Lies That Chelsea Handler Told Me Read online

  “I’ll bail you out and hire you a good lawyer. Simone. Simone’s an excellent attorney.”

  I knew her sister was a lawyer and assumed she was a good one, as I’d met her and she had seemed smart. “Doesn’t she do patents or something?” I countered.

  “Yes, but that’s just a hobby. Her main line of work is international crime,” Chelsea responded with a tinge of annoyance in her voice. It was exactly the amount of annoyance that I always knew meant not to ask any more questions.

  “Okay, but do I really have to have them up there for the entire flight?”

  “Yes. At some point everyone has to take one for the team. This is your time. Just fucking go.”

  I headed for the women’s room feeling a bit nervous, but also like a proud renegade who was doing everyone a favor.

  Once we arrived in Mexico and deplaned, I was feeling confident if not uncomfortable. A three-hour turbulent flight is made slightly less fun when there’s a plastic bag up your coslopus. I was wearing a sundress and taking small steps, which I hoped might pass for normal. From beyond the security line I was approaching, Chelsea motioned for me to hurry up. I picked up the pace, all the while telling myself to act cool and be normal and just make it that last fifty feet. I made it only five.

  In order to “hurry the fuck up,” which was what Chelsea was now saying, along with waving, I expanded my stride, which expanded the area housing the vacation contraband. In the split second I felt the Ziploc dislodge, I tried everything I could think of to keep it up there, while maintaining composure and speed. I even attempted Kegel exercises, but only ended up peeing on myself and the baggie, which flopped to the floor right in front of someone I was certain was a federale. He picked up the baggie, careful to avoid what was either my perspiration or my urine, and examined its contents.

  It’s amazing the thoughts that run through your head when you’re in a foreign country, with bright lights flickering above you and a uniformed officer with a badge you can’t read staring at you and holding the Ziploc bag filled with little blue bippies that just fell out of your vagina.

  I started thinking about my dog and how much I was going to miss her. She was six, so I wondered if I could cut a deal and be out before she got too old. Then I remembered how Marley and Me had destroyed me emotionally and thought that maybe being away when she met her demise would be a good thing. I thought of Vince Vaughn and Joaquin Phoenix and Anne Heche and that movie where Vince Vaughn sacrificed himself for his best friend and the brother of the woman who was his love interest and ended up in jail watching his best friend die despite his sacrifice, and I wondered if I was going to be Vince Vaughn or Joaquin Phoenix. And then I wondered how long it was going to take Chelsea to get her international legal expert sister across the border.

  Suddenly the federale put the bag into my hand and smirked as he told me I was free to go.

  “I am? I mean, of course I am. I didn’t do anything wrong!” I shouted as I tried to stomp away. I felt like Wonder Woman but knew I looked like Bambi, my shaky legs contradicting my false bravado.

  As I glanced over my shoulder I saw the federale whisper to a compatriot, and I could have sworn they were laughing. Once I returned my gaze forward, I saw Chelsea, who looked pissed.

  “Get your shit and meet me at the car,” she bellowed as she exited the building.

  More terrified of Chelsea than a Mexican drug bust, I meekly climbed into the Navigator, hoping to sit as far away from her as possible. No such luck. She patted the only available seat right beside her. As I took it, I tried to look at the others to gauge the situation, but no one was making eye contact with me. This was going to be a long vacation.

  “So, how’d that work out for you? Feel good about yourself?” she asked.

  “No! It was awful! My life flashed before my eyes… and I could have gotten you in so much trouble! Your career, your reputation! I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah, well, you should be.”

  “I am. But you have to admit, those federales are pretty stupid,” I offered, attempting to crack her iciness.

  “No, you’re stupid,” she countered, then turned to look out the window. I thought she couldn’t look at me because she was so angry. That is, until I realized she was trying not to let me see her laugh. I looked around, confused.

  “They weren’t Ecstasy,” she deadpanned, as everyone burst out laughing.

  “But there was a little E on them.”

  “Yes, for Excedrin!”

  “I thought…”

  “You thought wrong. Do you think I would allow you on a private plane with Ecstasy shoved up your cervix? If you recall correctly, your cervix has already been through enough.”

  Chelsea and me when we arrived at the resort.

  “So, I’m an asshole,” I stated more than asked.

  “Well, yes, Stephanie. You’re thirty-four and trying to smuggle drugs in your coslopus. That is so 2008. Get your shit together.”

  Chelsea knew I was heading down a slippery slope that was taking me nowhere. Anyone else teaching someone a lesson might have included a stern sit-down or a time-out, but for Chelsea, it had to involve turning me into Maria Full of Grace. It was sort of a compliment.

  I love that bitch, but to this day I sleep with one eye open whenever she’s around. The best irony of all is that people sleep at Chelsea’s all the time, and everyone knows never to sleep with their door unlocked. So, in a house with six bedrooms, a house that she paid for, Chelsea really has access only to her own room.

  After reading this chapter, I’ve never felt more responsible in my life. It really makes me sound like I have my shit together, and it’s only because the people I surround myself with have their shit less together. So, thank you. Steph’s performance at the wedding was something I will smile about for the rest of my life.

  I would also like to add my own photo to this chapter as a warning of what someone looks like when they dance on Ecstasy.

  —Chelsea

  Steph in Cabo, 2007. This is what dancing on Ecstasy looks like.

  Chapter Three

  How to Make a Marriage Work

  HEATHER MCDONALD

  Ironically, Chelsea’s middle name is Joy. This makes sense, as she experiences a lot of joy in her life, most often at the expense of other people. One particular instance that comes to mind is the only time in my life I ate a pot brownie. I am not a pot smoker at all and have never consumed pot, but I rarely have the ability to deny myself a tasty treat, and if there is one thing I love, it’s extra gooey double chocolate brownies.

  One weekend I was performing stand-up with Chelsea, and we joined some friends of hers in Provincetown for an afternoon boat ride. After a full meal and three cocktails in the afternoon sun on the water, nothing sounded better to me than a yummy brownie. I knew they had baked some pot in them, but I was thinking only about the effect a moist chocolate delight normally has on me, which is what I was craving after a salty Mexican lunch. So I did what I always do when a brownie pan is in my direct vicinity: like a lady, I took a knife and cut off a sliver of brownie, and then another and then another. Everyone but Chelsea and the captain were eating the brownies. Chelsea is not a dessert person and is certainly not going to waste calories on even the best high, but what I realized later is that to her, the best high is being sober when everyone else is high and laughing at their stupidity. I’m a drinker, so I had never experienced the kind of high that lasts fourteen hours, like this one did. All I could do was laugh.

  Hours after the boat ride ended, we were back at her friends’ house. Chelsea walked into the room where I was lying on a couch, and looked at herself in the mirror. She was horrified by her outfit, which consisted of a tunic and wide-legged slacks, and asked me, “Why didn’t you tell me I was dressed like a lesbian? I look like Paula Poundstone.”

  She did look like Paula Poundstone. She had had Johnny Kansas grab her some clothes after the boat ride, because she was too lazy to get them herself, but had neve