In Chelsea Handler’s Bedroom


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/ by Beth Wareham

A well-known fact about Chelsea is that she likes to pee on her friends. She entices them into her shower or quietly dog-paddles up behind them in a pool and releases a yellowy bubble that envelopes her victim. It’s a kind of warm liquid Hollywood fairy-dust, Chelsea’s pee.

I have no idea why she does this. I wasn’t an insider. I was part of Chelsea’s entourage’s entourage, a self-confessed mangy lot. My group never had a chance of getting peed on directly; we could only go to her pool when she wasn’t home.

51lQgRc0pJL._UY250_One strange day, one of Chelsea’s inner most circles got mixed up with the outer most circle and asked if I wanted to see her bedroom.

Huge, orderly and airy, she had a California King that didn’t look any more used than any other California King I’d seen.  (Have you seen the dent in the middle of Rhianna’s?) The room was weirdly peaceful. I don’t remember a television screen of any kind.

41zAv4Ncy0L._AA160_What I remember confounds me to this day. It wasn’t the bedroom of a celebrity at all; it was the bedroom of a writer. One entire wall was floor to ceiling bookshelves, all stuffed, with everything from architecture to art to

51FEbVMY-AL._AA160_politics. The range was stunning.

51Q7W-NOB7L._AA160_Funny girls write great books. They understand detail. They choose really interesting detail.  And as both Chelsea and Tina Fey become Netflix regulars, let’s see what “on demand” does to their creativity.

I can’t wait.


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