I dumped John on his freaky knee f-ing ass! I'm doing major renovations to my house and totally giving my life an overhaul. I totalled one of my cars so I just got another. I quit my job and am so happy!!!
I'm most happy to be rid of John (aka J) and have since met an awesome guy. We have a ton in common and I'm not just talking sex so life is great!
Friday, August 22, 2008
Saturday, April 26, 2008
My Pussy Has A first Name...
I am trying to find a name for my new kitten.... He was born on St. Patrick's Day. I like Dublin, Dempsey, and Liam. Declan is also in the running but I'm open to suggestions. I'm not one to go with cutesy names. All my pets have had names that would work for a human. Let me know.... you'll probably need to click on the photo to even be able to see him. I took them with my web cam and have no idea why they are so small.Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Are You There Vodka?
I'm so excited for this book to arrive in my mailbox today! My Horizontal Life was a hysterical read & I just love Chelsea Handler!
CHAPTER ONE Blacklisted
I was nine years old and walking myself to school one morning when I heard the unfamiliar sound of a prepubescent boy calling my name. I had heard my name spoken out loud by males before, but it was most often by one of my brothers, my father, or a teacher, and it was usually followed up with a shot to the side of the head.
I turned around and spotted Jason. Jason, an adorable fifth-grader who lived down the street from me. I had never so much as made eye contact with Jason before. After lifting up one of my earmuffs to make sure I had heard him correctly, I nervously attempted to release my wedgie while waiting for him to catch up.
"I heard you were going to be in a movie with Goldie Hawn," he said to me, out of breath.
Shit. The day before, I had forgotten my language arts homework, and when the teacher singled me out in front of the entire class to find out where it was, I told her that I had been in three straight nights of meetings with Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell, negotiating my contract to play Goldie Hawn's daughter in the sequel to Private Benjamin.
The fact that no sequel to Private Benjamin was in the works, or that a third-grader wouldn't be negotiating her own contract with the star of the movie and her live-in lover, hadn't dawned on me.
It occurred to me that this was the perfect opportunity to get some of the respect I believed had been denied me, due to my father dropping me off in front of the school in a 1967 banana yellow Yugo. It was 1984, and my father had no idea of or interest in how damaging his 1967 Yugo had been to my social status. He had driven me to school on a couple of really cold days, and even after I had pleaded with him to drop me off down the street, he was adamant about me not catching a cold.
Word had spread like wildfire throughout the school about what kind of car my father drove, and before I knew it, the older girls in fifth grade would follow me through the hallways calling me "poor" and "ugly." After a couple of months they upped it from "ugly" to "a dog," and would bark at me anytime they saw me in the hallway.
The idea that showing up at school in a piece of shit jalopy led to me looking like a dog didn't make much sense in my mind. It really irked me that I had to be punished because my father thought he was a used car dealer and insisted on driving us around in the cars that he couldn't sell.
I was nine years old and walking myself to school one morning when I heard the unfamiliar sound of a prepubescent boy calling my name. I had heard my name spoken out loud by males before, but it was most often by one of my brothers, my father, or a teacher, and it was usually followed up with a shot to the side of the head.
I turned around and spotted Jason. Jason, an adorable fifth-grader who lived down the street from me. I had never so much as made eye contact with Jason before. After lifting up one of my earmuffs to make sure I had heard him correctly, I nervously attempted to release my wedgie while waiting for him to catch up.
"I heard you were going to be in a movie with Goldie Hawn," he said to me, out of breath.
Shit. The day before, I had forgotten my language arts homework, and when the teacher singled me out in front of the entire class to find out where it was, I told her that I had been in three straight nights of meetings with Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell, negotiating my contract to play Goldie Hawn's daughter in the sequel to Private Benjamin.
The fact that no sequel to Private Benjamin was in the works, or that a third-grader wouldn't be negotiating her own contract with the star of the movie and her live-in lover, hadn't dawned on me.
It occurred to me that this was the perfect opportunity to get some of the respect I believed had been denied me, due to my father dropping me off in front of the school in a 1967 banana yellow Yugo. It was 1984, and my father had no idea of or interest in how damaging his 1967 Yugo had been to my social status. He had driven me to school on a couple of really cold days, and even after I had pleaded with him to drop me off down the street, he was adamant about me not catching a cold.
Word had spread like wildfire throughout the school about what kind of car my father drove, and before I knew it, the older girls in fifth grade would follow me through the hallways calling me "poor" and "ugly." After a couple of months they upped it from "ugly" to "a dog," and would bark at me anytime they saw me in the hallway.
The idea that showing up at school in a piece of shit jalopy led to me looking like a dog didn't make much sense in my mind. It really irked me that I had to be punished because my father thought he was a used car dealer and insisted on driving us around in the cars that he couldn't sell.
If it had been mild teasing, I think I probably could have handled it. But it was incessant, and started from the moment I got to school until the moment I left. My best friend, Jodi, was the only one who would walk with me to every class and defend me when the fifth-grade girls would come over to our table in the cafeteria and ask if I was eating Alpo for lunch.
......"I'm having trouble getting the trailer size I want. Goldie's being pretty cool, but Kurt is so mercurial. He doesn't understand why a nine-year-old needs a Jacuzzi and a personal chef," I said nonchalantly, with a wave of my mitten. "These types of things always take time."
