My Horizontal Life: A Collection of One-Night Stands

by Chelsea Handler

  We got our bathing suits and a dinner menu and went back up to the Lido Deck. Split Ends was still there. I asked him for a real vodka in a real glass but he told me they served only plastic except at dinner. He ignored my comment about the real vodka.

  "When is dinner?" Dumb Dumb asked.

  "You can eat at seven or at nine in the formal dining room," he said.

  "Is the formal dining room formal?" I asked.

  "Hell, yeah," he said. "No shorts, no sneakers, no half shirts."

  "No problem," I said.

  It was too windy to get into our bathing suits so we just sat on our plastic chaise longues in front of the tarped-up pool/ tank and stared at the sky. I thought about taking the tarp off and diving in headfirst; I'm sure I wouldn't have been the first. I tried calling 911, but my cell phone wasn't getting any reception. This was a disaster. My positive attitude had long since joined the witness protection program, but I tried to stay calm.

  Dumb Dumb asked me which dinner seating I wanted to go to and I told her the seven o'clock one, because I hoped by nine to be unconscious. Apparently the casino wouldn't open until the next day (big surprise), so we just continued drinking. We passed out on our chairs or, as I like to say, put ourselves down for a nap, sometime after one and woke up to find ourselves surrounded by seagulls feeding on the peanuts left on the bar. Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, someone announced over the loudspeaker that a shuffleboard contest was starting on the Lido Deck in five minutes. It was time to move on.

  We flipped through the boat's guide of idiotic activities and decided to play bingo in the Carnival Room at five. We sat next to a couple who told us they were getting married on the boat. This news sent Dumb Dumb into a tizzy.

  "Married! That is sooo romantic. Where did you guys meet? How did you propose?" I wanted to remind Dumb Dumb that there was nothing romantic about getting married on a Carnival cruise or having matching ZZ Top shirts, but I didn't want to hurt their feelings.

  This cruise was also going to be their honeymoon because the woman couldn't get more than a week off from the power plant where she worked. That was the last thing I heard before I yelled, "Bingo!"

  "Shut up! Shut up! You got it?!" yelled the woman. The master of ceremonies pointed me out in the crowd and I stood up as everyone applauded.

  "Just kidding," I said and walked out.

  I was getting very drunk and needed fresh air. Dumb Dumb followed me, but I told her I needed to be alone. "Are you going to jump?" she asked.

  "No, I'm not going to jump, but I need to eat soon. I'm wasted."

  "Well, stop drinking," she told me.

  "That's not really an option."

  It was a quarter to seven as we walked outside to the Yellow Deck and walked a lap. Dumb Dumb suggested we run back to the room to get ready. "Get ready for what?" I asked her.

  We headed to our assigned table in the dining room and saw three women in their midforties sitting there. "Great. Look at our table," I told her.

  We sat down with the ladies at our round table, leaving us with five empty seats. "Hello, ladies," Dumb Dumb said and started the introductions. They were very sweet, prim and proper ladies who were clearly from some town with no television or magazines. "We're from Nebraska," one of the women said, which happened to be one of the states I suspected. The only surprise was that anyone would actually fly in for this cruise. They giggled devilishly as they told us they were on a "girls only" trip away from their husbands. I could tell the raciest things these women had ever been involved in was a co-ed game of Connect Four.

  After about a minute of small talk, the skinny, dark-haired woman with the palest skin I'd ever seen asked, "Are you Christians?"

  "Yes, I am Christian," said Dumb Dumb.

  "Oh, how lovely," they said. "So nice to meet you." The women immediately warmed.

  "No, you're not a Christian," I told Dumb Dumb. "You're Presbyterian. That's very different." This was so typical of Dumb Dumb. She didn't know anything about herself.

  "Well, whatever," Dumb Dumb said. "I believe in Jesus Christ."

  This is exactly why I didn't want to go on vacation with her. She had no loyalty. She was as bad as my sister Sloane. I didn't want to be the only nonbeliever at the table. Luckily, I was drunk enough to defend myself.

  "I'm a Jew," I told them and ordered a double Ketel One and cranberry. Certainly the "formal" dining room served real vodka, I thought.

