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New York Cool - Ask Miss Wendy

Ask Miss Wendy -  Miss Wendy's Texas Love Advice to New York's Sexually Challenged

Miss Wendy's Texas Love Advice
Plus Some Occasional Comments on the
State of the Popular Culture

Ask Miss Wendy
L-R: Michael Mazocco, Wendy R. Williams, Armistead Johnson
Photo Credit: Stephen Mosher

Click here for Miss Wendy's Latest Column

Dear Miss Wendy,

Do you think water beds are sexy?


Mariner Man

Dear Mariner,

No. Because everytime I see a water bed there is an aging male hippy lolling on it.

Dear Miss Wendy,

I am coming to New York for the CMJ Music Festival (October 16-20, 2007) How should I reinvent myself so I get "lucky" while I am here?


Twitchy Music Fan

Dear Twitch,

The look would be British rocker punk (see photos below of Amy Winehouse and her husband Blake Fielder-Civil). I know, I know! They certainly are not conventionally pretty (please lose the blood and track marks) but this is the look that is rocking the streets during CMJ (I just got back from the West Village). But there is one caveat, make the look your own by reinterpreting it. Then do what we did in the South, put on all your regalia and stand in front of a full length mirror, twirl around quickly and remove the first item you see (starting with the cigarette).

Added Bonus: When you return home, you can reuse your new/old threads look as your Halloween costume (you can restore the blood and the track marks).

But not the cigarette. Cuz it's fun to look like you're dying, but no fun to actually die. Besides, a careful reading of Anne Rice's books will show you that vampires don't actually have sex.

Blake Fielder-Civil
Harvey Nichols Department Store After The Launch of Olsen Twins
'The Row'
London October 9, 2007
Solarpix / PR Photos

Amy Winehouse
Harvey Nichols Department Store After The Launch of Olsen Twins
'The Row'
London October 9, 2007
Solarpix / PR Photos

Dear Miss Wendy,

I just read your answer about how the sexiest smell for a bedroom is clean and I don't believe you for a minute! How about the sweaty smell of sex or even that nasty whiskey and cigarette bar smell?


Bar Stool Babe

Dear Babe,

Okay! Okay! Sweat and that nasty bar smell are sexy, but those scents need to be treated like fresh fish and house guests and thrown out the window after three days.

Dear Miss Wendy,

What is the best scent I can use to make my bedroom sexy?


Perfumed Passion

Dear Perfumed,

The sexiest scent you can smell in a bedroom is no scent at all (as in clean) and that means no farting and no smoking. I personally love the smell of sheets that have been washed in Tide. But if you insist on scenting up the bedroom, try the rosewater fabric sprays from L'Occitane or or burn a Votivo candles.

Dear Miss Wendy,

What is the best music to use for my “romantic moments?”


Inner Symphony Conductor

Dear Conductor,

Dance music mixes with one, two, three, four beat are best. What works in the clubs, runways and Ipods-on-the-treadmill, also works in the bedroom. Try Club Cielo’s Volare and Seventh Heaven. For a sample, see

If keeping up with the beat is too hard or if you want something more romantic, try any of the Buddha Bar DJ sets.

I have heard that some gay guys play the music from musicals like Phantom of the Opera and Miss Saigon, but there is no way for me to actually verify that information.

Dear Miss Wendy,

I am smitten with this boy who has a massive crush on Brittany Spears. I have tried shaving my head, gaining weight, dancing clumsily and I even bought a trailer. He pays me no attention.

What can I do??


Baffled in Babylon

There is nothing you can do. It’s not just the sex, it’s the money, babe! Ms. Spears is a millionaire many times over and in all her dysfunctional glory she has the power to pluck a Cinderfella like Kevin Federline out of the car washes of life and turn his frog into a prince. And if romance eventually pales (as it always does), as long as Britney continues to be lousy about counting pills (or telling the days of the week), there might be yet another Baby Spears and our love-lorn lad could collect whopping child support (KFed gets $50,000 a MONTH) for the next eighteen years. This chance to hop on the Spears money train is one powerful aphrodisiac, my dear. So unless Babylon is now growing millionaires you are SOL.