"You get your own trailer?" he asked.
"Yeah, you know, your own little house when you're on set. There's sooo much downtime in movies, you really need a place to unwind."
My vast knowledge of movie-making at the age of nine came from spending every free minute watching television, movies, and reading any book about the filming of The Breakfast Club I could get my hands on. "I didn't even know you were an actress," Jason said. "How did you get the part?"
"It's 'actor'," I said, correcting him. "The thing is, I was in a little Off-Broadway production with Meryl Streep."
"Meryl Streep?" he asked. "The one from Sophie's Choice?"
"Is there another?" I asked, rolling my eyes at his naivete. "Anyway, she and I really clicked. She recommended me to the director of this movie. That's how Hollywood works -- one thing leads to another, blah, blah, blah. But they're having a ton of creative issues, so who knows if it will even go."
"Go where?" he asked.
"If the movie will even be made."
"Oh."
" Maybe you can visit me on set."
"Really?" he asked, his eyes ready to pop out of their sockets.
I had to think of something quick to recant my offer after realizing I would never be able to pull it off, so I quickly added, "Well, I mean if your parents will let you fly to the Galapagos Islands."
"Who?"
"The Galapagos," I said, trying to come up with a reason they would be shooting the sequel to Private Benjamin surrounded by turtles. "They have a ton of rare animals there, so the movie's going to be more of her roughing it in the water with jellyfish and sea horses. It's basically a cross between Splash and Private Benjamin."
"I loved Splash!" Jason screamed. "This is so cool!"
"Darryl's a complete mess," I told him, shaking my head.
"Darryl Hannah?"
"Don't even get me started," I snorted.
Once we arrived at school, I played it cool and left Jason with his mouth agape, as I told him I'd talk to him later and went on my way. It felt great to get attention from him. He could be the perfect ally to help get the evil fifth-grade girls to show me a little respect.
By lunch, almost every person at school had asked me about the movie. Not only did the fifth-grade girls skip their daily harassment, one of them even said "hi" as she walked by. Not one person had made fun of me or barked at me all day. Before Jodi and I could even sit down to eat lunch, kids were scrambling to come up to my table.
"What's Goldie Hawn like?" one of the other boys in fifth grade asked me.
"Tiny," I told him. "We're practically the same size."
"Really? She seems so much taller in the movies."
"She's like a mom to me. We totally get each other."
Once we had a minute to ourselves, Jodi finally confronted me and said she knew for a fact I hadn't been in a play with Meryl Streep, never mind the Off-Broadway version of Sesame Street, which by lunchtime I had cleverly renamed Sesame Streep.
"I know, Jodi, but look at it this way: This is the first day in months that I haven't been called a dog or ugly by the fifth-graders, and I'll be honest with you, it feels pretty sweet."
"I know," she said, "but what are you gonna do when they find out you're lying?"
"They'll forget about it," I said, loving the attention. "I'll just tell them it shoots over the summer, and by the time everyone gets back next year, they'll have forgotten. Plus, all the fifth-graders will have gone to middle school by then, so they can suck it."
"Yeah, but what about everybody else?" she asked. "Isn't there a way you could actually get to meet Goldie Hawn and at least get a picture with her?"
"That's a great idea," I told her
The day grew more and more insane as well-wishers and new fans were approaching me left and right, prying for information. One first-grader even asked me for my autograph. By the end of the day, not only were we filming in the Galapagos, but Soleil Moon Frye, a.k.a. Punky Brewster, would be playing my sister in the movie. Then I realized that her dark hair and freckles were in stark contrast to my blond hair and blue eyes and quickly made her my stepsister instead.
By the time school let out, everyone who lived in my neighborhood was racing to get one-on-one time with me, and I walked home with eight other children. The great thing about this attention was that it was coming from all the older kids, who I always believed were my core demographic. "Chelsea, sweetie, your father just got off the phone with your principal, Mr. Hiller."
"What kind of meshugas is this, Chelsea?" my father asked, using one of his two favorite Yiddish phrases. "You're shooting a movie with Goldie Hawn and flying to the Galapagos?"
My whole day deflated in a matter of seconds. "Mrs. Schectman was making a big deal about me not doing my homework and the Goldie Hawn story was the only thing I could think of," I told them.
"Well, why didn't you do your homework?" he asked me.
"Because, Dad!" I wailed, bursting into tears and stomping my left foot. "It was the season premiere of Charles in Charge! Are you out of your tree?"
"Chelsea, sweetie, you don't have to make up such far-fetched lies," my mother said in her ultracalm tone. "Couldn't you have come up with something a little more reasonable?"
"I know," I told her, defeated, and walked over for a hug. My mother was always a softie, and once I got over to her I knew my father would cease being such an immediate physical threat. "But everyone started to believe it and all the older kids were asking me about it and I got carried away."
"Well," my father said dismissively, "you're just going to have to go back to school tomorrow and tell everyone the truth."
It would have seemed completely appropriate to my father for me to hold a press conference in the school's auditorium the next day, wearing a helmet with a maxipad stuck to my forehead while announcing into a microphone that I'd been a "bad, bad girl, and I've also been known to shit my pants."
"Melvin," my mother said, "that is going to be extremely humiliating."
