Here is a bit of a bite from Chapter 2 of The Other Side of Normal.

I met a guy on one of those trips to LA. Nothing to really write home about. Just a guy in a punk band and we dated for several months. He had his own apartment with his older brother, which I thought was very grown up. We went to a lot of shows, drank too much, and smoked a lot of pot. There was a lot of lying to my mom at the time: Just going over to this and that girlfriend’s house for the night. When I turned 18, he showed up at a small party some friends gave to help me celebrate. But that was it. No card. No present. Just a cigarette in his mouth and ripped jeans.