Marcia, Marcia, Marcia does coke, coke, coke. But McCormack manages to write about it (and her manic-depression) without feeling too sorry for herself, and I thought it was truly fascinating reading about the various Hollywood ecosytems of the 1970s and 80s. I liked that finding god didn't fix everything for her all of a sudden, and I liked that even though it took her time to realize she needed to change for the better in order to keep the people she loves in her life, once she did realize that, she committed to it. It's friendly, conversational, and honest.
He had a roving eye, which made me never feel quite pretty enough. I don't know why I always went after those type of guys; it always ended in disappointment. And that's how it was with Steve. (P.S. I don't think I lost my virginity to him, not in a strict interpretation. But I can't be sure, since some of our fooling around may have qualified.)