  "That's nice," one of the women replied.

  And just like that, as if I hadn't said anything at all, the ladies sprang into a conversation about the sinful nature the Jews possessed when killing their Lord Jesus. I didn't know if I was hearing this right because I had become so intoxicated, but I couldn't believe that anyone would talk about religion while on vacation. How could Miss Nebraska think this was a proper environment to discuss something so controversial? One woman went on to say that if she had her way, not only would President Bush serve a second four-year term, but she hoped they would overturn Roe v. Wade. This woman was obviously a menace to society and needed to be stopped.

  "Excuse me," I interrupted, "I have a question. Is it okay to drink while you're pregnant ... ?/ you're planning on giving the baby up for adoption?" This time Dumb Dumb didn't follow me outside.

  There were four Mexican guys hanging around on the Lido Deck. I will refer to them as "cholos" only because one of them was wearing a hat that said, "CHOLO."

  "What's up, homeys?" I asked as I slid down in a chaise longue next to them. They were smoking pot out of something that looked like a cigar. "Is that a spliff?" I asked.

  "Yes, mija, would you like to take a puff?" I had learned my lesson the hard way about laced marijuana and was too drunk to smoke marijuana that wasn't laced.

  "No thanks, homey. You guys heading back to Mexico?"

  One of the guys came over. "My name is Rico," he said. He wore white volleyball socks up to his knees with cutoff tan Dickies and a thick black belt. A white wife-beater tank top completed his outfit. His head was shaved, but he had a bushy mustache.

  As Rico sat down next to me, I leaned over and violently threw up. His three friends backed away in disgust. I felt embarrassed but I couldn't stop heaving. I vaguely remember the three guys saying something about leaving, but Rico opted to stay by my side and hold my hair.

  He finally moved me to where I could throw up over the balcony, and I spent the next four hours doing just that. I couldn't move an inch and he understood completely. At one point he took a rubber band out of his pocket and put my hair in a ponytail. This guy was turning out to be very dependable. Without him, there was a good chance I would've fallen overboard. He looked through my pockets to find my key, and around midnight, he said it was time for him to take me to my cabin.

  "I'll sleep here, just leave me alone," I cried.

  "No, mij a, you cannot sleep here. You will freeze like a turkey."

  It was pretty cold, but I doubt I would have frozen, and I wished he hadn't brought up Thanksgiving.

  After another hour I agreed to let him carry me back to my cabin, which was not an easy route to negotiate considering the narrowness of the hallways. People glared at us as he strode inside with me in his arms like a scene out of The English Patient and asked if everything was okay. I tried to answer them but could only slur.

  As he opened the door to our room, Dumb Dumb flew to her feet in her Shrek pajamas and screamed, "Oh, my God, are you okay?" Then, "Who the fuck are you?"

  "Calm down, mij a, I am just delivering your friend," Rico said.

  "Get out," she screamed. "Heeeeeelp!"

  "Yo, yo yo, chill lady, chill," he said and then turned around to leave as she picked up a shoe and hurled it in his direction.

  "Thanks," I slurred as I heard the door shut. I climbed into the lower bunk bed. "Shut up, he took care of me," I told Dumb Dumb as I passed out.

  When I woke up the next morning, feeling five pounds lighter, I informed Dumb Dumb that we needed
to get off the ship at Ensenada and pay some Mexicans to drive us to Los Angeles. "I cannot spend New Year's Eve on this boat."

  "No way, that's crazy. We could get raped," she said.

  "Well, at least we'd have a good New Year's!" I yelled. Rape didn't sound as bad as spending another day on this cruise. "Think about it," I said. "I know they have those parasailing rides on the beaches in Mexico; maybe we could parasail back." Then I rolled over and went back to sleep.

  "You can gamble now. We're in Mexico," Dumb Dumb said when she woke me up two hours later.

  Immediately, I felt better. Since I would need a cheeseburger and a couple of hours to recover before my next cocktail, we headed to the cafeteria for lunch. I explained to her over the world's most disgusting cheeseburger that Rico had taken good care of me last night and that she shouldn't judge people based on their socks.

