Tag Archives: advice

Gentlemen take polaroids

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from the desk of Kitty Winn

Dear Kitty Winn,

I sure am all a twitter because of this talk of terrorism. I know, that’s sooo 2001. But the government is going on and on, and there’s those terrible orange flashing lights to remind me I should be scared shitless. We’re at Condition Tangerine Dream, Condition Creamsicle, or whatever, if you hadn’t heard. Do you remember those Flintstones Orange Sherbet push-up pops? I loved those. I also have an orange push-up bra. Now here’s the problem: I would like to go buy a cardigan and a rude t-shirt at French Connection or something, but I am too afraid to leave the house. Which means I have to watch Dr. Phil or TLC all day. And while I love Trading Spaces, I’ll never get to be on it if I can’t walk out my front door! And my neighbors have a butt-ugly couch! This is a matter of the greatest import.

climbing the walls when I should be painting them,

-Betsy Wetsy

Dear Betsy,

Trading Spaces? Why I suppose I do trade spaces, in my own way…the ranch for the chalet, the penthouse for the yacht. So it goes. But really dear, why do the decorating yourself? *whispers, behind hand* There are PEOPLE to do that sort of thing for you! The only valid sprucing up activities should be related to personal grooming or costuming.

So, to that end, Kitty urges you to throw caution to the winds and venture out! Ob la di, life goes on. You will perambulate the shopping lanes with vigor, head held high, tresses conditioned and bouncing. The secret to inner composure is knowing you have a sparky victim tribute photo ready and waiting in case of emergency!

Kitty suggest a 3/4 view for your shot, as it is most flattering. You should also tip your chin down, while tightening the muscles beneath it, and look upward just a bit — never directly at the camera. Kitty learned this from Princess Di, and it never fails. Neutral make up is preferable, with a smidge of extra eye definition. A good brow is key; consult a professional if you are in doubt. You want to look like the very best version of yourself, not a painted whore. Unless you are a painted a whore, and then different strokes, right? Still, Never. Ever. Contour.

Now Kitty also insists that you order from a reputable photographer. You don’t want to see “Olan Mills” or “Lifetouch Portraits” stamped in the corner. Why not just let your mom use that horrid senior portrait then? Your big hair will be your lasting contribution. Maybe she’ll also helpfully give an interview about how much you loved whatever unfashionable band you liked in high school. You know she wants to! So, having a prepared statement is also key. You’ll want to detail exotic hobbies, luxurious interests, etc. What sounds better: “Betsy died as she lived, sunning on the prow of the yacht Serendipity,” or “Betsy was a paralegal, and she enjoyed bowling and was a real big Dokken fan.”

So my pet, image is everything, and it will most certainly outlive you. Feel better? Super! Bellicose? You mean bella cosa.

graceful under pressure,

-Kitty

Case in pointless

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from the desk of Kitty Winn

Dear Kitty Winn,

The leader of my nation is poised to start some WWIII-type shit. I am scared and embarassed. I signed all the petitions, and I half-heartedly stood around with some protesters. I thought about emailing my senator, whoever that is. Now I’m sort of informed, having watched the president talk on tv and looked at some scary infographics on the ABC network. The technical explanation I heard was “we’re gonna pound em.” Kitty, what can I do to take control of this situation? I’m frazzled and perplexed!

-scaredy cat

Dear Scaredy,

You’ve got nothing to fret over. Remember, nuk-yoo-lar weapons can’t hurt you, only the nuclear ones. Sit back, apply some soothing cucumbers to your eyes, and wait for the next Golden Girls rerun. Oh wait, or did you vote for Ralph Nader? In that case, a special detail will be by in fifteen minutes to impress you into the Navy. You’ll be taking control of the situation, all right. But don’t worry, chicks (and lots of fellas) dig uniforms!

