What a treat! Then the room service guy arrived. We had ordered a ton of s.h.i.+t and wanted to eat in bed. It's the Four Seasons. The service is always impeccable, and this evening was no exception. Our server laid place mats on our bed, arranging our five-star dining experience.

Here is a sample of what came from Chelsea's mouth while he was doing so: "Hi, sir, do you want to have a little f.u.c.ky time with me? How big is your p.e.n.i.s? I adore getting my p.u.s.s.y licked." As she was saying all of these things, I scrambled out of the bed and shuffled him into the living room to place our food there. I had to tell him where to place everything, in an attempt to shut out Chelsea's voice. When he placed a plate of French fries in front of her, she said in a loud voice, "Thank you, sir. That is very funny-looking spaghetti." I looked at her and grabbed her face, and my eyes were saying, "Shut the f.u.c.k up" as my mouth said in a loud and slow voice, "No, Chelsea, these are French fries!" Then I signed the check, and that guy got the f.u.c.k out of our room as fast as he could move. Once the door shut, Chelsea jumped out of the bed laughing and holding her v.a.g.i.n.a so she wouldn't pee in her underwear. For three days she would reenact my saying "No, Chelsea, these are French fries!" like I was Forrest Gump, and then laugh uncontrollably. The girl loves to laugh, especially when no one else is laughing with her.

Everyone in Chelsea's life is there for two reasons: she loves them, and they are willing to be humiliated.

Chelsea did a stand-up show in Tampa with Jo Koy. After they performed, everyone in Handy's entourage-her agent; her a.s.sistant, Eva; her brother Roy; her tour manager, Mich.e.l.le; and I-retreated to our suite to kick it. When room service arrived, Chelsea asked our server if she wanted to "show us her p.u.s.s.y." The server looked up from the tray of food and said, "I don't think so, Chelsea. I'm familiar with your program." Game over.

This is a formal apology to everyone we have encountered and to those we are yet to meet. I apologize. Chelsea is a really good person, but she is sick and can't help herself.

E IS FOR EXCEDRIN.

Once, on a Monday (TRUE f.u.c.kING STORY) I picked up an Excedrin bottle, took two pills, put them in my mouth, and swallowed. I had a horrible headache. Chelsea had a really busy day: a show taping, followed by a post-tape interview, followed by a meeting in Tom's office with her agents, followed by a fitting to get her dressed so she could dash out the door and go to a red carpet event. No room for f.u.c.k-ups. Period.

An hour before I dressed Chelsea for the show, I started to feel weird. Waves of nausea began to roll through me. I was unable to focus on the type on my computer screen. Something was seriously wrong with me. A chemical reaction was occurring in my body. I decided that I must be diabetic and was headed for a diabetic coma. It also crossed my mind that this was karma for dressing up the guys from the show as the Jonas Brothers for a skit where we talked about Kevin Jonas having diabetes: type 2.

I told my a.s.sistant, Linda, that after the last fitting, she was going to have to take me to the emergency room. In the meantime she was not allowed to leave my side. Linda was not amused. She was looking at me as if I were crazy. I was. Instead of a chair at my desk, I have one of those large workout b.a.l.l.s. For an hour I sat on it bouncing and shopping for shoes on the Barneys Web site, while telling Linda and the production a.s.sistants that I hoped I wasn't dying. Chelsea walked by and asked if we had some s.e.xy dresses for an event. I said, "Totally!" After she was gone I turned to Linda and said, "What are we going to do?" She replied, "Dress her, Amy. Like we do every day?" and looked at me as if I were bat-s.h.i.+t crazy.

Let's take a second to discuss Linda, my amazing Vietnamese American a.s.sistant. She is the consummate professional. I am the creative force of our department, but she helps legitimize my professional existence. Linda stands at about five feet, two inches tall, and she has a perfectly round, beautiful Vietnamese face. When she started working on our show, she was a little on the thick side. Chelsea nicknamed her Paccy, as in Ms Pac Man. Anytime Linda walked into Chelsea's office, Chelsea would say, "Wocca wocca wocca!" Everyone in our office still calls her Paccy, except me. I call her Shorty.

Chelsea still texts Linda from time to time to ask how many ghosts she caught over the weekend, and what her high score is. She will also ask her, in complete seriousness, if it's hard for her to get down the stairs with no legs. After I informed Chelsea that Linda had hired a trainer and lost twenty pounds because of her nickname, Chelsea was appalled at her own behavior. She had no idea that nicknaming her Paccy would have any sort of negative impact on Pacc. Instead of apologizing, Chelsea bought Paccy her very own Ms Pac Man machine and had it delivered to Linda's parents' house, where she will reside until marriage. The note read, "This is for all the nights you are stuck at home living with your parents in the seventeenth century, while you could be out wocca wocca-ing your coslopus. P.S. I liked you better with a little meat on you."