  "I was scared. I didn't know where you were, and my father told me not to leave the cabin after dark," she said. It was no surprise to me that she had called her father. She called him several times a day in New Jersey to ask him things like whether it was going to rain in California and if it was okay to eat at Subway, the sandwich chain. My favorite piece of advice he had given her was to never use tampons and only wear maxipads because, "There's a killer out there, and its name is toxic shock syndrome. ' ' I wanted to tell her father that I was living proof that a tampon could survive inside of a woman for up to three days before any real symptoms flared up, but I was becoming more adept at picking my battles.

  I asked Dumb Dumb if she thought any more about my idea for getting back to Los Angeles.

  "My father said no way, it would be way too dangerous," she told me.

  I thought about going it alone, but I couldn't leave her here on this ship by herself. Still, I couldn't believe this boat was where I was meant to wreak havoc on New Year's Eve.

  "Fine," I said. "Let's go gamble. I'll teach you how to play blackjack."

  I gambled for close to eight hours straight with Dumb Dumb standing guard. I was up four hundred dollars and was feeling great. She was too nervous to waste any of her own money, so finally I gave her one hundred dollars in chips and she played with that. She appeared to be winning, but she always bet the minimum amount, which was good because it meant she was occupied for a longer period of time.

  I would have been happy gambling into the wee hours of the morning if necessary and asked our dealer how late he was open. "For the next thirty hours," he said, "until we get back to California." That's when the Scott Wolf look-alike walked past our table. I hadn't had anything to drink yet, and his presence alone was reason enough to celebrate. He wasn't as cute as Scott Wolf, but neither was anyone else on this cruise. He had lighter hair and a rather stocky physique for someone not much taller than five-five. Dumb Dumb elbowed me. We both knew he was by far the best-looking guy on this boat, and his smooth, soft skin reminded me of myself a couple of months earlier.

  "Don't even think about it," I said through a tight smile. "You can have Rico."

  I looked over at the boy who was saving my New Year's and said, "Excuse me, would you mind coming over here a minute?"

  "Sure," he said and walked over to us.

  "Is your name Kevin?" I asked him. This was my new favorite pickup line.

  "No," he said.

  "Really? Do I look familiar to you?"

  "A little bit," he told me. That meant he was interested.

  "Well this is Dumb Dumb and I'm Single," I told him.

  "Shut up, that is not my name," she said.

  He was laughing now and I knew I would have sex with him. "Do you have any friends with you?" I asked.

  "Sure," he said. "A bunch of us will be at Club Paradise on the Upper Deck in about an hour. Would you like to join us?" I thought about reminding him that this was a cruise ship and if we did show up at Club Paradise it didn't necessarily mean we were joining him, but I kept my mouth shut.

  "We'll meet you there," I said. He was very cute and I was elated. It turned out that, after all, showers would be necessary. "Let's go get ready," I told Dumb Dumb.

  She was more excited than a chimpanzee holding a banana. "Oh, my gosh! This is amazing! Do you think his friends will be cute too? What should I wear? I'm so excited. I hope there's dancing."

  I hoped there wasn't dancing, but I wasn't going to let that spoil my only chance of a hookup on New Year's. This would be my third New Year's in a row that I was single, and I wasn't going to let it go by without hooking up. If a fourth New Year's went by without any action I would be in an official slump.

  We took showers with our flip-flops on in an effort to avoid direct contact with the carpet, and while we dressed, I drank three more plastic cups filled with vodka and switched to orange juice for some vitamin C. Having missed dinner on purpose in order to avoid another confrontation with John Ashcroft's wife, I downed a couple of Power Bars to ensure enough stamina on the dance floor. I looked hot and, most of all, skinny. I love the day after throwing up. I felt like a feather.

  We went up to Club Paradise, which is an interesting name for anything on a ship that should have been sunk by a torpedo years earlier. I spotted my ? version of Scott Wolf surrounded by a couple of other corpulent figures. They all had the same clean-cut college boy look going on, and they all seemed like they were in their early twenties. I was twenty-six at the time and figured I had to take what I could get at this point on my trip. It's not that my guy wasn't cute, but if we had been on land, his having a full set of teeth wouldn't have been an added bonus.

