We got to our bush breakfast that morning just in time for me to use the restroom.
Our discussion returned to the topic of twin beds.
“Twin beds with mosquito nets. Very lush,” I said. “I’ve always wanted to sleep in a twin. I love twin beds. I always wanted one when I was a child.”
Rex perked up once he was able to get a Bloody Mary into his system.
“I don’t understand this obsession you have with twin beds. Didn’t you have a twin bed growing up?” Molly asked.
“For a bit, but I mostly had a king. I stole my parents’ mattress off their bed frame and switched my twin out.”
“Without the bed frame?” Sue asked.
“I don’t think that’s really the point of this story,” Molly stated.
I answered what I thought was a valid question from Sue. “Yes, without the frame. It was after the third or fourth time my parents forgot to pick me up from Hebrew school. I had had it. It took me almost two hours to walk home, and when I got there, I marched straight upstairs and switched out my mattress with theirs.”
“How old were you?” asked Sue.
“You can be very strong when you’re determined,” I reassured her. “I was nine.”
“And what did your parents do?”
“Nothing,” Simone told them. “Everyone was scared of Chelsea. My mom just started sleeping on the twin, and my dad just slept on the couch. I don’t think anyone even mentioned it.”
“It’s not like it was a total convenience for me,” I added. “The king took up almost my entire bedroom. I couldn’t even open my door all the way before it hit the mattress.”
We went for another ride and saw a bunch of animals that we had already seen before but in another setting, so the morning trip was pleasant. We also saw a lion walking with a dead impala in his mouth, which prompted Shelly to remind Z that we still hadn’t seen a live kill.
“Hopefully, later tonight. It doesn’t look like anything’s happening right now,” Z told us.
“It doesn’t just happen when you want it to,” Rex chimed in.
When we got back to the lodge I got out of the jeep and was walking on the wooden ramp that led to the main deck when I saw it. “Sna-sna-sna-snake!!!” I yelled and ran as fast as I could up the bridge, grabbing Simone along with me to the closest wall. Once there, I smacked her across the face. Then I backed up against the wall and wrapped my arms around her body, pinning it against mine.
Simone is well versed in my histrionics and knows what happens when I see a snake. She barely flinched when I smacked her. Rex was looking at me cross-eyed. “This is coming from the same person who wanted to get stampeded by an elephant a week ago.”
“Sn-a-a-a-a-a-ke!” I yelled at the top of my lungs and lunged onto the ramp that led to the deck of the camp.
“You’re going to have to get rid of the snake,” Simone told everyone who had stopped in their tracks, wondering if I was serious.
“You’re in Africa!” one of the Africans working at the camp said with a big smile on his face. “He’s just a little guy sunbathing!”
“A little guy?” I shouted from behind Simone. “A little guy doesn’t keep moving once their head is chopped off.” Snakes are disgusting, and I wish they would all go die in a snowstorm. “I fucking hate snakes!” I told him.
“You don’t understand,” Simone told him. “She’ll go into anaphylactic shock.”
The man picked the snake up with a stick and threw him into the bushes, which sent me even more into a tizzy. Snakes in any form—big ones, little ones, thick or thin, in the air, on the ground—I don’t know which is worse. They all make me sick to my stomach. I’d sooner go through with a pregnancy than spend a night alone in my house knowing there was a snake in the yard.
Once we recovered from that, we all gathered on the deck for our afternoon cocktails. I went to my room to change, and when I came back I walked into this conversation:
“You have to understand my sister,” Simone said. “She’s the biggest fuckup of the family, but she’s also the most successful. That can be very conflicting, plus, she’s the baby.” This discussion held no interest for me, so I went over to Shelly and told her there was something stuck on the roof of my mouth.
“Well, do you think you burned it?” Shelly asked me. “Or do you think there’s really something stuck?”
“I feel like I there’s something lodged in there.” I opened my mouth so Shelly could give me an oral examination.