Dressing Chelsea is fun, but it is not always easy. Never mind the distraction of e-mails and Twitters she constantly gets from fans informing her that her stylist must hate her. She does not like to try on clothes. There are better things she could be doing with her time. b.i.t.c.h is busy. With her, you get one or two shots. Precision is key, and when it is hard to focus on objects in front of you, as it was for me that Monday when I took the Excedrin, precise you are not. If it were not for my a.s.sistant I'm not sure Chelsea would have been dressed that day.

Chelsea asked me what pants she needed to wear with the top I handed her. My reply: "What do you feel like, slacks or jeans?" She looked at me like I was crazy.

"Really, Amy? Slacks? Is this an episode of Mad Men Mad Men?"

There are three words Chelsea never likes to hear: moist, hose, and slacks.

Linda, who is an angel, handed me a pair of slacks and said, "These are the pants pants you picked out to go with that top, and here are the red heels you wanted." you picked out to go with that top, and here are the red heels you wanted."

Handy was reading her show notes while we put the finis.h.i.+ng touches on her, so she did not notice that I was melting down in my own personal universe.

Linda and I went back to the wardrobe room, and I told her I would not be able to leave. Paccy would have to be on set. Something really bad was happening to me. Possibly death. This was not the time to discuss the budget with Gary, the line producer, and there was no way I was going to have a conversation with Chelsea. She may not be a genius, but she was too f.u.c.king smart to talk to my r.e.t.a.r.ded a.s.s at that point. Let's just say that I was barely holding it together.

By the grace of G.o.d, and the comedy of Chelsea, we got her through the first episode, then the post-tape interview, and then she was off to her meeting. By now a few other people in the office had noticed that something was wrong with me. Turkey, an intern Chelsea had nicknamed due to her body type, turned to the makeup girl and said, "Amy is acting like she is on mushrooms."

While I was racing to put out all the jewelry, shoes, and clothes for the last fitting, I was totally freaking out. Linda was getting really annoyed with me at this point, but I didn't care. This was life and death. My only hope was that this fitting would go well so I could get to the hospital before going into a diabetic coma. Linda and I went over our top-five dress choices and which shoes would go with which bags.

Chelsea breezed into her office, looked through the rack of dresses, and picked her favorite. My mouth was shut as I, holding my breath, zipped her in. It fit like a glove. She loved it. The shoes Linda placed on her feet were met with approval. She checked herself out in the mirror and told us, "Well, for once, I don't look ridiculous," and then turned on her heel and ran to the editing bay to watch a field piece before heading out the door.

I left Linda in Handy's room to clean up while I retreated to the bathroom in an attempt to collect myself and calm down. As I was splas.h.i.+ng my face with cold water, I looked in the mirror and noticed that my pupils were the size of saucers. Proof! Something was really f.u.c.ked up with me. My chemical balance was off. All day, f.u.c.king Linda had been treating me like I was a nut, BUT I WAS NOT! I really might die. Yet I had been able to stay and dress Chelsea three different times. Best employee ever.

Turkey and a coworker were outside the bathroom as I rushed out. "You guys, something is totally wrong with me. Look at my pupils. I think I'm about to sink into a coma."

They both looked at me as if I were a madwoman. Turkey responded, "Walk me through your day."

"Okay. I shopped this morning, and dropped off some clothes at Chelsea's house. I had a horrible headache so I took two Excedrin." My coworker stopped me and asked where I'd gotten the bottle of Excedrin. I told them, "In Chelsea's bedroom."

Long pause. With huge smiles, they informed me that I was rolling my f.u.c.king face off. Ecstasy was in that bottle.

You have got to be s.h.i.+tting me. How could I have been so stupid? All the signs were there. Oh yeah, it was noon on a Monday. I didn't think Ecstasy was in the game plan.

Armed with the knowledge that I would be dancing for the next eight hours, I retreated to the couch in Chelsea's room, where I started trying on her shoes. She and I share the same shoe size, which comes in handy about twice a week. Linda walked in, looked at me, and rolled her eyes.

"Um, listen up, little snooty a.s.sistant," I told her. "I'm not crazy. I accidentally took two hits of Ecstasy, so you don't have to take me to the emergency room."

Linda has never done drugs in her life. Not once. She goes to church on Sundays. So this news floored her. Then Chelsea walked in the room, was informed of the situation at hand, and didn't miss a beat as she proceeded to make me a c.o.c.ktail.

Once I figured out what the f.u.c.k my Monday had turned into, I had an amazing evening. Thank G.o.d for Ms Pac Man.

A VERY BLURRY LINE.

We spend a lot of time in Mexico. We like the sun, tequila, and fish tacos. Chelsea loves to spend at least one day at sea on a yacht. Lucky for us she always takes an interesting group of friends along for the ride. Not so lucky for me, on one of these glamorous days she peed on me.