"I know! I want to, but I can't. You should see this place. I don't even know how to begin cleaning."

"Don't clean anything. You don't even know how to clean. You're a hot mess."

"I can't go out. Grey Gardens Grey Gardens is on later, and I need to hear Drew Barrymore's accent." is on later, and I need to hear Drew Barrymore's accent."

"Chelsea, you are Grey Gardens Grey Gardens!"

It dawned on me that she was indeed correct. "Too soon, Sarah. Too soon."

"Just TiVo it."

"What do you think, I live inside a Best Buy?"

"Well, I blame Ted for that. You're practically crippled. I'm surprised you can even answer the phone."

"That's what I keep saying!"

"To Ted?"

"No, to myself."

"Exactly."

"You are supposed to be a grown-up. You have your own television show."

"But it's on E!"

"I know, but you still have a whole staff that is depending on you."

"To go to happy hour?"

"To stay somewhat sane."

"Well, I don't know what to tell you."

"Yeah, so get your s.h.i.t together. Your s.h.i.t is not not together." together."

"Okay."

"Do you even know how to use the shower?"

"Sometimes." I hung up, took off my bra and underwear, threw them both in the garbage, and got my s.h.i.t together. I then gave myself a full-body examination, to eliminate the threat of adult-onset bedsores. "All clear!"

After my shower I felt like I had a new lease on life. I knew if I really stayed focused and applied myself, I could actually TiVo Grey Gardens Grey Gardens later that night. I walked to my car with a little extra bounce in my step and also a little limp, glad I was able to handle some sort of electronics without anyone else's a.s.sistance. I now have a season pa.s.s to later that night. I walked to my car with a little extra bounce in my step and also a little limp, glad I was able to handle some sort of electronics without anyone else's a.s.sistance. I now have a season pa.s.s to Grey's Anatomy Grey's Anatomy.

Chapter Four

Dudley

Every once in a while, I like to send out an all-staff e-mail to find out who the dumbest people working on my show are. The e-mail below is something I asked my a.s.sistant to devise based on the fact that we still had a doctor's table for a skit we did on the show called "Dr. Lately." Since production had paid to rent the table and we still had it for a few days, I thought it made perfect sense to get our money's worth and see how many people would believe that a gynecologist was coming in to perform a couple of Pap smears. Here is what Eva sent out to the staff: Hi there, Hi there,Dr. Clara, MD, will be here on Tuesday, April 14th from 4:306:30pm Tuesday, April 14th from 4:306:30pm. She is available for individual concentration and will be setting up 2030 minute appointments on stage 2. Dr. Clara is dedicated to providing outstanding care for patients needing pap smears, adolescent medicine, gynecology, infertility, high-risk obstetrics, STD testing and questions relating to male/female health overall. s.p.a.ce is limited so please email me if you would like to schedule an appointment. She will also be providing the appropriate garments for any examinations. Prices and co-pay vary depending on insurance and for more information on Dr. Clara, MD, and her practice, visit: West Los Angeles Women's Care.com. Thanks!! Thanks!!

I had Eva CC my boyfriend, Ted, on the e-mail so that he could be aware of how I was spending my day, especially since he also happens to be the CEO of the network that my show is on. Ted's office is in a different building from ours, so we are essentially unsupervised and generally unproductive. Ted, instead of realizing that this was obviously a joke, responded with this e-mail to Eva: Don't say anything yet to CH but having outside Dr in is a problem as outlined below. I'm going to try to help here but at the very least, the dr is going to have to sign a letter indemnifying us. Don't say anything yet to CH but having outside Dr in is a problem as outlined below. I'm going to try to help here but at the very least, the dr is going to have to sign a letter indemnifying us. Generally speaking, this is something we would suggest we avoid and not do on our premises... but it also seems as if the wheels have already been put in motion so we need to consider how to handle that as well... Generally speaking, this is something we would suggest we avoid and not do on our premises... but it also seems as if the wheels have already been put in motion so we need to consider how to handle that as well...

