Chelsea Handler and I have a lot in common. We both really like vodka. We slept our way to the top.  We share an affinity for midgets. We’re both named Chelsea. Yes, there we go. Okay, so it’s not A LOT, but it is the thing that prompted me to read her book. It used to be that every time I introduced myself, people exclaimed “Oh, like Chelsea Clinton!” I had a brief break from that during the Bush presidency, and then Chelsea Handler came along. So I had to see what all the fuss was about…just like my little sister, Chanel, has to buy every Chanel perfume known to man.

Reading Chelsea Handler’s book “Are You There Vodka? It’s Me, Chelsea” is like watching reality TV or indulging in movie theater popcorn: you know you shouldn’t be doing it, but it feels good at the time. It’s an easy respite from day-to-day life…and yet when it’s over, you have a sudden unrelenting urge to take a shower. Like going on a date with an ex-boyfriend, you realize halfway through that it’s a pretty bad idea, but of course you can’t just stop. You HAVE to see where this train wreck is headed.

With Chelsea Handler, the train is on the fast-track to bizarro-land. She’s headed for an awkward jailhouse romp, imaginary childhood celebrity status, and a brief stop in beastiality-town. Yeah, this book takes you a lot of weird places and will likely have you saying, “I can’t believe I’m still reading this” for an entire 264 pages. In the end - in spite of her occasionally annoying forced humor - you’ll probably finish ”Are You There Vodka? It’s Me, Chelsea” in one sitting. And you will (eventually) read another one of her books…just as surely as you’ll sit through another Real World Brooklyn marathon. Because sometimes, that’s exactly what you need.