"Well, she certainly can't go on pretending she's going to be joining the army with some Hollywood hotshot."
"The sequel isn't going to be as much about the army as it will be about sea creatures," I corrected him.
"Chelsea, what are you even talking about?"
"Listen to me," my father screamed. "We've been over this before. If those girls are going to make fun of you because of the kind of car your father drives, then they're not worth your time anyway."
"That's nice, Dad," I told him. "But it doesn't matter if they're not worth my time or not, it's a lot more pleasant going through the halls at school not getting growled at."
"How many times do we have to tell you that spending money on material things is not important? What is driving around in a Mercedes or a BMW going to teach you?" he asked.
"I dunno," I said, still clinging to my mother. "That I want a Mercedes or a BMW?"
"Chelsea," my father repeated, "you cannot just make up lies."
"You lie all the time," I reminded him, and then ran behind my mother and wrapped my arms around her waist to shield me from any impending wrath. "You tell all the people who call about your cars that they run great, or that they have no leaks, or that they're in mint condition. Half of them need to be jump-started on a daily basis."
"Listen to me, you little mouthpiece. I am the father," he said, heading over in our direction while I buried my face in my mother's ass. "You are nine years old and you are going to have to do what I tell you for the next nine years, whether you like it or not. As long as you're living under this roof. Do you understand me?"
I wanted to tell him that I had no problem looking in the want ads for an apartment to sublet, but knew the reality of me getting my own place was months away.
"Yes," I said, in order to avoid getting bitch-slapped. "I understand."
Once safely inside my room, I weighed my options. I could either tell the truth to all the kids at school and endure that embarrassment, or go for the more palatable option -- enroll myself in a performing-arts boarding school.
Instead, I got out some loose-leaf notebook paper and started a letter to Goldie Hawn:
Dear Goldie,
I am a third-grader from New Jersey and consider myself to be a huge fan of yours as well as a compulsive liar. I made the mistake of mentioning that I would be playing your daughter in the next installment of Private Benjamin. (A fine performance if I do say so myself. I have seen a lot of movies, and can pretty much, without a sliver of a doubt, tell you that your range far outweighs the likes of Robert De Niro or, my personal favorite, Don Johnson.)
Anyway, it would be of great help to me if you could either come to my school in New Jersey and pick me up for lunch, or send me a personalized autographed photo that reads:
My Dearest Chelsea, Working together has been a dream come true. Love Always, Goldie (your second mom)
I got the fan mail address from a secretary at William Morris. I then walked downstairs into my father's "office," found a stamp and an envelope, and placed the letter in our mailbox.
I walked out the door and it was a beautiful spring day. I had a feeling of hopefulness and excitement that I hadn't had all year. For the first time, I was excited to go to school instead of dreading it the whole way there.
With that wave of confidence came the feeling that I was, in a way, impenetrable. I was the same exact person I had been the day before, but now I was being treated better and the older kids wanted to be friends with me. It didn't matter if I was in a movie or not, I had made these people laugh when they asked me questions. I had found myself engaging, charismatic -- even sublime at times. I had all the charm I believed a true movie star to have. Who cares if I had lied about starring in Private Benjamin Returns? In the midst of all the commotion, I truly believed something magical had happened. I had burst into womanhood, and never felt more alive. I decided right there and then that I was going to tell the truth.
I ran into Jason on my way to school. "Did you hear anything about the movie?" he asked.
"Well, Jason, I have some bad news," I told him. "Goldie broke her collarbone in a hang-gliding accident. It looks like it's been postponed till summer."
"Wow! What a bummer," he said.
"Yeah, but the great news is, I'm in talks to be in one of Madonna's new videos."
"No way!"
"Yup," I told him. "Which means I'm going to have to be on a grueling workout regimen." I had very little control of the things that were flying out of my mouth. All I knew was that it felt better than confessing. Plus, the idea of getting imaginary rock-hard abs was intoxicating.
I spent the rest of the week confirming one ridiculous tale after another, and by Friday I was exhausted. Although the benefits of my newfound fame outweighed the burden of coming up with one celebrity tale after another, I was so disgusted and bored with myself after a week, I was ready to throw myself out of my second-story window. I spent upward of an hour contemplating whether or not the fall would actually end my life or just severely injure an ankle.
I knew if I ever came clean I would look like a complete jackass, so Jodi and I made a pact. She would confirm all my lies, and then after Christmas break the following week, we would slowly plant seeds that I was leaving the business. "I've had enough!" was the phrase we agreed I would use.
The teasing from the older girls had come to a screeching halt, and now when I walked down the halls, almost everyone said hello, and a couple of kids even curtsied. Surprisingly, Principal Hiller never called my house again. Jodi's estimation was that he probably thought he had a psychopath on his hands and felt it was safer to take himself out of the equation.
The Friday afternoon before I was to return to school after Christmas break, Jodi and I were in my sister Sloane's room trying on her training bras when my father yelled my name.
I ran downstairs wearing my sister's bra and a pair of parachute pants when my father handed me a manila envelope without looking up. "You got something in the mail."
