Are You There Vodka? It's Me Chelsea Read online

  “Why are you letting her in the bed? Those sheets are clean; they’re gonna get all smelly.”

  “It’s a he, and apparently he’s gay,” Mohammed declared, still laughing.

  “Oh, really?” I asked him. “When did you start speaking Peekapoo?”

  “Right after he licked my huge penis.”

  “I really hope you’re kidding,” I said, hanging my dry cleaning in the closet.

  “No, actually.”

  I turned around and walked back into the room. “You let Pepper lick your penis?”

  “He just did it. I didn’t whip it out. I was lying here watching Dr. Phil, who, by the way, has some anger management issues. Doesn’t his wife Robin look like she’s been hypnotized? I feel like he goes home and beats her. The guy’s an egomaniac, and he’s not doing a very job of covering it up by pretending to be interested in other people’s problems.”

  “Can we get back to you and Pepper, please?”

  “I was lying here and he jumped up and came right for me. I picked him up and threw him on the floor, but he came back again, and, to be honest, it didn’t feel so bad.”

  There was a long silence while I stared at Mohammed, who for some reason thought this was hilarious and couldn’t stop laughing. I didn’t find it amusing…. Maybe a little, but I wasn’t about to let him know that until I found out exactly how far they had gone.

  “Are you telling me that you hooked up with a Peekapoo?”

  “I wouldn’t call it hooking up, but yes, I would say there was a line that was crossed, and I blame Pepper.”

  “Mohammed, that is disgusting and foul. Did you climax?”

  “No!” he said. Now he was laughing so hard he was crying. All the while, Pepper was nuzzling up against his neck in a postcoital embrace.

  “If a grown man is going to hook up with a dog, you’d think he’d at least pick a respectable-size one,” I said, looking at Daisy, who was lying on the floor hiding her head shamefully. “And can you please get him away from your neck? That is really creeping me out.”

  “I didn’t initiate it, Pepper did. And besides, it was for two seconds. It’s not like he gave me a blow job.”

  “Well, it sounds like a blow job to me,” I told him.

  “Well, maybe it ‘sounds like a blow job’ to you, because that’s what you think one is.”

  “Oh, that is low. That is really low.”

  “I’m kidding!” he yelled.

  “No, you’re not. You’re not kidding. You’re not the first person to mention my lack of enthusiasm for blow jobbing, and I’ll be perfectly honest with you, maybe it’s not my specialty, but making me feel bad about it sure isn’t going to help me blow job better.”

  “I wouldn’t actually call what you do a blow job, Chelsea. It’s more of a kiss job.”

  “Oh, that’s just great. What kind of person lets a dog lick his penis? That’s bestiality.”

  “No, Chelsea, bestiality is having sex with an animal.” Then Pepper jumped up and ran down to his groin, obviously wanting more. This sent Mohammed into a huge eruption of hysterics.

  “You have some serious problems and you should really think about talking to someone. Possibly a vet. And I’m not talking about the ones from Vietnam,” I told him.

  “It’s not like I was walking around swinging my dick in the air, taunting him. It was an accident!”

  “How someone lets a dog lick his penis accidentally is about as believable as me accidentally joining a flag-football team.”

  “I would believe that. I think you’ve proven once again today that your hand-eye coordination is tantamount only to Oksana Baiul and Tiger Woods.”

  “This isn’t funny. I leave for an hour and you hook up with a dog? You obviously can’t be trusted,” I declared, shrugging my shoulders.

  “Well, at least I stopped him when he went around to lick my ass.”

  “Okay,” I said as I walked over, picked Pepper up, and tossed him in his cage. “How many times did he lick it?”

  “Three or four.”

  “Your ass or your penis?”

  “My penis three or four; my ass, I stopped him before a full lick. I thought that was going too far.”

  “And did you do anything to Pepper?”

  “Chelsea, please.”

  “Chelsea, please? Please what? I think these are reasonable questions to ask someone who’s been intimate with a canine.”

  “No! I did NOT DO ANYTHING TO PEPPER…” Then, after a significant pause…“A little smack on the ass.”

  “That’s lovely.” For dramatic effect, I crossed my arms and moved my head in a circular motion like a seagull. “How do you feel about yourself?”

  “I feel great,” he said, changing the channel. “The problem is, Pepper liked it a lot, and he obviously has feelings for me. It’s not going to be easy to wean him.” Now Pepper was whining in his crate, staring at Mohammed, beckoning for him to come to his rescue. “It’s okay, little buddy, we’ll let you out again, once Chelsea calms herself down,” Mohammed told him in some sort of gross Persian baby talk.

  “Please stop talking to the dog like that.”

  “Does it make you jealous?” he asked.

  “No, it makes me nauseous.”

  My cell phone rang and I walked over to my purse to get it, all the while keeping my eyes on Mohammed and Pepper. The big dog was holding her head in both of her paws, still not ready to face the situation.

  “Yello?” I answered as I picked up the phone.

  “I am a real loser,” was the first thing Ivory said.

  “Why?” I asked, unmoved, as this was not an uncommon way for her to begin a conversation.

  “I just woke up alone in my bed with my pants around my ankles, my vibrator in between my legs, and my glasses on.”

  “You just woke up?” I asked, looking at the clock. “It’s five o’clock!”

  “That’s not really the point.”

  “Well, don’t feel too bad about yourself,” I said, returning to the death stare I was giving Mohammed. “Mohammed hooked up with a dog.”

  “Chelsea!” he hissed as he tossed a pillow at me.

  “What kind of dog?” Ivory asked.

  “A Peekapoo.”

  “Ew.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Chelsea, shut up, do not tell your friends that!” he said as he got of bed and started to run after me.

  “That’s right,” I told her, scurrying out of the bedroom. “And he liked it!”

  I looked over my shoulder and saw Mohammed’s penis swinging in the wind while he was chasing me down the hall, making that the second time in my life since I was seven that I had been chased by a penis.

  “That’s pretty disgusting. I’m feeling a little better about myself now,” was the last thing she said before he grabbed the phone out of my hand, hung it up, and then tackled me to the floor. By this time Daisy had come out of her comatose state and was coming to my aid.

  “You better watch your ass,” I yelled at him in between breaths. “Here comes another dog!”

  Once we both caught our breaths, he urged me not to divulge this information to any of my other friends.

  “You made your bed, now you have to get blown by a dog in it,” I told him. “I just don’t understand why you would do something like that.”

  “I thought it was funny, and you do too.”

  “You’re mistaken.” There was something very unsettling about what had taken place. Even more unsettling than walking in on my father’s forty-five-year-old black housekeeper cleaning his kitchen in her underwear, with my mother obliviously knitting on a sofa in the living room and my father watching the cleaning lady through binoculars from another sofa twenty feet away.

  “Oh, please, I had a cousin whose wife let her dog go down on her,” Mohammed informed me.

  “What? What are you talking about?! This isn’t something that happens on a regular basis, Mohammed! Not in the United States, anyway. I mean, things like