“I see it. It looks like you may have poked yourself in the mouth. There’s a little bump inside your mouth and it’s very red.”
“This conversation is riveting,” Hannah proclaimed.
“I think you need to start traveling with a physician,” Sue suggested.
“And a rabbi,” Hannah added.
“Do you think it was one of those pretzels from Camp Dumbo?” I queried.
“That was three days ago,” Hannah said.
“Yeah, but it’s been hurting ever since then.”
“There must be something wrong with those pretzels,” Shelly declared.
“I wish I could go to the bathroom,” I announced. “All I do is pee.”
“Have you thought about an enema?” Rex asked.
“No, because then I would have to get one, too,” Shelly replied.
“A dual enema,” Sue concurred.
“The last time I had an enema, I slept for three days. I was too weak to even report the incident.”
We didn’t end up going on our afternoon ride because we all needed to recover from the snake. I sat in my sister’s arms shivering like the girl in the movie Jaws after she saw the shark. The next morning Simone would be leaving, and the five of us and Rex would move on to Camp Mambo, which was also in Botswana. I needed to get as much snuggle time with her as possible.
Later that night, we all went over to Sue and Hannah’s room to lie on their twin beds before our last meal at Vurumba.
I looked at Sue, who was slathering on what appeared to be sunblock before dinner.
“Is that sunblock?” I asked.
“Yes, I’m putting some on in case I pass out outside tonight. Everyone else has made a mockery of themselves. I don’t see why I can’t take a turn.”
Dinner was pretty mellow, and when Molly and I got back to our room, we lay in bed discussing what an amazing trip we’d had. That was when we heard something outside trudging through water. Molly and I tiptoed over to the window, opened the glass door, and walked on to the deck. There was a hippo less than ten feet in front of us just taking a stroll in the middle of the night. It was amazing. For some reason I was in front of Molly; she was gripping my body and practically choking me.
“Don’t you think you should be in front?” I asked her.
“Probably,” and then we changed positions.
The next morning we had all packed our bags and were having our last breakfast at Camp Vurumba.
“Chels, there is an entire pile of folded clothing on your bed. Did you want me to pack that?” Molly asked, sitting down at the table.
“No. I was just going to leave it for the staff. It’s not like I’m ever going to wear cargo pants again.”
“What makes you think the staff wants your used clothing?” Molly asked me.
“Well, I don’t really know the answer to that, but let me try and think of one. Oh, here’s an idea. Maybe because they’re all walking around with baskets on their heads?”
“Well, we are in Africa,” Sue said.
“This is their lifestyle,” Rex added. “It’s not like they’re walking around in cargo shorts, either.”
“Okay!” I exclaimed. “I’m so sorry that I’m trying to do something nice for someone. Fine, Molly, we’ll take the clothes. Maybe Chunk will want to wear them. Fuck, can’t I do anything right?”
“Is there anything in the safe?” Molly asked me, going over my checklist.
“Just my underwear, but we should probably leave it
here.”
“I’ll get it,” Molly told me. “And throw it in the garbage.”
We all got in our jeep and went to the airport. Shelly informed us that Rex had requested to stay with her at Mombo Camp.
“Of course he did,” Sue replied. “You’ll probably be the one to fuck him. Why have sex with any of the five straight women available when you can have sex with a lesbian?”
At the airport we had to say good-bye to Simone. We were all crying except Rex. He was more confused now than when he had first met us.
“Rex, while I’m gone, please explain to Chelsea one more time about the moon and the sun. She thinks they’re one unit. Bye!!!”
If you look closely, you can see Rex’s reflection in my sunglasses as he took this photo. He can reject me all he wants, but no one takes a picture like this unless he is (a) in love or (b) a really good photographer.