I opened the envelope and nearly climaxed. I ran right up to Sloane's room and jumped up and down. "Jodi! Jodi! Look at what I got!" It was a signed autograph from Goldie Hawn. She hadn't inscribed it the way I had requested, and obviously I would hold that against her in any future negotiations, but it was made out to me, and it was signed by her.
Jodi and I were jumping up and down like a pair of newlyweds. We ran into my room and grabbed a Sharpie. Luckily Goldie's handwriting wasn't very legible, so I added "Mom" in parentheses at the end, and, after much discussion, since I didn't want to continue with the lying but wasn't willing to tell the truth either, Jodi and I agreed to leave the note open-ended. This is what I added: "My collarbone is on the mend. Can't wait to start working with you, if the movie ever gets made. Aaargh! You're a star!"
"Well," she said, "it would sure take a lot of guts to come forward now."
"You're absolutely right," I told her, putting the signed photo in my backpack. "Don't let me forget to make copies of this to pass out at school."
After the picture had made its way through school, things started to die down, and only once in awhile would someone mention my movie-star status. In those instances, I made sure not to overembellish the fantasies that played out in my head. I would downplay my role as a Hollywood starlet by telling people I was becoming more and more interested in behind-the-scenes work, and what I really had my eye on was directing.
The lesson I learned that year was a valuable one. If you're going to make up an enormous untruth, make sure you tell it to people you are not spending the rest of the school year with. I can only imagine what Clay Aiken has to deal with on a daily basis.
Copyright © 2008 by Chelsea Handler
......"I'm having trouble getting the trailer size I want. Goldie's being pretty cool, but Kurt is so mercurial. He doesn't understand why a nine-year-old needs a Jacuzzi and a personal chef," I said nonchalantly, with a wave of my mitten. "These types of things always take time."
"You get your own trailer?" he asked.
"Yeah, you know, your own little house when you're on set. There's sooo much downtime in movies, you really need a place to unwind."
My vast knowledge of movie-making at the age of nine came from spending every free minute watching television, movies, and reading any book about the filming of The Breakfast Club I could get my hands on. "I didn't even know you were an actress," Jason said. "How did you get the part?"
"It's 'actor'," I said, correcting him. "The thing is, I was in a little Off-Broadway production with Meryl Streep."
"Meryl Streep?" he asked. "The one from Sophie's Choice?"
"Is there another?" I asked, rolling my eyes at his naivete. "Anyway, she and I really clicked. She recommended me to the director of this movie. That's how Hollywood works -- one thing leads to another, blah, blah, blah. But they're having a ton of creative issues, so who knows if it will even go."
"Go where?" he asked.
"If the movie will even be made."
"Oh."
" Maybe you can visit me on set."
"Really?" he asked, his eyes ready to pop out of their sockets.
I had to think of something quick to recant my offer after realizing I would never be able to pull it off, so I quickly added, "Well, I mean if your parents will let you fly to the Galapagos Islands."
"Who?"
"The Galapagos," I said, trying to come up with a reason they would be shooting the sequel to Private Benjamin surrounded by turtles. "They have a ton of rare animals there, so the movie's going to be more of her roughing it in the water with jellyfish and sea horses. It's basically a cross between Splash and Private Benjamin."
"I loved Splash!" Jason screamed. "This is so cool!"
"Darryl's a complete mess," I told him, shaking my head.
"Darryl Hannah?"
"Don't even get me started," I snorted.
Once we arrived at school, I played it cool and left Jason with his mouth agape, as I told him I'd talk to him later and went on my way. It felt great to get attention from him. He could be the perfect ally to help get the evil fifth-grade girls to show me a little respect.
By lunch, almost every person at school had asked me about the movie. Not only did the fifth-grade girls skip their daily harassment, one of them even said "hi" as she walked by. Not one person had made fun of me or barked at me all day. Before Jodi and I could even sit down to eat lunch, kids were scrambling to come up to my table.
"What's Goldie Hawn like?" one of the other boys in fifth grade asked me.
"Tiny," I told him. "We're practically the same size."
"Really? She seems so much taller in the movies."
"She's like a mom to me. We totally get each other."
Once we had a minute to ourselves, Jodi finally confronted me and said she knew for a fact I hadn't been in a play with Meryl Streep, never mind the Off-Broadway version of Sesame Street, which by lunchtime I had cleverly renamed Sesame Streep.
"I know, Jodi, but look at it this way: This is the first day in months that I haven't been called a dog or ugly by the fifth-graders, and I'll be honest with you, it feels pretty sweet."
"I know," she said, "but what are you gonna do when they find out you're lying?"
"They'll forget about it," I said, loving the attention. "I'll just tell them it shoots over the summer, and by the time everyone gets back next year, they'll have forgotten. Plus, all the fifth-graders will have gone to middle school by then, so they can suck it."
"Yeah, but what about everybody else?" she asked. "Isn't there a way you could actually get to meet Goldie Hawn and at least get a picture with her?"
"That's a great idea," I told her
The day grew more and more insane as well-wishers and new fans were approaching me left and right, prying for information. One first-grader even asked me for my autograph. By the end of the day, not only were we filming in the Galapagos, but Soleil Moon Frye, a.k.a. Punky Brewster, would be playing my sister in the movie. Then I realized that her dark hair and freckles were in stark contrast to my blond hair and blue eyes and quickly made her my stepsister instead.
