Read Lies That Chelsea Handler Told Me for Free Online Page A

was going to miss her. She was six, so I wondered if I could cut a deal and be out before she got too old. Then I remembered how Marley and Me had destroyed me emotionally and thought that maybe being away when she met her demise would be a good thing. I thought of Vince Vaughn and Joaquin Phoenix and Anne Heche and that movie where Vince Vaughn sacrificed himself for his best friend and the brother of the woman who was his love interest and ended up in jail watching his best friend die despite his sacrifice, and I wondered if I was going to be Vince Vaughn or Joaquin Phoenix. And then I wondered how long it was going to take Chelsea to get her international legal expert sister across the border.
    Suddenly the federale put the bag into my hand and smirked as he told me I was free to go.
    “I am? I mean, of course I am. I didn’t do anything wrong!” I shouted as I tried to stomp away. I felt like Wonder Woman but knew I looked like Bambi, my shaky legs contradicting my false bravado.
    As I glanced over my shoulder I saw the federale whisper to a compatriot, and I could have sworn they were laughing. Once I returned my gaze forward, I saw Chelsea, who looked pissed.
    “Get your shit and meet me at the car,” she bellowed as she exited the building.
    More terrified of Chelsea than a Mexican drug bust, I meekly climbed into the Navigator, hoping to sit as far away from her as possible. No such luck. She patted the only available seat right beside her. As I took it, I tried to look at the others to gauge the situation, but no one was making eye contact with me. This was going to be a long vacation.
    “So, how’d that work out for you? Feel good about yourself?” she asked.
    “No! It was awful! My life flashed before my eyes… and I could have gotten you in so much trouble! Your career, your reputation! I’m so sorry.”
    “Yeah, well, you should be.”
    “I am. But you have to admit, those federales are pretty stupid,” I offered, attempting to crack her iciness.
    “No, you’re stupid,” she countered, then turned to look out the window. I thought she couldn’t look at me because she was so angry. That is, until I realized she was trying not to let me see her laugh. I looked around, confused.
    “They weren’t Ecstasy,” she deadpanned, as everyone burst out laughing.
    “But there was a little E on them.”
    “Yes, for Excedrin!”
    “I thought…”
    “You thought wrong. Do you think I would allow you on a private plane with Ecstasy shoved up your cervix? If you recall correctly, your cervix has already been through enough.”
    “So, I’m an asshole,” I stated more than asked.
    “Well, yes, Stephanie. You’re thirty-four and trying to smuggle drugs in your coslopus. That is so 2008. Get your shit together.”
    Chelsea knew I was heading down a slippery slope that was taking me nowhere. Anyone else teaching someone a lesson might have included a stern sit-down or a time-out, but for Chelsea, it had to involve turning me into Maria Full of Grace. It was sort of a compliment.
    I love that bitch, but to this day I sleep with one eye open whenever she’s around. The best irony of all is that people sleep at Chelsea’s all the time, and everyone knows never to sleep with their door unlocked. So, in a house with six bedrooms, a house that she paid for, Chelsea really has access only to her own room.
After reading this chapter, I’ve never felt more responsible in my life. It really makes me sound like I have my shit together, and it’s only because the people I surround myself with have their shit less together. So, thank you. Steph’s performance at the wedding was something I will smile about for the rest of my life.
I would also like to add my own photo to this chapter as a warning of what someone looks like when they dance on Ecstasy.
    —Chelsea

Chapter Three
How to Make a Marriage Work
    HEATHER MCDONALD
    Ironically, Chelsea’s middle name is Joy. This makes sense, as she experiences a lot of