CHAPTER 5
MOMBO CAMP, BOTSWANA
July 1, 2012
On our very last day of safari at Mombo Camp, we finally got to see what we had been waiting for. The weight I had put on had become unmanageable, and I asked our safari guide, Doc, to drop me off at the gym so I could at least get on the bicycle and get my blood flowing. On the way to the gym we bumped into this little asshole.
As we all sat there in shock, Doc stopped the car to take a call on his walkie-talkie telling him that some lions had entered camp.
“Be very quiet, girls,” Doc told us.
“Do you think he just got off the elliptical?” Sue whispered. “Is that why he’s so tired?”
We were all standing up in the jeep taking pictures, Rex included.
“Has this ever happened before?” Rex asked Doc, who confirmed this was indeed a first. There was a little tiny gift shop to the right of the gym, and a woman opened the door quickly to hang a sign that said CLOSED. Then the lion woke up.
If you look closely, you can see the gym equipment in the background. The best excuse ever to blow off working out.
As it turns out, our picture taking wasn’t what woke the lion up. We heard loud squeals and roaring behind us, and when Doc spun the jeep around we saw two lions killing an impala. Before we could blink, eight more showed up, including our friend from the bridge.
Three other safari jeeps pulled up and shut their engines down. Everyone had their cameras out and were taking one shot after another of what none of us could believe we were all witnessing… while I tried to document the scene with my BlackBerry. Then we heard the trumpeting of an elephant and looked in the other direction to see this mama rounding the corner.
The lions started to scatter, and I finally saw what I had been longing to see since arriving in Africa: an elephant charging toward me.
When a few of the lions stuck around to finish off the impala, the elephant picked up speed and was in full stampede, waving its trunk around and knocking down a tree. It was fucking amazing.
This was a spectacular thing to see, and the fact that it happened on our very last day of safari made me feel like something was finally going right in my life. Even Rex’s jaw was on the floor. He told us this was only his third live kill in eight years. We sat there stunned for almost an hour after the elephant had roamed the area making sure she had cleared out all the lions from camp. Elephants truly are the kings of the jungle, and I had never felt closer to Aretha Franklin in my life, and I didn’t want to pay homage to her without paying my respects.
We left later that day. Sue and Hannah were headed back home to LA. Rex was headed to visit his family somewhere in South Africa, and Shelly and I were off to the Bahamas to visit some friends and reacclimate to life above the equator.
The only disappointing thing about Africa was that I did not have sex. I deal with the memory of that rejection every day. Well, every other day.
Respect.
A year later Rex came to Los Angeles and visited us, and this is him signing his rights away for me to use his real name in this book. He and Lilly are still together and very happy. Lilly, I apologize for throwing myself at your boyfriend.
If you’d like to go on an adventure with Rex, this is his business card. Don’t expect penetration.
TRAVEL ETIQUETTE
If you are traveling with a male companion for the first time, always bring your phone to the bathroom. If you go to the bathroom and happen to have an explosion, you can always blame it on a funny ringtone.
When renting a car from a public rental service, do not hit any other cars while still in the rental lot, even if you’re trying to be funny. It’s not worth it.
Listening to NPR does not make you smart. Mentioning that you listen to NPR actually makes you dumber.
When dealing with foreigners, pretend you are Canadian.
When dealing with Canadians, pretend you are Armenian.
When dealing with Armenians, run.
It’s impressive to know the difference between kilometers and miles, or Celsius and Fahrenheit, but it’s not necessary or really even helpful.
If you don’t know how to swim, don’t tell people.
It isn’t acceptable to paddleboard in a hotel pool when other guests are swimming.
Don’t talk to people about camping.
Don’t try to show off when you’re skiing.
Do not take ecstasy on a military transport to Guantanamo Bay, even if you are doing some charity work as part of a USO tour. It’s disrespectful to the troops and to the prisoners.
CHAPTER 6
THE BAHAMAS
I pride myself on having a lot of elderly friends. Two of the main liners who comprise that constituency are a Jewish couple called Shmirving and Shmelly Shmazoff. I became friends with Shmirving, because he found out through one of his subordinates that I was an asshole, and like any older Jew who relishes the abuse of a younger woman with large breasts, he wanted in on the action.
