It’s passages like this that best illustrate why Augusten Burroughs has become such a popular memoirist. Somehow, Burroughs manages to use his own neuroses to create both humor and empathy as he recounts his experiences, first as a child and later as a grown man. This particular scene from a café exemplifies Burroughs’s short struggle in the dating world. My best friend growing up called it, "losing her ‘no’," which I thought was a very accurate way of describing her inability to refuse the advances of guys we both knew were losers. Burroughs claims the phenomenon didn’t occur for him until he turned thirty (Laura, fortunately, found her "no" after we graduated from high school). He suddenly became unable to extricate himself from a date that was fast spiraling downward. That, coupled with his reliance on Internet dating to find potential boyfriends, added up to several boring and uncomfortable evenings.

Burroughs’s latest book, Possible Side Effects, will sound familiar to anyone who read Running With Scissors or Dry, his earlier memoirs. Burroughs tends to bounce from one topic to another, often catapulting through decades of memories at a time. Possible Side Effects is not as cohesive as Dry; it lacks the single thread that pulls the individual vignettes together by the end of the book. However, it’s not really necessary to have that thread to enjoy a book, and Augusten Burroughs has a dry, cynical sense of humor that many people, myself included, can certainly appreciate.

I particularly enjoyed his observations about college name-dropping. Burroughs had a non-traditional education; he was homeschooled and didn’t attend college. Given his tendency towards neurotic, compulsive behavior and his low self-esteem, he eventually began collecting t-shirts from various universities. His most prized t-shirt? Harvard. Until, that is, the elevator incident occurred:

Burroughs has the ability to turn the average person’s rants into descriptions of the witty (sometimes deliciously cruel) things we’ve all wanted to say at one point or another but never had the guts or the quick tongue to actually speak. The end of the elevator exchange is not exactly printable here, but it’s the perfect example of the elusive quick comeback. This is not the conclusion of the chapter on college t-shirts, but only the beginning of a life-long obsession. Although he misplaces the Harvard shirt (subconscious at work?), he is able to replace it when he is accidentally given the key to an already-occupied room in a hotel. There he sees the familiar logo taunting him from the shirts spilling from the suitcase open on the bed. Of course it is fate; of course he steals it.

I think the reason I like Burroughs’s writing so much is because I harbor my own neurotic, obsessive, self-destructive behaviors. Recently, friends of mine and Beth’s half-jokingly referred us to a house for sale in the area. "It’s perfect for you!" they raved, which, of course, meant it was dirt cheap (by Rehoboth standards) and in need of major renovation. Just for kicks, we went to go see it. For the next three nights, I didn’t sleep. I stared at the ceiling of our Spring Lake condo (which we JUST finished painting and fixing up) and watched as HVAC systems, roof shingles, and the middle section of the IKEA catalogue floated above my head. I walked around with my stomach in knots. I got up at 6 a.m. and drove by the house, circling the neighborhood so many times I’m surprised no one called the police. Finally, in one of my lesser moments, I cried.

Needless to say, Beth eventually came around to my side in her very logical, methodical way (we really do balance each other). We made an offer; they countered. We countered; they hesitated. "We’ll give you a call this evening," they said. I chewed off the fingers on my left hand (the nails being long gone). And then, they accepted! The end of my anxiety? Of course not. Now I am equally obsessed with selling our condo. Unlike the average seller, I cannot sit back and let our very capable realtor do his job. I am designing flyers, mass emails, and a website. I have begun every conversation since last Thursday with, "So, know anyone who wants to buy a one-bedroom condo?" I’m beginning to alienate people. Suffice to say, Burroughs has some competition in me; it’s easier to laugh when it’s someone else’s problems.

Possible Side Effects does have its darker moments. After all, Burroughs himself is pretty dark. His mother, as in his earlier books, plays a significant role in his analysis of the source of his anxiety-ridden development. Overall, though, Burroughs continues to entertain anyone from a dysfunctional family (ha!); with an addiction to substance or behavior; who has had bad experiences dating, working, drinking, writing, speaking, or breathing; or who may want to know the true statistical analysis of racial profiling at fast-food restaurants. Warning: you may cringe, laugh, or cheer while reading. Oh, and by the way, know anyone who wants to buy a condo?