Jodie Sweetin’s Book Not So, Uh, Sweet
You can tell a lot about a book by the first sentence. And the first sentence of Jodie Sweetin’s memoir is pretty telling: “F**k it” (only without the astericks). You probably remember Jodie as Stephanie Tanner on “Full House,” the middle sister with blonde hair who had perfected the art of wearing a scrunchie. So when she popped out of obscurity in 2006 and appeared on “Good Morning America” to reveal that she was a recovering coke and meth addict, it was pretty shocking. Turns out, it was only half true—she was an addict, but she was hardly recovered. She had a serious relapse, even as she began touring the country and warning college students about the dangers of drugs. Next Tuesday, Jodie’s memoir Unsweetined comes out, and finally she’s ready to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. And it’s pretty gritty. Read an excerpt after the jump.
It was a typical night of partying. I met some people at a bar in Hermosa Beach that played house music on Sundays from 2:00 p.m. until around 2:00 a.m. I was friendly with the bar’s owner so there was always a table waiting for me, and half-priced bottles for being such a good customer.
From the second I walked in, it was on. Some friend gave me a hug and put Ecstasy right in my mouth. That’s how the night started. Simple as that.
Coke. No problem. We were doing it right at the table. Meth wasn’t as socially acceptable so I did that at home, alone, or with a couple friends who were also using. But the coke, the Ecstasy — the party — went until closing. It almost always did.
Then it was back to my place in Westchester, a Los Angeles neighborhood around the corner from LAX. It was always back to my place. Somehow the group had grown to about fifteen or twenty people. I was playing the role of after-party host. Looking back, I think I liked the control. I was always the driver, the host; it was always my show. With people waiting to party, I went into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in one hand, a bottle of champagne under my arm, and a big plate of coke in the other hand for all of my guests. The crowd went wild. Standing ovation. Just how I liked it.
As usual the party continued into the near-daylight hours. There was still a plate of coke on the living-room table and a handful of friends — and I use that term loosely — were making themselves at home.
The only problem? In seven hours I would be standing in front of a roomful of college students at Marquette University telling them how great it felt to overcome a drug addiction and how important it was to stay off drugs. I had a flight to catch and needed to be at the airport by 5:30 a.m., and at a quarter to five, I was still nose-deep in a pile of cocaine with a roomful of strangers listening to house music. And I hadn’t even packed! …
On the car ride I realized I was wearing a t-shirt that said “Things you shouldn’t take to the airport” with pictures of drugs, guns, and a toothpaste tube larger than three ounces. I was one for three; I was carrying a bag of cocaine because I knew I couldn’t get through the next twenty-four hours without it — and praying the stupid shirt didn’t give me away to the airport security guard. That sort of paranoia comes along with drug use. The guard searching my bag will not see the humor in my t-shirt and will look extra hard through my bags. Oh my God! What am I going to do?
He did search pretty hard, but not because of the shirt. I took a deep breath and attempted to remain cool as the guard rummaged through my belongings. My friend who drove me to the airport told me I probably shouldn’t talk to anybody because at that point I couldn’t put together a complete sentence. The security guy took out my cosmetic case and asked me about every item. It took every ounce of energy I had to get out the words “lip gloss” and “mascara” without looking like a complete wreck. But I was dying inside. I thought this was it. I was going to get busted. How could I not? The guard then pulled out the compact where I kept my coke. My heart was beating through my chest. I thought for sure I was going to be arrested. And then it happened…
“OK, ma’am, have a nice flight.” [Amazon]
So what do you think—will you buy Jodie’s book?