Dear Miss Wendy,

I have been following your correspondence with the New York “window dancers” and their telescope-using-neighbors-across-the-street. I am not presently a New York resident; I live in suburban New Jersey (I know, I know) so I am only able to perform when I visit the city. But when I am in town I carefully select my hotel rooms to be sure that the windows are situated in such a way that my “my show” has an audience. (I do a Dita Von Teese/Sally Rand fan act; I have custom made suitcases for my fans.)

But I was fascinated to read an article in yesterday’s New York Times about all the new glass- walled condos that are being built in New York and Brooklyn and even though it will involve considerable sacrifice financially, I am planning on coming to New York this week to purchase one of these units.

Does Miss Wendy have any advice?


Window Dancer

Dear Window,

I also was fascinated to read about these wonderful “glass box” condos and immediately thought about my readers who love to “put on a show.” My only caveat is that according to the article, some of these units have scrims built into the window that might prevent your neighbors and any potential passersby from getting a proper view. So you might want to get the advice from a lighting designer and be sure to be explicit in your instructions, otherwise they may wrongfully assume that you want a lighting design that assures your privacy. .

Dear Miss Wendy,

I saw Kid Rock on The David Letterman Show the other night. When Dave asked Kid if he had any advice for Rick Salomon (Pamela Anderson’s new husband), Kid replied, “Why buy the cow, if you can get the milk for free?”



Dear Huh?

I simply boggles my mind how Pamela could have divorced a suave sophisticated man like Kid Rock; that girl just walked out the door after only three months of wedded bliss [and right into the arms of another reprobate, but that is the subject of another letter]. That Kid is such a silver tongued devil, blessed with such a talent for original witty expression – a true hetro Oscar Wilde. Surely some sophisticated classy woman will quickly snatch him out of his divorce doldrums. Is Denise Richards available?

Dear Miss Wendy,

I wrote you yesterday about how my boyfriend does not like my dog, Rufus, just because Rufus occasionally sticks his nose where it does not belong. You immediately assumed I was a woman and told me to get rid of him, my boyfriend not the dog, and find a guy who has a Great Dane before we had to get divorced and split up the china. Well….. I am a gay man and I can’t get divorced because I can’t get married and there is no way I am letting a Great Dane in to my tiny studio apartment.


Miffed on Bleeker

Dear Miffed,

You wouldn’t let a Great Dane into your apartment even if he had just won the Mr. Gay Copenhagen Award?

Sorry, I digress. As for my assuming you were a woman when I gave you that advice about losing the non-dog-loving guy and finding a fellow dog lover before you had to split up the kids, house and unwanted china, that advice applies to gay men and lesbians too.

You can’t fool me. I watched a documentary about Rosie’s Gay Family Cruise and I have never seen a more conventional looking group of family-values-advocates. Why the whole outing looked like a bunch of parsons-on-a-picnic!

So there! Even gay men and lesbians are not being spared the reality of Tulsa, Oklahoma suburban lifestyles. And of course, gay men and women should be allowed to get married; someone needs to "support the institution of marriage" and heterosexuals just can't seem to get it right the first, second or even third time they try. They just keep asking for do-overs. Examples: Pamela Anderson and the majority of the Republican Presidential candidates.

But since you are a gay man, I will modify the dog advice. You can look for a man who has a designer dog that matches his clothing just as long as he did not buy the dog from a puppy mill. And since you live in a studio apartment and already have your own large dog (making you top dog), please try to fall for a man with a smaller dog.