At any rate, it’s horrid and scary. Kitty would advise against stress eating, as no one likes a chunky monkey, and nail biting is out as well. Think of your manicure! You could devote yourself to tooth whitening or promiscuity. Those are really the only acceptable options. Oh, and hoarding. Stop driving your confounded SUV and walk to loot the grocery store. But French wine and bon bons are out, as are French cheeses. And stop saying “zut alors” and “c’est la vie.” It’s annoying anyway.

Kitty will be hiding under the bed if you need her. But she’ll be wearing a fabulous negligee!

bunkering,

-Kitty

A cunning linguist goes into a bar…

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From the Desk of Kitty Winn

Dear Kitty Winn,

I like to be most precise when insulting my co-workers, and I was wondering what is the salient difference between “incompetent” and “inept?”

thanks a mill,

-Wordy Winnifred

Dear Winnifred,

what kind of name is that? Are you a Cabbage Patch Kid? And what does Kitty look like, the g.d. OED?

Kitty will humor your presumptious request simply because Kitty shares your fondness for insults. So here we go, whoop whoop whee…

Incompetent:

1. Not qualified in legal terms

2. Inadequate for or unsuited to a particular purpose or application.

3. Devoid of those qualities requisite for effective conduct or action.

Inept:

1. Not apt or fitting; inappropriate.

2. a. Displaying a lack of judgment, sense, or reason; foolish: an inept remark.

b. Bungling or clumsy; incompetent: inept handling of the account.

Thanks, Dictionary.com!

Some would argue that they are but synonyms, but Kitty feels that incompetence is a fundamental problem for which there is likely not to be a cure. Ineptitude strikes Kitty as just plain not trying hard enough. Perhaps you should associate a character from popular culture with the object of your derision and see what occurs? George W. Bush? Clearly in the incompetence camp. Bill Clinton? Merely inept.

At any rate, why split hairs? Why not go for such tried and true take-downs as oaf, dolt, or boob? Then there’s pinhead, dumbbell, ding dong, simpleton, lummox, clod, or even stumblebum. Be creative! Do they also have a personal hygiene problem you could single out? Perhaps an unfortunate facial feature? Think outside the box, as if it were 1999! You could go from “dummy head” to “bungling filthy slattern!” if you just dig a little deeper.

correctly yours,

-Kitty

Cruisin’ in my hoopty

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From the Desk of Kitty Winn

Dear Kitty Winn,

A bit of a sticky situation is plaguing me. I was in the locker room at the gym the other day and feeling a bit fresh and spring-like. As I reclined in the sauna, I allowed my towel to peek open a bit. When I opened my eyes again, I noticed that a co-worker had entered the sauna. He seemed to be employing the same MO as me. I fled hastily without saying anything. He hasn’t mentioned it either. Then, whaddya know, I run into him at the video store! So I guess my generic question is if I’m sort of half-heartedly cruising in a local adult video store or sauna, and I run into a co-worker, what’s the appropriate way to behave? Especially if I’m not sure if he’s actually cruising as well?

-Simple in the Sauna

Dear Simple,

Kitty is so glad she does not have this problem. The men come swarming to Kitty! Also, you have left out a lot of pertinent details. 1) Is the co-worker hot? 2) Would you roger him roundly? 3) Are you a bit slow? Wake up and smell the coffee! 4) Kitty has always wanted to say that.

If the co-worker is hot and you would be open to cavorting, you could approach him casually the next time you meet in a non-work setting. Here we must tread carefully, because we must recall the magic phrase “don’t dip your pen in company ink.” Dating co-workers, while not uncommon, should be approached with caution. You never know when someone will go psycho and bring personal issues into a public forum. Are you prepared to be the next office drama? If you out-rank him at work, you may be legally obligated by the policies of your company to look but not touch.

You also didn’t say if you are out at the office or not. Is this a factor in your skittishness? Chances are good that if you keep running into this fellow at the places you mention (the gay section at the local porn shop), he’s playing for your team. If you weren’t sure he was cruising or not, he must be a discreet individual.