By the time school let out, everyone who lived in my neighborhood was racing to get one-on-one time with me, and I walked home with eight other children. The great thing about this attention was that it was coming from all the older kids, who I always believed were my core demographic. "Chelsea, sweetie, your father just got off the phone with your principal, Mr. Hiller."
"What kind of meshugas is this, Chelsea?" my father asked, using one of his two favorite Yiddish phrases. "You're shooting a movie with Goldie Hawn and flying to the Galapagos?"
My whole day deflated in a matter of seconds. "Mrs. Schectman was making a big deal about me not doing my homework and the Goldie Hawn story was the only thing I could think of," I told them.
"Well, why didn't you do your homework?" he asked me.
"Because, Dad!" I wailed, bursting into tears and stomping my left foot. "It was the season premiere of Charles in Charge! Are you out of your tree?"
"Chelsea, sweetie, you don't have to make up such far-fetched lies," my mother said in her ultracalm tone. "Couldn't you have come up with something a little more reasonable?"
"I know," I told her, defeated, and walked over for a hug. My mother was always a softie, and once I got over to her I knew my father would cease being such an immediate physical threat. "But everyone started to believe it and all the older kids were asking me about it and I got carried away."
"Well," my father said dismissively, "you're just going to have to go back to school tomorrow and tell everyone the truth."
It would have seemed completely appropriate to my father for me to hold a press conference in the school's auditorium the next day, wearing a helmet with a maxipad stuck to my forehead while announcing into a microphone that I'd been a "bad, bad girl, and I've also been known to shit my pants."
"Melvin," my mother said, "that is going to be extremely humiliating."
"Well, she certainly can't go on pretending she's going to be joining the army with some Hollywood hotshot."
"The sequel isn't going to be as much about the army as it will be about sea creatures," I corrected him.
"Chelsea, what are you even talking about?"
"Listen to me," my father screamed. "We've been over this before. If those girls are going to make fun of you because of the kind of car your father drives, then they're not worth your time anyway."
"That's nice, Dad," I told him. "But it doesn't matter if they're not worth my time or not, it's a lot more pleasant going through the halls at school not getting growled at."
"How many times do we have to tell you that spending money on material things is not important? What is driving around in a Mercedes or a BMW going to teach you?" he asked.
"I dunno," I said, still clinging to my mother. "That I want a Mercedes or a BMW?"
"Chelsea," my father repeated, "you cannot just make up lies."
"You lie all the time," I reminded him, and then ran behind my mother and wrapped my arms around her waist to shield me from any impending wrath. "You tell all the people who call about your cars that they run great, or that they have no leaks, or that they're in mint condition. Half of them need to be jump-started on a daily basis."
"Listen to me, you little mouthpiece. I am the father," he said, heading over in our direction while I buried my face in my mother's ass. "You are nine years old and you are going to have to do what I tell you for the next nine years, whether you like it or not. As long as you're living under this roof. Do you understand me?"
I wanted to tell him that I had no problem looking in the want ads for an apartment to sublet, but knew the reality of me getting my own place was months away.
"Yes," I said, in order to avoid getting bitch-slapped. "I understand."
Once safely inside my room, I weighed my options. I could either tell the truth to all the kids at school and endure that embarrassment, or go for the more palatable option -- enroll myself in a performing-arts boarding school.
Instead, I got out some loose-leaf notebook paper and started a letter to Goldie Hawn:
Dear Goldie,
I am a third-grader from New Jersey and consider myself to be a huge fan of yours as well as a compulsive liar. I made the mistake of mentioning that I would be playing your daughter in the next installment of Private Benjamin. (A fine performance if I do say so myself. I have seen a lot of movies, and can pretty much, without a sliver of a doubt, tell you that your range far outweighs the likes of Robert De Niro or, my personal favorite, Don Johnson.)
Anyway, it would be of great help to me if you could either come to my school in New Jersey and pick me up for lunch, or send me a personalized autographed photo that reads:
My Dearest Chelsea, Working together has been a dream come true. Love Always, Goldie (your second mom)
I got the fan mail address from a secretary at William Morris. I then walked downstairs into my father's "office," found a stamp and an envelope, and placed the letter in our mailbox.
I walked out the door and it was a beautiful spring day. I had a feeling of hopefulness and excitement that I hadn't had all year. For the first time, I was excited to go to school instead of dreading it the whole way there.
With that wave of confidence came the feeling that I was, in a way, impenetrable. I was the same exact person I had been the day before, but now I was being treated better and the older kids wanted to be friends with me. It didn't matter if I was in a movie or not, I had made these people laugh when they asked me questions. I had found myself engaging, charismatic -- even sublime at times. I had all the charm I believed a true movie star to have. Who cares if I had lied about starring in Private Benjamin Returns? In the midst of all the commotion, I truly believed something magical had happened. I had burst into womanhood, and never felt more alive. I decided right there and then that I was going to tell the truth.
I ran into Jason on my way to school. "Did you hear anything about the movie?" he asked.
"Well, Jason, I have some bad news," I told him. "Goldie broke her collarbone in a hang-gliding accident. It looks like it's been postponed till summer."
"Wow! What a bummer," he said.
"Yeah, but the great news is, I'm in talks to be in one of Madonna's new videos."
"No way!"
