Mood:
chillin'Topic: Entertainment
Earlier this week, I finished reading Chelsea Handler's third book Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang. Since I loved her first two, My Horizontal Life and Are You There Vodka, It's Me Chelsea?, I was pretty stoked to get my hands on number three.
Things were off to a great start—chapters one and two were absolutely hilarious and had me literally laughing out loud. In chapter one, The Feeling, Handler explains how she learned how to masturbate; when she was eight years old at a slumber party. How classy, right? Like any sick child (I suppose), she becomes obsessed:
"When my brothers would come home from college, they would always hang out in the second living room, but that didn't stop me. I would sandwich myself in between one end of the sofa and the ottoman, and all they could see was my head pop out so I could check to see if they were watching me and wipe my brow with a beach towel. I sometimes wondered if they had any idea what I was doing, but I had grown so accustomed to sexually assaulting myself whenever necessary that my self-awareness became clouded. It never occurred to me that when I got up from one of these positions, the other people in the room would wonder why I was drenched in sweat with my jeans wedged up to my nipples, my eyes crossed, and a severe case of cameltoe, and chapped lips. I didn't care. I had bigger fish to fry (13)."
In chapter two, When Life Hands You Lemons, Squeeze Them into Your Vodka, we learn of Handler's childhood obsession to get a Cabbage Patch Doll. However, her parents don't understand why she wants material items to fit in, so she must beg for one to get what she wants:
"My mother came into my room later to ask how much the dolls were, and when I told her, she told me that my father would not be happy. By this time in my life, I'd had enough of their shenanigans and bargain hunting, and I definitely felt like I had plenty of stored resentment to make a case for myself. I walked into the living room, where my father had parked himself with a corned beef on rye, and started my case.
'Here's the deal, guys. I can't go on like this. We can't go on like this. You two are a joke. I am nine years old, trying to make the best out of a situation that is unlike any of my peers'. I have five older brothers and sisters who seem to have fared better than me, mostly because you birthed them when the two of you had a clue as to how to raise a child. I am competing with people in this neighborhood who have access to swing sets, and in-ground pools I can only dream of, and cars that work the first time you try to start them. This isn't a god foundation for the rest of my life, because I will only end up feeling like I'm enough or of any worth. I will depend on my looks, which will turn me into a shallow, eating-disorder whore who will end up selling her body just so she can buy herself an eternity ring. Reading the Boston Globe is not helping my cause. I need to read Sweet Valley High and watch Family Ties and have sleepovers where we gets 'the feeling'. I don't even know what you guys do for a living, which brings me to my next topic: Does either of you have a job (30-31)?'"
However in the chapters following, we meet the recent Chelsea—the one who has money and fame, due to her previous best-selling books along with her comedy show on the E! network. Frankly, while I think Handler is funny, her stories about watching Sex and the City: the movie while eating hot pockets in her tech-ed out apartment just aren't as funny as the ones about her father's car dealership in the front yard. Needless to say, I was pretty disappointed in this book.
Of all of her books, Are You There Vodka, It's Me Chelsea? rings in at number one on my list—I feel like Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang is just riding on the fumes of those before it.