Dear Miss Wendy,

I just started dating this really great guy but he doesn’t like my dog. Rufus, my dog not my boyfriend, is a lovable golden-retriever-and-something-or-the-other-mix. But he, my dog not my boyfriend, can be a little rambunctious and when my boyfriend and I are doing our thing, sometimes Rufus’ nose ends up in the wrong place. And since I live in a studio apartment, there is really no place for Rufus to sleep other than with us in my bed.


Doggie Do

Dear Doo Doo,

It’s time to get rid of the boyfriend, say “Next” and find a guy who has a Great Dane. There are only two kinds of people in the world: dog people and no dog people. So break it up now before you have to figure out what to do about child custody, the mortgage and the china-we-just-had-to-have-but-now-no-one-wants.

As for where Miss Wendy stands on the scale of dogs or no dogs, Miss Wendy loves dogs but she also loves couches and oriental rugs.

Dear Miss Wendy,

What are the "hottest" hotels in downtown New York?



Dear Seeker,

What story do you want to tell or in the words from the musical Miss Saigon, what it the "the movie in your mind"?

Here are some cool downtown hotels where you can be cool and downtown.

If you are a bohemian kid, the best choice would be the Howard Johnson on Houston Street. Yes the hotel itself is boring but it is right in the midst of the funky and arty Lower East Side neighborhood known as LES.

If you are an independent film maker (with a few more dollars than the bohemian kid), there is the LES 21 story glass tower Hotel on Rivington with its 70’s themed cave bar. The Hotel on Rivington is just steps from hot night spots like the Andy Warhol inspired 205 Bar, a hot spot for stylish stars like Sienna Miller. And the Hotel is just a quick cab ride to Butter, a hot spot for stars like Uma Thurman.

In the heart of the shopping/arting/clubbing Meat Packing district is the Soho House which advertises itself as members only but has rooms available to the public. The Soho House is the perfect place to channel your inner Sophia Coppola (Lost in Translation) or Noah Baumbach (Margot at the Wedding, presently at the New York Film Festival). Right across the street from the Soho House is the equally chic Gansevoort Hotel which boasts one of the best roof deck bars in Manhattan.

Tribeca Grand Hotel Bar
Photo Credit Wendy R. Williams

For only slightly more conventional types, there is the Tribeca Grand Hotel. The Tribeca Grand has a stunning lobby bar set in a soaring atrium - the home away from home for the filmmakers who trek to the Tribeca Film Festival.

Just down the street from the Tribeca Grand is the Soho Grand, which is just as beautiful and only slightly more sedate. The Soho Grand has an outdoor entertainment space, The Yard, that was used for some of the most fun fashion shows during September 2007 fashion week (Unruly Heir, Form).

And last there is 60 Thompson, a gorgeous little boutique hotel right in the heart of Soho. 60 Thompson’s members only rooftop club has been the site of many a celebrity photo shoot.

All these hotels (with the exception of the budget Howard Johnson) have hot bars that are just the sets to turn your non-Disneyfied "movie in your mind" into your personal reality show whether it be a New York based Lost in Translation or a remake of Nine 1/2 Weeks.

Dear Miss Wendy,

There is great news out of Las Vegas. Former Baywatch beauty Pamela Anderson (also formerly Mrs. Tommy Lee and formerly Mrs. Kid Rock) has married Rick Salomon (formerly Mr. Shannon Doherty and also Paris Hilton’s costar in her inaugural porn film One Night in Paris). They were married right after Pamela performed at the Las Vegas Planet Hollywood.


Tabloid Tilly

Dear Tabby,

The Pamela/Rick nuptials are pure camp. The only thing that would have made them campier would be if Tommy Lee and Kid Rock had been twin best men and Raoul Felder had been the official witness. Because you know your marriage is in trouble when the top Los Angeles divorce attorneys greet the announcement of your nuptials by entering your names in their Outlook contact reminders.

If the sixties taught us anything it is that you can make a mistake without marrying it and paying the divorce "tax" of up to half of everything you own to your ex and two sets of warring attorneys. And anytime you have a bride and groom who have both starred in their own home made porn videos, the situation spells disaster with a big DEE (as in DEE-saster).

