He popped a blueberry into his mouth. "Well, let's hope he'll kayak all the way back to California where he came from. Or if we're lucky, a heavy fog will roll in and he won't be able to find his way back. I need him out of my eye line. You picked a real winner there, Chelsea, a real one-two punch."

Obviously, my parents had had a conversation about my father's eye line.

"Why out of all your flaky friends in Los Angeles would you choose to bring a gay with you? Are you trying to tell us something?" he said as he playfully jabbed my side. "Our little Chelsea isn't a lesbian, is she?"

"No, Dad, I'm not a lesbian. I sleep with guys all the time," I replied and walked outside.

An hour later I was flat ironing my two-year-old niece's hair when Nathan entered the room, sweating profusely and reeking of tequila. "Sloane and I just rewrote her vows," he said.

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"They were good, but they weren't great," he said. "I helped spice them up a bit."

"Are you drunk already? You stink of tequila."

"No, no, I'm fine. I just had a little shot," he told me. "Your father asked me to help set up the chairs for the ceremony. I think he likes me!"

It was time for all the bridesmaids to help Sloane get ready. After we got her dressed, she requested to be alone with Nathan before her walk down the aisle. While I was glad that someone in my family was responding positively to him, I wasn't clear about what kind of quick alliance they had formed, one so profound that it resulted in me not sharing the most important moment of my sister's life with her.

I went around our property checking on this and that and trying to keep my boobs in the dress my mother had sewn for me. She made each one of the bridesmaids a dress of the same material. I, of course, ended up being the only one who looked like a prostitute.

Being Mormon, Sloane had never used drugs and rarely drank alcohol. So it was clear to anyone who knew her that as she staggered down the aisle, she was intoxicated. Her new vows included lines from three different Grateful Dead songs. After she said, "and you're so smart, you could've been a school book," my sister Sidney whispered in my ear, "What the hell is she talking about?"

Once the ceremony had ended, we had a receiving line on the deck that faced the water. Sloane hoisted a glass of champagne, spilling some onto the ground. My father intercepted. He grabbed the glass, went inside, and poured it into Whitefoot's bowl. Then he ordered me to get some sparkling cider instead.

When the reception was under way, I found my table and sat next to Nathan.

Nathan winked and pointed between his legs. He had stolen a bottle of Cuervo from the bartender and hid it under our table where he could get to it quicker. Apparently the twenty-foot walk to the bar was too long a haul for him- and he didn't want to miss a beat hitting on my straight cousin sitting next to him. My cousin Neil, who was in from New York, politely excused himself and took his name-place with him.

Nathan was perspiring like a professional wrestler by the time he ordered his third lobster from the waitress. "What are you on?" I asked him. "You're dripping."

"Nothing, silly pickle! I'm just having a good time." I figured he'd be occupied with his bottle, so I got up to mingle. My father came over to me and asked if Nathan thought he was at Red Lobster.

"Listen, Dad, just ignore him. Have a good time. Look!" I pointed. "Sloane wants to dance with you."

Sloane and my dad hadn't been dancing for thirty seconds when Nathan shimmied onto the dance floor and cut in. I cleared three tables and the dance floor in just the amount of time needed to get Nathan out of my father's personal space.

"Cut the shit," I said through clenched teeth, while smiling for anyone watching. "Take a walk," I said. "A long one."

"I'd like to make a toast," were the next words out of Nathan's mouth.

He started clinking his glass of tequila with a knife. I shut my eyes in horror. "This is on behalf of me and Chelsea," he slurred.

My brother Greg yelled, "Let's hear it!" as the music and conversation came to a startling halt.

"I just want to say that I have never felt more welcome at somebody's house than I have at Mr. and Mrs. Handler's. This place is such a respite from my hectic and busy lifestyle in Hollywood where I produce music. I'm also interested in fitness. Anyway, there's nothing more beautiful than seeing a Mormon and a nonpracticing Christian come together at a Jewish gathering. All's fair in love and war."

Then he grabbed his bottle of tequila from under the table and stumbled away from the party.

About an hour later, mostly in fear of Whitefoot's safety, I walked around the property looking for Nathan to no avail. I did find Whitefoot. He was tied to a tree on the other side of the house, eating a lobster that my father, no doubt, had provided him with. Next to the lobster was a ramekin with melted butter for dipping.

At around eight P.M., when the party was winding down, I went into the basement to use the bathroom. That's where I found Nathan smoking pot with my thirteen-year-old cousin Kevin. He couldn't understand what was wrong with the situation and why I was being such a bitch.

I didn't understand how somebody could be so inappropriate at someone's parents' house. I had been Emily Post's alter ego when visiting Nathan's parents and never so much as swore in front of them, never mind consuming an entire bottle of tequila with no mixer. I proceeded to go off on him for close to five minutes, then grabbed my little cousin, took a hit of his joint, and started back up the stairs. I told Nathan he was not allowed out for the rest of the night, to which he inquired, "What about my lobster?" I went to our table, grabbed his plate with the lobster, and while descending the steps into the basement, took the lobster and threw it at him. He responded with a scream that sounded very similar to a cat getting gangbanged.

He woke up the next morning on the front lawn to my father spraying a hose on him.

"You're going to miss your flight," my father said. I was still so incensed at Nathan's behavior that I had Greg take him to the airport four hours early. When my brother returned, he announced to everyone in our living room with a huge grin on his face, "Well, have no fear, it looks like Robert Downey Junior got off without a hitch. We'll have to tune in to the local news later and see if his plane lands safely or if he ends up hijacking it."

"Shut up," I said. "He's not usually like that."

"I think we can all agree that Chelsea should not be allowed to bring anyone else back to any family gathering unless they are engaged to be married." My brother knew the chances of me getting engaged were about as probable as me releasing a hip-hop album.

My mother looked up from playing with my niece and said, "I think Greg is right, sweetheart. I think maybe when we have you all to ourselves it's more fun." My mother always put a spin on things to make it sound like every decision was based on how amazing you were to be around. I didn't want to bring anyone back there again, anyway. There was too much abuse from my siblings and father to endure another tandem vacation.

"You should really think about the company you keep," my father said. "You've got a real soft spot for lunatics. You're a beautiful girl, and I'd hate to see that figure go to waste."