"Yup," I told him. "Which means I'm going to have to be on a grueling workout regimen." I had very little control of the things that were flying out of my mouth. All I knew was that it felt better than confessing. Plus, the idea of getting imaginary rock-hard abs was intoxicating.
I spent the rest of the week confirming one ridiculous tale after another, and by Friday I was exhausted. Although the benefits of my newfound fame outweighed the burden of coming up with one celebrity tale after another, I was so disgusted and bored with myself after a week, I was ready to throw myself out of my second-story window. I spent upward of an hour contemplating whether or not the fall would actually end my life or just severely injure an ankle.
I knew if I ever came clean I would look like a complete jackass, so Jodi and I made a pact. She would confirm all my lies, and then after Christmas break the following week, we would slowly plant seeds that I was leaving the business. "I've had enough!" was the phrase we agreed I would use.
The teasing from the older girls had come to a screeching halt, and now when I walked down the halls, almost everyone said hello, and a couple of kids even curtsied. Surprisingly, Principal Hiller never called my house again. Jodi's estimation was that he probably thought he had a psychopath on his hands and felt it was safer to take himself out of the equation.
The Friday afternoon before I was to return to school after Christmas break, Jodi and I were in my sister Sloane's room trying on her training bras when my father yelled my name.
I ran downstairs wearing my sister's bra and a pair of parachute pants when my father handed me a manila envelope without looking up. "You got something in the mail."
I opened the envelope and nearly climaxed. I ran right up to Sloane's room and jumped up and down. "Jodi! Jodi! Look at what I got!" It was a signed autograph from Goldie Hawn. She hadn't inscribed it the way I had requested, and obviously I would hold that against her in any future negotiations, but it was made out to me, and it was signed by her.
Jodi and I were jumping up and down like a pair of newlyweds. We ran into my room and grabbed a Sharpie. Luckily Goldie's handwriting wasn't very legible, so I added "Mom" in parentheses at the end, and, after much discussion, since I didn't want to continue with the lying but wasn't willing to tell the truth either, Jodi and I agreed to leave the note open-ended. This is what I added: "My collarbone is on the mend. Can't wait to start working with you, if the movie ever gets made. Aaargh! You're a star!"
"Well," she said, "it would sure take a lot of guts to come forward now."
"You're absolutely right," I told her, putting the signed photo in my backpack. "Don't let me forget to make copies of this to pass out at school."
After the picture had made its way through school, things started to die down, and only once in awhile would someone mention my movie-star status. In those instances, I made sure not to overembellish the fantasies that played out in my head. I would downplay my role as a Hollywood starlet by telling people I was becoming more and more interested in behind-the-scenes work, and what I really had my eye on was directing.
The lesson I learned that year was a valuable one. If you're going to make up an enormous untruth, make sure you tell it to people you are not spending the rest of the school year with. I can only imagine what Clay Aiken has to deal with on a daily basis.
Copyright © 2008 by Chelsea Handler
Friday, April 18, 2008
Jenny You Married A Douchebag!
Dear Jenny,
Wow! I flew to Florida in November to take engagement photos for you & we partied in St. Barts for my birthday in February... So now I find out what my punishment is for complaining when you decided to bring your lame ass fiance on my girls only birthday weekend!
You didn't invite me to your wedding.... nice.
Since you went out of your way to make this point, I just want to thank you for the endless supply of lame jokes, chain mail, and stupid video clips. The silent treatment would've been better. You've certainly decided to choose the bitchiest way of paying me back for complaining when I covered 100% of the costs on my birthday vacation. You not only traveled for free but you had the balls to show up with your faggy fiance and some other things that could've landed me in a shit hole prison in St. Barts.
When I got there late you two had been there for a few days & STAYING IN MY MASTER BEDROOM, you sure didn't get bent out of shape and leave when the other husbands did. You sent Mr. D-bag packing and partied up on my dime.
I think you're an asshole! I'm so happy that I didn't suffer through going to your ghetto wedding. You did me a favor by "punishing" me for St. Barts & hiding the fact that you were getting married.
As my wedding gift to you, I'd like to pass on this pearl of wisdom; it's not normal for two 25 year olds to live with their parents. You two have been living in his mom's house since we met. Now you're married and living with his mom. I think the fact that you hate his mom should be reason enough to grow up and move into your own place!!! This is your life Jenny! You did great for yourself! The only thing I can say is that your a beautiful girl..... and you're married to a douchebag!!! http://www.hotchickswithdouchebags.com/
Monday, January 7, 2008
Rehab Is For Quitters
So I was just reading that 9 out of 10 people break their New Year's resolutions! I think this is why I don't make resolutions. I don't swear off drinking or anything else. I don't worry about hitting rock bottom. Hell, I hit rock bottom all the time!!! Just kidding. I don't need a day of the year to say I'm going to make a change. All I need is to wake up next to a tranny midget to know that I don't need to do that again.
I heard the following story and thought it was some funny yet fucked up shit!! I have to share...
We'll call her skid mark....or SM. It's long but best told from a first person narrative.
