It's slightly disconcerting when someone not only outweirds your weird childhood, but seems to handle all the resulting mental trauma better than you do. And when I say better, I mean in a way that helps them make money and become a famous, best-selling author. Yes, I didn't become an alcoholic. But being an alcoholic while still maintaining a financially rewarding career is much more glamorous, or at least socially acceptable, than self-sabotaging any forward progress you make in your life by getting pregnant unexpectedly, and then spending your nights raiding the cabinet for Little Debbie Snack Cakes*.
All my resentment aside, I love Augusten Burroughs. I love that he is totally upfront about his worst qualities - his selfishness, self-centeredness, materialism...all qualities that I share, although I do try to squelch them.
His first book is being made into a movie that looks excellent - Running With Scissors - click on the Film/TV link to see a preview.
*Little Debbie Snack Cakes are not actually my weapon of choice when it comes to compulsively eating something bad for me. I have eaten them, but would prefer to not, because they are gross. I'm more likely to make some homemade pudding and then eat the whole pot. Or have 3 cheeseburgers, or an entire sleeve of Ritz crackers with cheese. I'm working on the problem.