But the real question is: how quickly will she change her name on her driver’s license? Never the mind that this is her third loser in like five years and that there are two children involved (and maybe some dogs – PETA are you on board?). For as we have all learned in the last weeks, the technicalities of the driver’s license laws are the litmus test for character in our new and amazing artificial celebrity world.

Dear Miss Wendy,

I am considering buying a Ralph Lauren four poster Safari bed? Do you think it will make my bedroom look sexy?


Traditional Teresa

Dear Trady,

That would depend upon who sleeps in it.

Dear Miss Wendy,

So Senator Larry Craig is not going to resign. Hmm..



Dear Plato,

Senator Craig needs to learn how to say: So what!

Here are some lines Senator Craig should memorize:

“I was in a public bathroom and this vice cop said I was tapping my toes and acting gay and I panicked because I am an old grandfather [who might be gay] and I simply did not know how to handle the situation so I pleaded guilty to a misdemeanor in the hope that the situation would just go away.”

Hey, it does not matter whether or not he IS gay. That is what happened and no one should lose a Senate seat because they were fidgeting in a stall, even for making hand signals under the stall. It’s too nebulous. Want sex? Want some toilet paper? And he is an old man and even the most militant gay activist surely has some older male relative (gay or straight) who would react the same way Senator Craig did.

This is one of those occasions when we as a tabloid reading nation have collectively gone out on an emotional bender. And a few years from now when we try to explain to someone who was not around at the time they are going to think we were crazy. Just exactly what was he doing? Well, “according to the arrest report cited by Roll Call, Craig tapped his right foot, which the officer said he recognized "as a signal used by persons wishing to engage in lewd conduct." Say what?

And by the way, Miss Wendy is a lifelong Democrat who supports gay marriage (better them than me) and would never vote for a Senator like Larry Craig because I don’t agree with him politically. But he should have the right to fidget in a bathroom (whether he is signalling gay intentions or constipation) and not be arrested. Crime needs to be overt.

The Minneapolis Police Department needs to instruct their officers that if they are in a restroom and some man makes eye contact, taps his feet and swipes his hand (notice I said his hand not his anything else) under the stall and the cop recognizes this "activity" as "a signal used by persons wishing to engage in lewd conduct," the proper response is, "Thanks but no thanks, I am busy trying to catch terrorists."

Dear Miss Wendy,

I am desperate. I have done everything you advised that I do to find a mate. I even ran in the New York City Marathon wearing a Save Tibet tee shirt And nothing! Every time I see my mother, she just looks at me and says, “So?”


Desperate in Brooklyn

Dear Desperate

Keep on truckin’ and don’t despair. No matter how harsh the dating scene appears, the Universe harbors your soul mate. And after all, ANYONE can get married. If you don’t believe me, make a trip to Kleinfelds Bridal Emporium in Brooklyn and look at the women who are trying on wedding dresses. Or go to any mid America mall and look at the couples walking through the mall. The marriage market may appear to be an insurmountable mountain but all you have to do is find one path across the top.

Dear Miss Wendy,

I am a young woman who just moved to New York City to work at an advertising firm and I really want to meet a nice man. Do you have any suggestions?


Lonely from Louisiana

Dear Lousiana,

There a million different ways to meet single people in New York: your work; singles bars (try the sports ones); volunteer work; dating services like EHarmony if you are Christian and perfect and JDate if you are Jewish and perfect; churches; synagogues; and political organizations. There is one caveat about the political organizations: if you are are a Republican, please don't meet another Republican and breed as inbreeding is inherently unhealthy. Why just look at dear Prince Charles's ears! Just one look at the baby Prince Charles' ears and we Southerners quit our long-held practice of marrying our cousins.

But the real way to meet someone you will really like is to do what you really love to do whether it be running in the marathon, demonstrating for a free Tibet or pole dancing. Like attracts like.