Below is the e-mail Ted received from his legal team later that day, which he forwarded to Eva: Here are two preliminary concerns. There may be an expressed or implied endors.e.m.e.nt of this particular physician by us taking such an active role in setting her appointments and allowing her to conduct those appointments on premises, most specifically, pap smears. If the company is perceived as endorsing this physician, do we take on the liability for anything this physician does (including a misdiagnosis?). Second concern is that if there is any medical treatment actually taking place on our premises, are we covered for that from an insurance perspective. I am checking on these specifically with outside counsel and will get back to you soon. I can tell you most definitely, that any fertility treatments raise a red flag. I am checking on these specifically with outside counsel and will get back to you soon. I can tell you most definitely, that any fertility treatments raise a red flag.

As soon as I finished reading the e-mail, I picked up the phone and called Ted. "Do you really think that I'm going to have girls in our office go down to Stage 2 on their lunch break for a quick v.a.g.i.n.a a.s.sessment?"

"Chelsea."

"Ted."

"Chelsea."

"Ted."

"Jesus, Chelsea."

He put his phone down and yelled, "It's a joke. There's no gynecologist. It's Chelsea being an a.s.shole. Again."

"Ted," I said, "did you even read that e-mail that Eva sent? It said the doctor would be available for male/female health-related questions. What gynecologist services men? Either you're a gynecologist or you aren't. You're not a man doctor for women."

"How would I know that?"

"Because you're a man! Have you you ever been to a gynecologist?" ever been to a gynecologist?"

"I can't believe I fall for this s.h.i.t."

"I thought I was being nice by including you in the joke, and now the joke is on you. Not the two girls on staff who have already booked their appointments."

"Oh, my G.o.d."

"I know."

"Are you going to film it?"

"I hadn't gotten that far, because there was a little b.u.mp in the road named Ted."

"Chelsea, I don't have time for this s.h.i.t. Now I have to go clear this up."

"Ted, the e-mail also said 'individual concentration concentration.' It's 'consultation.' What the h.e.l.l is an individual concentration?"

"Well, I don't know what you girls do in your appointments, Chelsea. That cost us money. You're paying the legal fees. We had to hire outside counsel."

"Yes, I know. That's why I'm calling. I a.s.sumed you would know that I wouldn't be doling out fertility treatments on a fake doctor's table at the studio."

"That is is something you would do!" something you would do!"

"Really?"

"Yes, you're f.u.c.king crazy, and you would would do something like that, and you're paying the legal bills." do something like that, and you're paying the legal bills."

"I'll be happy to."

"Good, we'll send you the bill."

"Good. I'd like to frame it and put it in my office."

In true Ted form, he was not in on the joke, which is basically the foundation of our relationship. No matter how much time goes by, I am still able to make him believe stories that no one who has completed high school would believe. On separate occasions I've convinced him that I paid sixteen thousand dollars for a pair of sungla.s.ses, that I donated ten thousand dollars to a charity that helps prevent pit bulls from being forced to wear rhinestone collars, and that a pair of my shoes came with two Swiss Army knives under the soles. The jokes are never well-thought-out plans, more like happy accidents that just pop into my head when I look out the window. That is exactly what happened a few weeks later when Dudley came into our life.

My agents at the time wanted to throw a little congratulatory party celebrating a new deal I had signed. One of them was named John, and he was a rather unusually muscular gay man who lived with an even more unusually muscular gayer man and shared with him an English bulldog named Dudley.

Their house was in the Hollywood Hills and was decorated the exact way you would expect a couple of gay bear millionaires living in the Hollywood Hills to decorate: very masculine, very expensive, and a lot of lubrication.

The house was filled with beautiful art and had a very modern but luxuriously comfy feel. Like a resort. A resort with a prison shower the size of a mosh pit and enough waterfalls for a stranger to slip into another stranger's a.s.shole without a moment's notice. In other words, the kind of spa two gay bears from the Hollywood Hills would like to run.

There were only about nine of us at the little soiree: Ted, two of my agents (John, Claire), my attorney (Jake), my partner (Tom) and his wife (Beth), and Eva, my a.s.sistant. I planted myself on the sofa and was talking to Beth and Eva when Dudley sauntered over with his a.s.s in the air, the way only an English bulldog can do.

