The same day that I bought Ana Karenina I finished reading Chelsea Handler's collection of one night stands and barely remembered vodka induced shenanigans. I feel like I could easily have written this book. It certainly makes me miss my vodka induced shenanigans and one night stands and just drunken whoreishness (not a real word, but should be). Like the time that I got so drunk that, on the way to the bathroom, I pulled down my own pants, peed on the floor, and then passed out in my own piss where campus security found me much later. My friend Ben then tried, unsuccessfully, to start a rumor around campus that I hadn't actually peed in the hallway but that Ronnie, another friend, pulled my pants down and peed on my and then ran away. I'm not sure which version is worse, but neither is flattering. This was, of course, during my vodka and wine phase where I would drink shitty cheap vodka out of a plastic jug and chase it with box wine. I would love to go on for days like this but this is probably one of the highlights so we'll leave it there.
Either way, Chelsea Handler has an honest and hilarious perspective on the world and reading her sexploits makes me miss both my own sexploits and my drunken idiocy. MEMORIES! Not good ones, but they're... well they aren't there. I do remember the after effects. I am looking forward to reading her next novel Are You There Vodka, It's Me Chelsea.
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