And if you are sincere about the nice guy part (and are not secretly looking for a bad boy [try Wall Street]), do some volunteer work where you sweat and get your hands dirty. Anyone you meet there will probably be a mensch. Also, tell everyone you know that you are looking. New York is a city full of good yentas.

Dear Miss Wendy,

What do you think about Britney’s Spears finally driving her life into a ditch and losing custody of her two babies to the car-wash-guy, Kevin Federline?


Tabloid Tilly

Dear Tabby,

Well, addiction’s a bitch - Britney’s addiction to whatever she is taking to yo-yo her weight (today she’s skinny, tomorrow she’s not) and Kevin’s addiction to her money. Does anyone believe that Kevin is only motivated by concern for the welfare of his children (they are adorable)? This is the guy who ditched a pregnant Shar Jackson (the mother of his oldest child) to do his Daddy-got-a-better-deal dance with Britney.

If Britney was not already a successful rock star (I know, I know) and did not have money, do you really think Kevin would volunteer to be a stay at home Dad while she LAUNCHED her career? Kevin’s only way to stay-on-Britney’s-payroll is to collect child support like a hip-hop star’s baby mommy. He is like one of those mule deer who have hung around camp sites so long they have become addicted to sugar and salt and can no longer forage for or digest vegetation and will starve to death without a supply of junk food. (See this article in the New York Times.)

Dear Miss Wendy, is reporting that former Baywatch beauty Pamela Anderson (who was previously married to Tommy Lee and Kid Rock) is about to marry Rick Salomon (who was previously married to Shannon Doherty and who also starred with Paris Hilton in an underground porn movie, “One Night in Paris”). And they are planning to get married at the Little White Wedding Chapel in Las Vegas!!!

Is this woman deaf and dumb; has bleach seeped into her brain? Why can’t she see that she is about to be run over by a dump truck - AGAIN?


Internet Addict

Dear Addict,

The real question should be are they both deaf and dumb? But if you believe in magnetic theory, they are simply attracting their own kind (they both have starred in supposedly pirated porn movies, etc. etc.). Romance follows the same set of rules that are used to select fishing lures. Here is a quote from “Many fishing lures are made in bright, almost obnoxious colors, while others are muted and more natural. Again, making the right choice is largely based on the type of fish you are trying to catch and the fishing conditions.”

So as long as Pamela Anderson (who is actually a beautiful woman) lives her life looking like a Amanda Lepore prototype, she will continue to attract carnival men.

Dear Miss Wendy,

The woman who lives in the building directly across from me puts on a nightly show, dancing in front of the window in various stages of undress. Depending on the lighting, sometimes “her show” is as explicit as anything I could see in Times Square. Should I be complaining?



Dear Peep,

That depends: are you able to enjoy the show using your present telescope? If not, either take it in for repair or buy a new one (perhaps with some infrared options to compensate for the bad lighting).

One of the dirty little secrets (benefits ) about living in New York City are the complicit arrangements between peeping Toms and the exhibitionists who “put on a show” by seemingly forgetting to close their curtains. This is very similar to the complicit arrangement between the Hollywood starlets who “forget to wear panties” and then “forget to close their legs,” the photographers who hang out in parking lots all night long in the hopes of aiming their cameras up these “forgetful” starlets' dresses (making them wait around in the parking lot all night does have an S & M feel to it) and the peeping-Tom-public who franticly surf the net in hopes of seeing the latest up-the-skirt footage . (Just where was that link?) It is a fragile eco-system that would quickly dry up without the willing participation of the other parties.

But if you can’t see enough, you only need to aim your (new?) telescope at another window. This is New York; most of your neighbors have theater and/or film degrees so our illicit window shows can rival Lord & Taylor's Christmas windows in production values.

Dear Miss Wendy,

I am a single woman in my forties and I recently traveled alone to Jamaica to join my family for a vacation. Everywhere I went I got “knowing” looks from the local men. Then I found out that ever since the movie 1998 movie How Stella Got Her Groove Back, middle aged women have been traveling to Jamaica so they can hook up with the local “locks” men.


