That ability to think on her toes served her well through nightmare babysitting jobs on Martha’s Vineyard, a DUI arrest, a massage gone awry in a sketchy part of L.A., various dating disasters (think red-headed guys who have too much hair…everywhere) and dealing with her accidentally hilarious and overweight father (just imagine a bigger, crazier Frank Costanza on Seinfeld, who also happens to stash used cars for sale at key locations all over New Jersey and claims to be a honeymoon with his own daughter to get bumped to first class). She also covers her obsession with midgets (whom she calls “nuggets”), which is really the only thing I don’t get completely, but I suppose it’s the way other people are with dogs, cats and babies.
You have to wonder how true each chapter is and how much is embellished, but given the sense we have of this woman from her stand-up, sketch shows and E! talk show, I’m guessing very little is made up. Not to mention, her wacky family definitely explains some things. For example, the uncle who was insulted when she chose a family friend over him in the game “Who would you rather have sex with?” and her mother’s need to iron her father’s sweatpants when he refuses to wear regular trousers out of the house due to his weight. Then, there’s the poor family dog, Whitefoot. (“His ‘bowl’ is a stainless steel baking tray. My parents are under the impression that our dog is Edward Scissorhands and can somehow manage to put the egg salad on top of the cracker and enjoy it like a human.”)
She has an eclectic group of friends. Some employed, some not, some single, some married, and all with quirks. It’s like a West Coast spin-off of Sex and the City but with more laughs. I’d absolutely kill to see these people on a sitcom. Handler has excellent comic timing that comes through beautifully in her writing, whether it’s dialogue or setting a scene, from places as far flung as a women’s prison and Dans le Noir, a London restaurant where meals are served in the dark. But some of the best bits are with her friends. She and roommate Lydia argue over attending the birthday dinner of a “friend” that no one really likes:
Chelsea: “I have pink eye.”
Lydia: “No you do not.”
Chelsea: “Yes, I do, my eyes are all red.”
Lydia: “That’s because you’re hungover.”
Chelsea: “Plus, I don’t have a present for her and I’m certainly not buying one.”
Lydia: “Just get her something cheap; it’s not like you have anything to do today.”
Chelsea: “Oh, fine. But if I my eyes don’t clear up, I may have to wear a patch.”
And then there’s this description of a girl she met at the birthday dinner: “The next person to arrive was her friend I had never heard of. Her name was Six. Like the number. I could tell by her outfit that this girl was going to be trouble. She was wearing a black miniskirt with black tights and open-toed, high-heeled red patent leather sandals…Her lipstick was whore red, and outlined with black lip liner, or what could have been eyeliner. She was wearing black hoop earrings that must have been made out of limestone because her lobes looked like they were going to detach from the rest of her ear at any moment.”
It’s just a laugh out loud, quick read, perfect for the beach, a long plane ride, or when you need a break from the stress while stuck at the hospital with an asthmatic five year old. As long as you don’t mind a lot of foul language, heavy drinking, goldfish murder or the image of a little person exposing her nipples, this is the book for you!
