Chelsea Handler - My Horizontal Life - A Collection of One-Night Stands

Once the ceremony had ended, we had a receiving line on the deck that faced the water. Sloane hoisted a glass of champagne, spilling some onto the ground. My father intercepted. He grabbed the glass, went inside, and poured it into Whitefoot's bowl. Then he ordered me to get some sparkling cider instead.

When the reception was under way, I found my table and sat next to Nathan.

Nathan winked and pointed between his legs. He had stolen a bottle of Cuervo from the bartender and hid it under our table where he could get to it quicker. Apparently the twenty-foot walk to the bar was too long a haul for him- and he didn't want to miss a beat hitting on my straight cousin sitting next to him. My cousin Neil, who was in from New York, politely excused himself and took his name-place with him.

Nathan was perspiring like a professional wrestler by the time he ordered his third lobster from the waitress. "What are you on?" I asked him. "You're dripping."

"Nothing, silly pickle! I'm just having a good time." I figured he'd be occupied with his bottle, so I got up to mingle. My father came over to me and asked if Nathan thought he was at Red Lobster.

"Listen, Dad, just ignore him. Have a good time. Look!" I pointed. "Sloane wants to dance with you."

Sloane and my dad hadn't been dancing for thirty seconds when Nathan shimmied onto the dance floor and cut in. I cleared three tables and the dance floor in just the amount of time needed to get Nathan out of my father's personal space.

"Cut the shit," I said through clenched teeth, while smiling for anyone watching. "Take a walk," I said. "A long one."

"I'd like to make a toast," were the next words out of Nathan's mouth.

He started clinking his glass of tequila with a knife. I shut my eyes in horror. "This is on behalf of me and Chelsea," he slurred.

My brother Greg yelled, "Let's hear it!" as the music and conversation came to a startling halt.

"I just want to say that I have never felt more welcome at somebody's house than I have at Mr. and Mrs. Handler's. This place is such a respite from my hectic and busy lifestyle in Hollywood where I produce music. I'm also interested in fitness. Anyway, there's nothing more beautiful than seeing a Mormon and a nonpracticing Christian come together at a Jewish gathering. All's fair in love and war."

Then he grabbed his bottle of tequila from under the table and stumbled away from the party.

About an hour later, mostly in fear of Whitefoot's safety, I walked around the property looking for Nathan to no avail. I did find Whitefoot. He was tied to a tree on the other side of the house, eating a lobster that my father, no doubt, had provided him with. Next to the lobster was a ramekin with melted butter for dipping.

At around eight P.M., when the party was winding down, I went into the basement to use the bathroom. That's where I found Nathan smoking pot with my thirteen-year-old cousin Kevin. He couldn't understand what was wrong with the situation and why I was being such a bitch.

I didn't understand how somebody could be so inappropriate at someone's parents' house. I had been Emily Post's alter ego when visiting Nathan's parents and never so much as swore in front of them, never mind consuming an entire bottle of tequila with no mixer. I proceeded to go off on him for close to five minutes, then grabbed my little cousin, took a hit of his joint, and started back up the stairs. I told Nathan he was not allowed out for the rest of the night, to which he inquired, "What about my lobster?" I went to our table, grabbed his plate with the lobster, and while descending the steps into the basement, took the lobster and threw it at him. He responded with a scream that sounded very similar to a cat getting gangbanged.

He woke up the next morning on the front lawn to my father spraying a hose on him.

"You're going to miss your flight," my father said. I was still so incensed at Nathan's behavior that I had Greg take him to the airport four hours early. When my brother returned, he announced to everyone in our living room with a huge grin on his face, "Well, have no fear, it looks like Robert Downey Junior got off without a hitch. We'll have to tune in to the local news later and see if his plane lands safely or if he ends up hijacking it."

"Shut up," I said. "He's not usually like that."

"I think we can all agree that Chelsea should not be allowed to bring anyone else back to any family gathering unless they are engaged to be married." My brother knew the chances of me getting engaged were about as probable as me releasing a hip-hop album.

My mother looked up from playing with my niece and said, "I think Greg is right, sweetheart. I think maybe when we have you all to ourselves it's more fun." My mother always put a spin on things to make it sound like every decision was based on how amazing you were to be around. I didn't want to bring anyone back there again, anyway. There was too much abuse from my siblings and father to endure another tandem vacation.

"You should really think about the company you keep," my father said. "You've got a real soft spot for lunatics. You're a beautiful girl, and I'd hate to see that figure go to waste."

DUMB DUMB ASKED me if I wanted to go on a cruise for New Year's Eve. I had never been on an ocean journey before and was hesitant because Dumb Dumb was about as much fun as a lawn bowling tournament. Her idea of a good time was going to California Pizza Kitchen and ordering two appetizers instead of one. But in my never-ending mission to get her twenty-eight-year-old hymen popped, I agreed.

"Just you and me will go," she said.

"No fucking way," I said. "I'm inviting Ivory and Lydia too."

"Fine," she said, "but they're not going to want to come with me."

She was right. Lydia and Ivory both told me they'd rather spend New Year's Eve at a Michael Bolton concert and that I was an idiot for having agreed to go in the first place. Upon hearing their totally rational refusals, I rethought my decision and tried to weasel my way out of the deal by telling Dumb Dumb I had a great opportunity to feed the homeless on New Year's and would have to cancel. An hour later I found Dumb Dumb crying in her room. I hate when people cry, especially when it's my fault, so not only did I agree to go with her, I ended up paying her way. Now who's the dumb dumb? I thought.

Right from the start, Dumb Dumb was way too excited about this trip. It's all she talked about for the next three weeks. She went on and on about the fun we were gonna have and all the hot men we would meet. I made her promise to at least let someone feel her boobs or I would tell everyone on board that she was still a virgin.

"You better not!" she yelled. "I'd kill you! Do you think I'll meet someone? Do you think I will? What if I meet my husband on the cruise ship? It's going to be so romantic!"

She would put on one fashion show after another in our apartment, modeling sarongs and different bikini tops.

"What do you think? Do you like the sarong with the polka dots or the one with the sun signs?"

She was exhausting. I was dreading this stupid cruise more than I had dreaded DUI school. It didn't help that Lydia and Ivory had made plans to go away to Aspen on a ski trip with Hugh Grant.

On her final runway walk, she modeled a bikini top with something that looked very similar to a pair of Dolphin shorts that were two sizes too small. If she walked around in that, I'd have to start calling her "Camel Toe."

"Listen, Camel Toe, I mean Dumb Dumb," I explained, "there are going to be a lot of opportunities on this cruise for you to meet someone, so I want you to prepare some conversation topics to bring up."

"I know how to talk to people, Chelsea," she responded.

This couldn't be farther from the truth. The only people Dumb Dumb could relate to were children and slow adults. And unless someone had watched every episode of The Bachelor, or TLC's A Wedding Story, Dumb Dumb was stumped for talking points. She watched reality shows over and over, and not just the original episodes but also reruns of the same episodes, and if TiVo didn't record something she had already seen, she would call her father to ask if he could somehow fix it from New Jersey. I had seen The Bachelor once and decided I wanted to do my own version of the show. It would involve me having sex with all the contestants and then eliminating them based on their penis size. Then, during my rose ceremony, I would wear some shimmery satin Nicole Miller design, preferably in eggplant, and I would say, "Leroy, Tyrone, and Jamal, will you accept these rose?"