Shmirving is a big figure in the music industry and not a very big figure in person; he was an inch taller than Chuy, but that was prior to Chuy having his legs surgically extended. He is a white, sixty-something Jewish nugget who basically looks like a blond raisin. I’m not sure exactly what he does (I’m not sure exactly of what I even do) but he represents—in some capacity—everyone from the Eagles to Ryan Seacrest to Christina Aguilera.
Shmirving was a board member of Ticketmaster, which runs mostly everything involving live events, including Live Nation, the promoter that handles all of my stand-up tours.
There is a hairy gorilla in charge of the comedy division at Live Nation who goes by the name of Geof Wills. I make it my business to harass Geof on a fairly regular basis, either for having parents who spelled his name the wrong way, or by putting photos of his back on my television show to illustrate the benefits of electrolysis. In Geof ’s case, there were none; his hair grew back thicker and sadder. It’s unfair that men who have the hairiest backs and the weakest bodies have the least amount of hair on their head.
This is the nugget on his private plane inhaling deli meat, forcing his poor little enlarged heart into overdrive.
Why transplanting back hair onto the top of a man’s head isn’t a commonly practiced procedure is mind-boggling. Why pubic hair transplants is not an additional option for those who lose their hair prematurely is even more mind-boggling. I’ve never met a man who didn’t have some pubic hair to spare, and there’s no reason obvious to me as to why it shouldn’t be used on a man’s head to give him back the confidence he lost when his hair fell out.
Geof and I in my office getting ready to put him on the show and reveal to the world that electrolysis doesn’t work for everyone.
Not to sound like a proctologist, but why shouldn’t I take the lead in informing the public about what can be not only an important innovation but a full-blown game changer. The only potential hiccup I can foresee is if one’s hair is straight or blond, forcing one to mix in tufts of dark pubic hair.
So maybe not everyone is a candidate, but redheads certainly are. The idea
of a balding redhead finding any other hair match superior to the one surrounding his penis region is not only improbable, it’s unheard of.
Take, for example, a redhead who doesn’t have the typical curly, bright orangey-red hair on his head but the weaker, lighter orange instead, and is considered a redhead only because no one bothered to come up with the term “orange head.” Even the weakest of species deserves an identity. As if orange heads haven’t been through enough, they have to go through life with thinning hair from practically the time they’re born until they’re wiped clean by age thirty. Even these men are candidates because they can still take their curly pubic hair, flat-iron it, and install it into their head. There are keratin straightening procedures and Brazilian straightening procedures that can take down the coarseness and the curl from any pubic hair and make it look like head hair. And if the candidate’s pubic hair grows straight, which is fairly uncommon and also sorrowful, they get the added bonus of saving the money they had set aside for the hair-straightening keratin treatment. Bottom line: this is the kind of thing hair scientists should be exploring, and I’m not going to back down until I see some movement in the pubic community.
I met Geof Wills several years ago on my very first road gig doing stand-up at the Punch Line in San Francisco, where I assured him he’d want to stay in business with me because I saw myself “going places.” He laughed in my face and told me that Pizza Hut had just added wings to their menu and that I should fill out an application with them specifying that I was only qualified to deliver the wings and not the pizza.
Just about ten years later, I was on a sailing yacht I chartered to Croatia with Geof, his wife, and ten of our other friends. We were celebrating the fact that I had actually “gotten somewhere,” and I wanted to celebrate with the people who helped get me there. (Well, one I actually hadn’t ever met before, so she really had no business being on that trip.) I took it upon myself to make a toast in Geof’s honor, retell his heart-warming assessment of my talent, and remind him that with just one phone call, I could get him a job at Pizza Hut, and that wings would be a delicacy for him, considering where his career went.