Miss Wendy's
Texas Love Advice
Plus Some Occasional Comments on the
State of the Popular Culture
L-R: Michael Mazocco, Wendy
R. Williams, Armistead Johnson
Photo Credit: Stephen Mosher
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Dear Miss Wendy,
TMZ.com
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?
Sincerely,
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 wisegeek.com.
“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?
Sincerely,
Peeping
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.
Sincerely,
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.
Sincerely,
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?
Sincerely,
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?
Sincerely,
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 news.aol.com.
I know this has nothing to do
with sex, but maybe it’s sexy?????
Sincerely,
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?
Sincerely,
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:
CNN.com
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?
Sincerely,
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."
Do you have a Question for Miss
Wendy?
Email her at newyorkcoolstuff@aol.com
All of Miss Wendy's
old columns are in the New York Cool Archive Section:
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2007/August/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2007/July/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2007/June/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2007/May/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2007/April/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2007/March/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2007/February/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2007/January/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2006/December/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2006/November/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2006/October/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2006/September/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2006/August/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2006/July/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2006/June/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2006/May/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2006/April/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2006/March/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2006/February/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2006/January/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2005/December/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2005/November/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2005/October/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2005/September/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2005/August/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2005/July/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2005/June/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2005/June/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2005/May/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2005/April/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2005/March/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2005/February/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2005/January/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2004/December/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2004/November/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2004/October/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2004/September/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2004/August/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2004/July/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2004/June/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2004/May/ask.html
http://www.newyorkcool.com/archives/2004/April/ask.html
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