Lies That Chelsea Handler Told Me - Chelsea's Family, Friends [83]
As a big F-U to me, Jax and his lesbian moms ended up moving into our summer house. On top of that, Mom’s brother Uncle Roy moved in with—get this—a fucking Jack Russell asshole who yapped from morning till night. Luckily, my mother got sick of that dog just as quickly as I did and had it transported on a pet airline to her sister Shoshonna in New Jersey. If I never see that dog again, it will be too soon.
On top of that, our quiet little abode soon became Grand Central Station for all of Mom’s idiotic staff. It was like a new train came in every day with a fresh load of mumbling ignoramus passengers. It was the opposite of being alone. It was Moron Day every day. This was not turning out like I had planned. Or like how Mom had promised. Instead of dealing with one annoying person, I now had to deal with a whole array of them. I don’t know if she realized it, but in getting me out of one mess she’d brought me into a much bigger mess altogether. On second thought, I bet she did realize it.
The constant barrage of irritation followed me to work as well. I mean, Jax literally followed me to Mom’s office every day. Hanging out with that dog is like being at a sleepover with some kid you don’t really like but your mom makes you hang out with him because she’s friends with his mom. The hitch was that this sleepover never ended. Every night the dumb kid’s like, “Hey, do you want to build a fort in the living room?” All I’m thinking is, Yes, if you’ll go inside it and stay there for a long time without me.
The problem with Jax is that all the boneheads at Mom’s office really like him. That’s actually an understatement. They absolutely love that dog. And I get it. He’s very “dog.” He has a nice short coat that screams “I never have to get groomed but you can always see my muscles.” He loves balls. I like saying that: “Jax loves balls.” He runs up to everyone all happy-go-lucky. “Rub my belly!” this, “Scratch behind my ears!” that, “Hey! Let’s play fetch!” He’s always smiling, he’s always happy. He’s everything I’m not, and I’m forced to face that fact twenty-four hours a day.
It’s really exhausting being around Jax. If my eyes could roll back any farther in my head in reaction to him, they would be staring at the front of my brain. I started hiding in the bathroom just to get away from everything. Like an old book in the public library, I often check myself out of the situation. Sometimes someone walks in, say, Loren, Chelsea’s assistant, and she’ll be like, “Oh, poor Chunk, you got locked in the bathroom again… by accident. Here, let me bring you out.”
No, Loren, this is not an accident. I would rather sit on this cold tile floor in the bathroom, listening to the tinkle of girls going to the bathroom, than be subjected to everyone out there.
I’m just not part of that group, and I don’t have to try to be. Mom loves me because I’m authentic to who I am, right? Not because I act like Jax, or like Johnny, or like Heather. I’m just different from all those people out there. I know dogs are supposed to be pack animals, but I feel more like a “pack of cigarettes” kind of animal. All I need is myself, my smokes, and that tornado of thoughts swirling around in my head. I don’t really smoke. Because dogs can’t actually smoke, you silly goose.
Which brings us to Mom’s big Fourth of July pool party.
Los Angeles had been hit with a heat wave. I always thought a heat wave had something to do with a bunch of female dogs in heat waving at me. But I guess it just means that it gets hot as balls outside. (I don’t have balls anymore, FYI.) So, due to this heat wave, Mom’s lesbian stylist, Amy, had my entire body shaved to keep me cool, but they left the hair around