Skid mark says, " I was at a little bar in Brentwood called the El Dorado with a friend. I like her so much because the moment a glass of cheap wine hits her collagen injected lips, she is minutes away from being on her back. We're a great team! This is also a girl who once sat me down to tell me she had joined Sex Addicts anonymous. and in response to my laughing said, "SM this is very serious!!! It's about being addicted to sex with strangers!" "Isn't that just being a whore?" I asked her?
She went to a few meetings and then quit, once she realized that any sort of promiscuity was not going to be cured by 50 other people who were trying to have sex with her.
At El Dorado, we came upon two cute boys whom we had met a couple of months before when she had gone home with one of their friends. She and the guy never spoke again, a mere one-nighter. Apparently her dream of getting gang banged never came to fruition, so she at least wanted to frequent the same circle of friends. See? Dreams can come true!
Since their friend was a babe and I hadn't had sex with anyone they knew, I was deemed the sweet naive one. We were talking a hitting it off when I excused myself to do a little mingling, mostly because I had gas and didn't want to let one loose in front of him. Minutes later I returned to conversation raping him when he said, "What's that smell?" My fart had ricocheted its way back to me. "Ugh gross, somebody totally farted!" I said. My gas was really acting up so I decided to cut my losses, and take a dump. That'll teach me to eat Mexican on a weekend. As I left the bathroom, I ran into my friend and she said, "We're totally going home with these guys!"
I pulled her aside and explained my situation and how there had been no toilet paper in the bathroom. I really wanted to shower. She reminded me that she'd been my wingman on more than one occasion and that they'd surely have a bathroom etc. for me to clean up.
When we got to their place I immediately cleaned up.
What a disaster! The sex was OK, but for some reason I lost interest.....an consciousness.
I woke up to a blinding sunlight hitting me in the eyes. This guy had no blinds. This place was turning into a torture chamber.
I climber over him to get dressed then saw my underwear at the foot of the bed with a giant skid mark on them! I looked to see if he was awake, and when I saw he wasn't, I lunged toward them. I did something I'm still confused about and threw them out of his window and into his backyard. I was thinking of new identities and cities to move to hoping he hadn't seen this. I grabbed the rest of my clothes and ran to the bathroom.
The door was cracked partway open and I heard footsteps coming my way. I peeked my head out to see my friend coming toward me in nothing but black wool men's socks hiked up to her knees. Did my guy and his friend live with his grandpa? Did she have a threesome with grandpa? Did she have an extra toe she was trying to hide? There was dried mascara streaked down her face and her hair was insane. She explained that she hadn't had a pedicure and her feet were looking like something out of Jurassic Park. Then we heard a dog barking in the yard.
"Whose dog is that?"
My guy came up and grabbed me from behind, then I saw cujo walking toward me with my underwear in his mouth! I just kept hoping that the soiled part had been digested.
I asked, whose underwear are those? Do you just bring random girls here?!?!? He said he had no idea and the cujo walked up and I saw the piece of the stained underwear hanging from his lower mouth.
The look of disgust on his face was mortifying! "Ew" was all I heard on my way out.I got in the car and slammed the door. As I was pulling away I see my friend running after the car in a t-shirt and grandpa socks. "Wait for me!!!"
I slowed the car in order for her to get in and she screamed, "What the fuck is your problem!!?!?!?"
I told her the story and by the time I was done her mascara was no longer dry.
We were both hungry and going anywhere public was out of the question. So we opted for McDonalds and as we pulled up, saw a sign that said, "The McRib is back" "Back from where?" I asked. "I dunno, but you better not have one!" she said.
It took many sleepless nights to get over the humiliation of what had taken place. Where did I go wrong in life? I would lie awake wondering how many pair of underwear Mexicans went through each year. Once the initial mortification wore off, I realized that this was a gift. I wouldn't have to learn twice about avoiding Mexican food on the weekends."
Who knows how many girls I've helped by sharing this story....
I heard the following story and thought it was some funny yet fucked up shit!! I have to share...
We'll call her skid mark....or SM. It's long but best told from a first person narrative.
Skid mark says, " I was at a little bar in Brentwood called the El Dorado with a friend. I like her so much because the moment a glass of cheap wine hits her collagen injected lips, she is minutes away from being on her back. We're a great team! This is also a girl who once sat me down to tell me she had joined Sex Addicts anonymous. and in response to my laughing said, "SM this is very serious!!! It's about being addicted to sex with strangers!" "Isn't that just being a whore?" I asked her?
She went to a few meetings and then quit, once she realized that any sort of promiscuity was not going to be cured by 50 other people who were trying to have sex with her.
At El Dorado, we came upon two cute boys whom we had met a couple of months before when she had gone home with one of their friends. She and the guy never spoke again, a mere one-nighter. Apparently her dream of getting gang banged never came to fruition, so she at least wanted to frequent the same circle of friends. See? Dreams can come true!
Since their friend was a babe and I hadn't had sex with anyone they knew, I was deemed the sweet naive one. We were talking a hitting it off when I excused myself to do a little mingling, mostly because I had gas and didn't want to let one loose in front of him. Minutes later I returned to conversation raping him when he said, "What's that smell?" My fart had ricocheted its way back to me. "Ugh gross, somebody totally farted!" I said. My gas was really acting up so I decided to cut my losses, and take a dump. That'll teach me to eat Mexican on a weekend. As I left the bathroom, I ran into my friend and she said, "We're totally going home with these guys!"