Middle-aged Beach Baby

Dear Baby,

Oh yes, Jamaica rent-a-dreads, the hot young men who “hang around” the resorts offering their services as a (wink-wink) tour guide. But since their all-inclusive-package quite possible includes STD’s, you need to ignore Bob Marley's "Don't worry about a thing" advice and instead conjure up the spirit of Nancy Reagan (or Amy Winehouse’s reaction to rehab) and “Just say no.” And I am sure you won’t be missing out on much. There is so much ganga (Jamaican marijuana) smoking in Negril, nothing would ever happen until tomorrow and as we all know, tomorrow never comes.

Dear Miss Wendy,

What is this fascination that New Yorkers have with everything Australian: Australian beer; Australian bars; Tribeca Film Festival’s Australian import Tropfest; and New York’s fashion week is filled with Australian designers like Sass and Bide and Aurelia Costarella (squiring porn-star-turned-gal-around-town Jenna Jameson). We are a little too cool to embrace the Outback Steak House, but it too has invaded Manhattan.


Crocodile Me

Dear Croc,

Miss Wendy is fascinated with our recent Australian obsession. New Yorkers who would not deign-to-feign interest in the goings-on in say Atlanta, are going ga-ga about Australia. My theory is that it started with the 1986 film Crocodile Dundee, when Paul Hogan (playing Crocodile Dundee) disarmed some New York City street thugs and then turned to Linda Kozlowski (who was playing his love interest Sue) and off-handedly said, “Kids.” We all sighed and collectively became obsessed with the image of a man who was so sure of himself sexually that he could wear an Australian outback "costume" on the streets of New York without fretting that he would be mistaken for member of the Village People and asked to sing "YMCA".

And just look at the other male movie/tv stars we have imported from Australia: Russell Crowe; the late great Steve Irwin; Mel Gibson; Guy Pearce; and Hugh Jackman. Okay, so Hugh Jackman does not have that “I’m dangerously sexy because my great grandpa was a British convict and I can wrestle crocodiles” veneer, but you cannot deny he’s sexy, just watch Woody Allen’s film Scoop. And conversely Australia has produced a bumper crop of hot-looking-but-also-really-smart-and-ethereal-looking female movie stars like Nicole Kidman, Cate Blanchett and Naomi Watts.

Hey, it’s a brave new world out there. Excessively polite customer service representatvies are sitting in cubicles in India and unlocking our car doors, “This is OnStar and your car is now unlocked.” So why not outsource our sexual fantasies and dream about getting a little down-under for our down-unders?

Dear Miss Wendy,

Would investing in Porthault sheets (prices start at $2000) make my bedroom more erotic?

Sleeping Beauty

Dear Beauty,

Miss Wendy always approves of wretched exceess if you have the wretch to excess. But, while buying Porthault sheets would certainly make your bedroom more comfortable (and prestigious), if your question is which sheets see the most action (a sort of bang-for-your-buck rating) the hands-down winner would be the cheap Target and Ikea sets purchased by college students.

Dear Miss Wendy,

What do you think about what happened when OJ recently got juiced in Las Vegas? But maybe this has nothing to do with sex, hmm?


Rockingham Roxie

Dear Roxie,

Actually I bet that gang-who-couldn’t-shoot-straight-that-looks-right-out-of -an-Elmore-Leonard-novel was entirely motivated by sex. No, not sex with OJ, silly. But this little group of sad-sack-used-car-salesmen-looking-hangers-on were most likely in the game in the hope of getting second helpings from the cocktail-waitresses-and/or-real-estate-saleswomen-from-Tulsa-on-holiday who might be attracted to a what-happens-in-Vegas-stays-in-Vegas romp-in-the-sack with OJ. So there those middle-aged-loser-wing-men are, getting soused in a second rate hotel bar while they wait around to get laid, when they hear a bugle call to help fellow-good-old-boy OJ “move some stuff” (like the guy needed to pick up a couch). And the rest is tabloid history.