  As usual, Dumb Dumb was clinging to me, so I made one of his friends ask her to dance. This gave me an opportunity to get my man alone. Plus, I don't like to make my moves in front of an audience.

  His name was Les, which sounded like a child molester's name, but again I knew this was probably God testing me, and I had to take what was thrown my way. As soon as I saw Dumb Dumb start relaxing with her guy, I leaned in and asked Les if he had his own cabin.

  "No, I'm sharing one," he said. "But my roommate is on the dance floor."

  "Well, do you have bunk beds?" I asked him.

  "Yeah, we do," he smiled in a cute, embarrassed way.

  "You want to go back to your cabin and fool around?" I asked him.

  "Absofuckinglutely," was his answer. I thought that was a pretty bold response for someone of such little stature. I was starting to like this guy more and more. I loved a man/ boy with confidence.

  I told Dumb Dumb that Les wanted to show me his cabin and that I'd be back in an hour. She wasn't happy about it, so I gave her some food for thought. I explained that this cruise was going to be like a coming-out party for her and if she showed signs of maturing out of adolescence and into the beginning stages of adulthood, who knew how many more vacations together were in the cards for us. When that didn't seem to work, I promised her a year's subscription to Tiger Beat.

  I was pretty buzzed from having almost nothing in my stomach and I needed some cardio. That's why when the door to Les's cabin hadn't even closed all the way and he had already thrown me onto the lower bunk bed, I showed no signs of a struggle. In fact, I was turned on by how forceful he was and could not imagine his penis being any smaller than a standard-sized lint brush. I was auditioning him for my New Year's Eve sex partner, and so far it looked like he was definitely getting a callback.

  Boy, did I underestimate Les. Not only was his penis larger than average, he had the stamina of the Iraqi ground forces. He had the exact same physique as Serena Williams. Things were happening that even I couldn't keep up with. Before I knew it, not only were my clothes off, but somehow I was on the top bunk. Les launched into a vault across the room to the porthole, where he grabbed a condom and then triple saichowed back up to me. This guy belonged in the Olympics--and not the ones I would have qualified for. All of a sudden, he was on top of me. Just before we started having sex, he flipped me around and I was on all fours. I had never been manhandled like this before and was rea
lly enjoying myself. This cruise was turning out to be an episode of The Love Boat, after all; I would have to check tomorrow about availability for next year.

  That's when Les hit me. Not a slap or a caress, just an open-handed full throttle strike against my right ass cheek. It was with such force that not only did I cough, I almost flew off the bed. In the couple of seconds it took me to remember his name, he hit me three more times, alternating ass cheeks.

  "Hey! You! Stop that!" I managed to yell out.

  "What's the matter?" he stopped to ask.

  "Did you just hit me?" I turned to look at him so he wasn't staring at the back of my head.

  "You don't like that?" he asked me in a soft voice. Now he was back to his original self.

  "Well, I don't know, I guess . . . wasn't I doing good?" was the nonsense that left my mouth in the form of a question. Spanking was usually something you discuss beforehand. I felt a little violated and thought that after we were done I was going to be forced to make him a sandwich or something.

  "You seem like you like it," he said breathing heavily. The truth was that I did kind of like it, but at the same time, it seemed so violent that I felt as if I should object. I was in a tailspin of confusion I hadn't experienced since the first time I heard George W. Bush speak. It wasn't that I didn't like confrontation. I did, but I had never had a disagreement during the act of sex before and I hadn't known Les long enough to have our first fight. I thought about hitting him back, but that seemed too manufactured. It was usually me calling the shots in bed, and I didn't know how to react to someone else taking the wheel. Especially when we were technically the same size.

  "It's okay, I guess," I told him. And so it continued, for the next fifteen minutes until he climaxed which, coincidentally, also bordered on bearlike behavior.

  "How old are you?" I asked him after we were done. I was lying on the top bunk and he had moved to the bottom. I was lonely and felt like making small talk. I had never been left so quickly after sex before, though I had done it many times to others. Now that the shoe was on the other foot, I began to realize what abandonment was all about.