I pulled her aside and explained my situation and how there had been no toilet paper in the bathroom. I really wanted to shower. She reminded me that she'd been my wingman on more than one occasion and that they'd surely have a bathroom etc. for me to clean up.
When we got to their place I immediately cleaned up.
What a disaster! The sex was OK, but for some reason I lost interest.....an consciousness.
I woke up to a blinding sunlight hitting me in the eyes. This guy had no blinds. This place was turning into a torture chamber.
I climber over him to get dressed then saw my underwear at the foot of the bed with a giant skid mark on them! I looked to see if he was awake, and when I saw he wasn't, I lunged toward them. I did something I'm still confused about and threw them out of his window and into his backyard. I was thinking of new identities and cities to move to hoping he hadn't seen this. I grabbed the rest of my clothes and ran to the bathroom.
The door was cracked partway open and I heard footsteps coming my way. I peeked my head out to see my friend coming toward me in nothing but black wool men's socks hiked up to her knees. Did my guy and his friend live with his grandpa? Did she have a threesome with grandpa? Did she have an extra toe she was trying to hide? There was dried mascara streaked down her face and her hair was insane. She explained that she hadn't had a pedicure and her feet were looking like something out of Jurassic Park. Then we heard a dog barking in the yard.
"Whose dog is that?"
My guy came up and grabbed me from behind, then I saw cujo walking toward me with my underwear in his mouth! I just kept hoping that the soiled part had been digested.
I asked, whose underwear are those? Do you just bring random girls here?!?!? He said he had no idea and the cujo walked up and I saw the piece of the stained underwear hanging from his lower mouth.
The look of disgust on his face was mortifying! "Ew" was all I heard on my way out.I got in the car and slammed the door. As I was pulling away I see my friend running after the car in a t-shirt and grandpa socks. "Wait for me!!!"
I slowed the car in order for her to get in and she screamed, "What the fuck is your problem!!?!?!?"
I told her the story and by the time I was done her mascara was no longer dry.
We were both hungry and going anywhere public was out of the question. So we opted for McDonalds and as we pulled up, saw a sign that said, "The McRib is back" "Back from where?" I asked. "I dunno, but you better not have one!" she said.
It took many sleepless nights to get over the humiliation of what had taken place. Where did I go wrong in life? I would lie awake wondering how many pair of underwear Mexicans went through each year. Once the initial mortification wore off, I realized that this was a gift. I wouldn't have to learn twice about avoiding Mexican food on the weekends."
Who knows how many girls I've helped by sharing this story....
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Cheating Already?
So disgusting... I was just in the elevator riding up with two male co-workers. They were openly discussing going out this weekend to get laid. The one saying he was going to do it was JUST married and is going on the honeymoon this upcoming week. Nothing like getting some pre honeymoon action with some bar skank. I met his wife once or twice when she was in getting her wedding gown and she's very pretty and was actually pretty cool considering he's a douche!I'm the first person to have a slip-up but between the wedding & honeymoon and planning to f-around seems sleazy w/a great big helping of slime! Why get married? I get that marriages fall apart, as do relationships, but seriously this shocked me. I'm not easily shocked. I don't want to get married and cheat, I am not into the idea of cheating anymore. I can't say that I'll never ever in a million years do it again. I'm human and have weak moments etc. I don't hold anything against people NORMALLY, but this guy was openly bragging about it during the entire ride up and they were basically congratulating each other on keeping the player dream alive. It makes little sense. Why get married then? I remember when HE asked HER! He was so excited. Maybe it was all an act and he goes and sleeps with random women all the time but I'd hope that most people make an honest go of it when saying I DO! I'm not being judgemental b/c I've changed my ways. This would have disgusted me at any point of my sneaking around. I hope this isn't a common thing. I want to believe in marriage! It's bad enough that Santa, The Tooth Fairy, and Easter Bunny have been ruined for me! I don't want to believe that this is the new model of marriage!
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Bah-freaking-Hum Bug!
Christmas crazies are out in full force this year! Is there any reason to weave in & out of traffic & do a full 4 lane- lane change to exit at 95mph?Some of these people look like they want to shank you just to get to a retailer's door before you!
I've not even done any shopping for anyone else this year. Part of this is that each time I enter a store I find 20 things I love. The rest is just that I don't want to deal with psychos to buy people I don't like that much things they don't want and will then have to return. So I'm getting to the point that I may just go ahead and pick out pre paid credit cards. Kids like them b/c they feel older paying with them & teenagers seem to prefer to pick out their own stuff so that just leaves mom, close friends, and J..
On the bright side, I watched Christmas Vacation & can't wait for the marathon of Christmas Story! One of my all time favorite movie quotes is,
Clark in Christmas Vacation: "Where do you think you're going? Nobody's leaving. Nobody's walking out on this fun, old-fashioned family Christmas. No, no. We're all in this together. This is a full-blown, four-alarm holiday emergency here. We're gonna press on, and we're gonna have the hap, hap, happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny fucking Kaye. And when Santa squeezes his fat white ass down that chimney tonight, he's gonna find the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of the nuthouse."
Ah, gets me every time!
Well seriously, I hope everyone except my miserable troll of a co-worker has a lovely Holiday & no hangover to speak of!
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