Dear Miss Wendy,

I recently attended a wedding and when the bride and groom cut the cake the quickly proceeded to smash cake all over each others faces (like they always do). I thought they looked silly and immature (like they always do) – getting icing all over the brides's veil and the groom’s cummerbund. Does this practice harken back to some ancient fertility rite?


Feeling Crumby

Dear Crumb,

Miss Wendy does not know the entire story behind this apparent silliness but I do have inkling that there is an underlying perversion driving this overwhelming desire by otherwise sensible brides and grooms to rub wedding cake all over each other.

Here is how I came upon this inkling. In one of Miss Wendy’s many other roles, she occasionally writes plays. And once upon a time she gave one of her characters a foot fetish. Miss Wendy (having just arrived in New York from Texas) was a little naïve at the time and assumed that this was a perfectly safe comedic choice as how could anyone actually have a foot fetish?

Well, was Miss Wendy in for a surprise! There is a whole subset of humanity out there that is totally turned on by feet – they have their own clubs, message boards and websites. They even have underground establishments that cater to their ever ring-toed desire.

After Miss Wendy’s play was produced, some of these practitioners decided to get in touch with Miss Wendy assuming that she shared their peccadillo. And one of Miss Wendy’s new-found acquaintances (one who worked for one of those escort services that they talk about on Law and Order, you know the ones where the proprietors are always insisting that his girls are only hired for their high-class companioinship and conversational skills) told Miss Wendy that in addition to being hired by men who pay to rub her feet, she is occasionally hired to do a cake-in.

Here is how it (a cake-in) works: The customer rents a space and covers all the walls and floors with plastic. The customer also supplies every kind of cake imaginable. My new friend would then chase her customer around the room and smash cakes all over his body. And these were not day-old store cakes, but really nice bakery-made birthday cakes. And by being covered in cake the customer was so turned on…………

So there you have it, a wonderful new (sticky) visual to have in your mind at your next wedding reception.

Dear Miss Wendy,

Would Miss Wendy like to comment on Miss Brittney Spears latest woes and I don’t mean that horrid weave? What about her being charged with hit-and-run – see

I know this has nothing to do with sex, but maybe it’s sexy?????


TMZ Tuna

Dear Tuna,

Dear Miss Wendy is from Texas, the home of tall tales and whoppers, where as a precocious little girl she was taught to apply the shit test to everything she heard.

So Brittney hit another car as she was pulling into a parking lot and did not stop to look at the other car and leave a note and the whole thing was caught on tape. HMMMMMM!

Well, does anyone stop to wonder just how many paparazzi were in the parking lot with her and just how many flash bulbs were going off as she got out of her car? Could she have even seen the other car after being blinded by so many flash bulbs? And why didn’t any of the paparazzi in the parking lot holler, “Hey Brittney, I think you dinged a car” and/or if they had, could it have been heard through that horrid cacophony of snapping flash bulbs and "Here Brittneys"? But surely they did not want Brittney to be arrested for hit-and-run so they would have yet another story to cover? And if she had had her wits about her (which was obviously not the case) and had attempted to leave a note with her phone number and insurance information, just what do you think would have happend to that note and just how much would it be worth on EBAY?

And why when the owner of the car found out (supposedly through Youtube) that Brittney had damaged her car did she not just try to contact Brittney instead of going to the police? Could it be that the newshounds looked up her license plate and “pushed their story along” by notifying the car owner and encouraging her to go to the police. It wouldn’t have taken much to rile the car owner up, after all it is LA and people get mad if you leave your nasty fingerprints on their cars.

And about the no California drivers license, could it be that Miss Brittney is a Louisiana resident (she has a huge house there) for tax reasons and one of the things any good tax accountant will tell you is that you must have your drivers license show your primary residence (and have your bills delivered to the same) if you want to prove it is your primary residence if you are audited.