Dudley was a d.i.c.k from the word go. He was sniffing around the hors d'oeuvres while simultaneously licking my uncovered leg, so I immediately gave him a fried ravioli. The setback occurred when Dudley thought the fried ravioli was accompanied by the black c.o.c.ktail napkin it was on, both of which he demolished with little or no struggle from me.

I did make a moderate attempt to save the napkin, but after one overly aggressive tug from Dudley I decided it would make less of a scene if I just gave the napkin to him rather than get down on my knees and wrestle a bulldog. I felt I had maybe made the wrong decision when I looked at Eva, who was staring at the dog, horrified, as the last corner of the napkin disappeared.

"I think we should tell them that their dog just swallowed a napkin," she said, getting up.

I pulled her down to her seat. "No. It's fine. I give napkins to dogs all the time."

Ted walked over to us just as Dudley was ready for more, and I told him what happened. "Oh, he'll be fine," he said. "It's just a napkin."

"It was a four-ply napkin," Eva told him.

"Okay, cool it," I told her, glaring. "It's fine. I didn't know I had hired a vet," I mumbled loudly enough for her to hear.

"Those dogs can eat anything," Ted said, dragging me by my arm. "Come on, Chelsea. I found another waterfall."

Dudley, of course, was hot on my tail from then on, knowing he had found an ally. "I hope the dog doesn't throw up. At least while we're here," I told Ted as he pulled me outside into a scene out of a Costa Rican bathhouse, but cla.s.sier.

"We have to get the name of their designer," he exclaimed with a little too much excitement. "This guy is a genius. You can put waterfalls wherever you want."

"Ted, we live in a condo. This compound is more along the lines of an a.n.a.l jungle. We can't just rip out our roof and stare at the moon. I can find out where we can get those little glow-in-the-dark stars and glue them to the ceiling. Then you can go off."

"Well, we can think of something. This is amazing! What is that smell?"

"It's Dudley," I lied. "It's the napkin."

Actually I had farted, but I sensed an opening in my path, and, not yet knowing in which direction it was headed, I had to leave all options open.

"Is it okay to give a dog sh.e.l.lfish?" I asked.

"Is that what you gave him?"

"Yeah. That crab thing they were pa.s.sing around."

"I don't know, but don't give him any more. I don't think dogs can eat crab," he said, grimacing at Dudley. "Come to the bathroom. I want to show you this bidet I want us to get."

"I've seen three bidets in fifteen minutes. I'm good."

"G.o.d, it reeks. What the h.e.l.l kind of napkin was that?"

"The crab was wrapped in b.u.t.ter lettuce. Maybe that's it."

"Oooh, that sounds good. I'm gonna go grab one."

On the way home that night, I mentioned Dudley once more in the car and then let it go. I had to figure out my game plan of where I was going to take this little doozy of a story.

"I can still smell Dudley's farts," Ted declared as we descended a hill so steep that the only safe form of transportation would have been a rickshaw.

"It's not Dudley anymore. It's me."

"Was it you the whole time?"

"Yes."

"Maybe you're you're allergic to sh.e.l.lfish." allergic to sh.e.l.lfish."

In the car on the way to work the next morning, I heard my phone ring and saw that it was Ted. I picked up and started wailing. "John's a.s.sistant just called. The dog died after we left last night."

"No!"

"Yes!" I heaved into my steering wheel, which I mistakenly believed held my speaker.

"Oh, my G.o.d, you're kidding me, right?"

"Do I sound like I'm kidding, Ted? I haven't spoken to him yet, but Eva just called me and told me his a.s.sistant called. She's calling everyone at the party."

"Oh, my G.o.d! Oh, my G.o.d! Do you think it was the napkin?"

"It had to have been. Or the sh.e.l.lfish," I reminded him.

"Oh, my G.o.d! Do not tell anyone that you gave him the napkin or or the sh.e.l.lfish. Who else was there when you gave it to him?" he demanded. the sh.e.l.lfish. Who else was there when you gave it to him?" he demanded.