Lies That Chelsea Handler Told Me - Chelsea's Family, Friends [85]
Some dumb kid was munching out of a giant bowl of candy that Mom leaves out for them. It’s like every generation of crazy is partying here today. These kids remind me of Children of the Corn, but today they’re “Children of the Candy Corn” because they’re stuffing fistfuls of it into their little saccharine-soaked bodies. I just hope they don’t find any of the marijuana candy that’s floating around here. On second thought, that would be really funny. I hope they find a lot of that marijuana candy that’s floating around here. That’ll teach them.
I passed by Chuy. He’s the only person I really see eye to eye with. I stay out of his way; he stays out of mine. We have a common understanding. That’s probably because we’ve both served time in the pound at one point in our lives.
Finally, after endless searching through this carnival un-funhouse I found my mom.
She was in the bedroom getting changed. Most people think it’s so cool that she changes in front of me. First of all, she’s my mom. And second of all, if you want to see her breasts all you have to do is get a job on her show. Everybody there gets to see those things at one point or another.
I figured this was my moment. It was my last chance to plead my case and to inject some sort of normalcy into her brain, so I said, “Mom, this situation is terrible. My summer is ruined. People think I’m an asshole and I don’t even care, because all your friends and your brother, they’re all freaks, and we can do better than them. It would be so much nicer with just you and me. So, what do you say? Take my paw, take my whole life, too. Let’s get out of here, girl.”
Of course, she couldn’t understand a word I was saying because to her it all sounded like “pant pant pant pant pant pant pant.” Someone should invent a device to translate dogs’ thoughts. They’d make a killing.
So, Mom was like, “Oh hey, Chunk. Amy got you this really stupid cowboy hat and…” I was like, “Oh no you don’t, girl,” but it was too late. Mom strapped this ridiculous-looking spring break cowboy hat to my head and, against my will, sent me back out to the party. No surprise that everyone had a good hearty laugh at my expense.
Me at the fucking party.
I mean, all those whack jobs, and they were laughing at me? I couldn’t believe it. Jax was still barking at a bush. The camera guys were getting drunker and more stoned. Roy was teaching my bitch, Ryan, how to dive into the pool. Chris Franjola was hitting on some girl young enough to be his granddaughter. And the topless security guard was still beating himself at badminton. Salami came over and lifted me up in his arms again.
“Ugh, will this ever stop?!” My head was starting to spin; the world was like a dreidel. I was hyperventilating, which, again, just looked like I was panting. I was ready to pass out. But then everything stopped, and my jaw dropped.
I caught my reflection in the pool and saw myself as the world saw me—as just another member of this motley crew. I realized that I had turned into one of them. I looked like a wet mutt/stupid lion/gay cowboy on spring break/half-Asian dog. I don’t know if I’d always been such a misfit, or if I’d caught it, like the flu. All I knew was at that moment I truly was one of them.
Mom had said that she was going to get me out of that mess. And she had. But she’d brought me into a bigger mess. I guess her lie was that she never told me this was where I belonged. I belonged there because I was a mess, too. I’d always thought I was better than or different from all these people, but I guess I’m not. I’m like the pitcher on their dumbass softball team. I feel like such a dumb-dumb now for not seeing it all along.
You have to realize that if my mom picks on you, it’s because she likes you. If she lies to you, it’s because she loves you. All it means is that you’re one of the lucky messes in her pack. And as I was looking around at all the oddballs and outcasts having a blast at her Fourth of July pool party,