And while Miss Wendy totally disapproves of drinking and driving (I am in LA all the time and do not to die on the freeway after being hit by a drunken artificial celebrity), I am certain that Miss Paris Hilton and Miss Nicole Ritchie were high on the radar of the local constabulary and were driving easily recognizable cars. After all, they normally drive through LA followed by a motorcade of paparazzi that rivals the one that President Bush uses when he invades New York City, thus greatly increasing the probablity that they will be pulled over anytime they are out in "that car".

Dear Miss Wendy,

Would Miss Wendy like to comment on the recent bad-behavior-in-the-airport-bathroom scandal involving Republican Senator Larry Craig?


Neat Nelly

Dear Neat,

I most certainly would. It is incredibly sad that anyone should lose their job over such silliness or that anyone should have to repress their sexuality so much that they are reduced to making obscure gestures in a public bathroom.

See this quote from my What's Up Today column: has this description of the lewd conduct: "According to Roll Call, the arresting officer alleged that Craig lingered outside a restroom stall where the officer was sitting, then entered the stall next door and blocked the door with his luggage. According to the arrest report cited by Roll Call, Craig tapped his right foot, which the officer said he recognized "as a signal used by persons wishing to engage in lewd conduct." The report alleges Craig then touched the officer's foot with his foot and the senator "proceeded to swipe his hand under the stall divider several times," according to Roll Call."

HMMM! Well, I guess we all need to be extra careful about our public restroom behavior from now on because this is exactly how women act in a public bathroom: we wait forever peering under the stalls to see if they are occupied, finally get a stall and sit down then immediately start fidgeting when we realize that there is no toilet paper and then try to get the person "next stall" to give us some by sticking our hands under the stall."

Perhaps we should all get a card that says, "I'm not gay, I just need some toilet paper" that we can pass back under the stall when an arresting office (who obviously has too much time on his hands) passes his badge under the stall.

And why are the Republicans so upset about this anyway? It's not like he asked that cop to marry him. And is there so little real crime in Minneapolis that the local police are reduced to such nonesense?

Update: It seems that Senator Craig has decided to appeal his disorderly conduct guilty plea. And the DA is going to oppose it because Senator Craig's conduct of
peering into a stall (through the gaps between the door and the stall structure) was a gross invasion of restroom privacy. Well, excuse me. This supposed invasion of privacy happened in a men's room and THERE ARE URINALS IN THERE. How can any man expect privacy in place with URINALS?

If the Minneapolis police are really so concerned with maintaining orderly conduct in the men's room, they should just do what we used to do in Texas when we found some unfixed dogs carrying on in the front yard just as the parson was pulling up in his Chevy. We'd just grab a bucket of water and pour it on the varmints. That way there would be no need to arrest anyone or kick anyone out of the Senate for playing footsie with the wrong man.

Dear Miss Wendy,

It is Fashion Week! Please tell us: Is there sex during fashion week?


Longing Fashionista

Dear Long,

Absolutely not. Everyone involved in Fashion Week is entirely too hungry and bitchy to be interested in sex.

See this quote from my February 2007 Column: "Well there will be a lot of pretty little things walking down the runway (see through blouses with no bra, thongs peeping through voile for both men and women) but realistically, there will be no sex. The female models have not eaten in about a month and if propositioned would probably say something like, “Not now sweetie, but why don’t you just talk dirty to me while I do this line?” The male models have had a little more to eat and might be a little more interested, but are still likely to say something like, “Oh that’s nice, but why don’t you just get up and act as my spotter while I lift these weights?” And the designers will brush away any amorous efforts with a, “For heavens sake, darlings! If you really want to be useful, get off your knees and make a Starbucks run! Someone is going to trip over you and break a heel!” You see, everyone at Fashion Week is an ascetic, asexual alien; things are different in their world."

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