After three and a half years of living in Atlanta, I finally made it out of suburgatory and moved to the city. Not to say that my time in Chambodia wasn’t great; where else in the South can you get a car wash, a lap dance, and an authentic bowl of pho at 3 a.m.?
That said, my life has improved infinitely in the short time that I’ve been in the city. I’ve ditched the cuntadactyl of a roommate I was living with, adopted Humphrey
and threw a bitchin’ house party.
Please note that during this time I was in the longest sustained amphetamine-free blackout in personal history: roughly six and a half hours. Therefore most of this recap is a combination of speculation, pieced-together secondhand accounts, and several eyewitness reports.
I was expecting really big things out of this book, and to be honest, I was a little disappointed. The first few essays were about Augusten’s childhood and were admittedly chuckle-worthy. They involved a life-sized wax Santa with a half-eaten face and a gingerbread public housing unit. But as the book progressed, the stories became more and more melancholy. He described his drunk Christmas spent with bums in New York City, and an affair with a fat French Santa.
Overall, the book lacked Augusten’s usual sharp wit and eye for hilarious details. I wouldn’t recommend spending $21.99 on the hardcover version. With my Barnes and Noble member’s card it was $18 and some change, still a little steep. Maybe it’ll be out in paperback next year.
If you’re in the mood for a little holiday absurdity, I recommend reading “Holidays on Ice” by David Sedaris. The best part is, you can buy it used on Amazon for $1.89.