Finally, we have the possibility that the co-worker is not attractive, and there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that you’d ever hook up. In that case, proceed as if nothing had ever happened. No need to get his poor short, spotty hopes up! Also, if you are unattractive, you should stop fretting right now, as this guy will no doubt leave a wide berth. Saved by the ugly stick!

good luck,

-Kitty

Ain’t no mountain high enough

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Kiss Me, I'm Kitty Winn

Dear Kitty Winn,

My boyfriend has gone on a camping trip with his buddy/ex-girlfriend. I know her pretty well, it seems on the level, and lord knows I don’t belong on a mountain in platform shoes, swinging my little purse. But the longer he is gone (its a two week trek) the more I miss him and begin to feel jealous. Or that maybe there is something amiss in this relationship that I am in this situation in the first place. Should I be worried? Maybe I should stick to men whose ideas of vacation, like mine, involve hemmorhaging money in a fancy european city or poolside cocktails.

-sadly grieved

Dear Sadly,

Oh, your letter transports me to a river of wine at the Bar du’ Marché. You are in over your head, little missy, with Mr. Tent Flap. And even if everything is on the up-and-up and not on the in-out with his campfire buddy, well, eww. Ex-girlfriends were meant to be despised and compared unfavorably to yourself. That is their job. They did not make love/create happiness/lick stamps as well as you do. However, we must tolerate them occasionally. That does not mean we pack off our mates to roast weenies with them. That is our right. Good luck finding someone a little more black jacket, manhattans, and ranting and storming about his love for you into your intercom and a little less timberlands, wheat grass, and bunking with ex-girlfriends.

On a personal note, Kitty Winn is pleased to announce that she is floating around her flat, humming “Love is in the Air”. Ahh, Men. Kitty Winn loves you all. Nearly. So I am going to take the rest of the weekend off from you sad bastards. I simply advise everyone to spend Sunday curled up on the sofa with someone incredibly good-looking.

-Kitty Winn

F-F-F-F-Fashion

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From the Desk of Kitty Winn

Dear Kitty Winn:

My problem is my new girlfriend. Now that the honeymoon, everything-swell phase is nearly at an end, we are spending a lot more time together with our clothes on. And it is slowly dawning on me that she dresses like a real geek. It’s like she had this whole wardrobe I was not allowed to see while we were casually dating. Suddenly I am seeing khaki pants and panty lines and white tennis socks and ill fitting jeans. I really like her very much, and I want to keep her. How do I get her to leave that horrible raincoat at home?

-Mr. Suave

Dear Rico Suave,

Listen to me, don’t listen to me, talk to me, don’t talk to me, dance with me, don’t dance with me — wait, were you saying something? Kitty was too busy adjusting her Dior iPod case to better display the logo.

Now why are you even bothering to waste Kitty’s time with this precious little problem? If you as stylish a guy as you say, just take her out for a Pretty Woman-style shopping spree! And call Kitty before you go, she’s got friends in the shoe department at Barney’s.

Your relationships are a reflection upon you, and it’s a good thing you are so sensitive as to realize this. Sounds like it’s time for an “I love you…but…” speech. Ellipses central! Either she will realize she’s been letting herself go and make more of an effort, or she will howl and weep and look even more unattractive with a puffy red squinched-up face. And that will make you feel much better about dumping her when you see just how vile and soggy she can look! Why, this problem practically solves itself!

Of course this is assuming that you are all that much of a much yourself. Please send Kitty a head shot and a close up of your torso. And no cheating with a 3/4 view on the headshot, Kitty wants to see profile! Also supply your shoe size.

Beep beep,

-Kitty

Mutton dressed as lamb?

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From the Desk of Kitty Winn

Dear Kitty Winn,

I was sorting through my wardrobe today and looking over my snazzy collection of miniskirts — leopard, glitter, pinstripe, houndstooth. But then I got to thinking: I just turned 31 and I don’t want to end up like one of those garish middle aged hags you see on the subway in ankle boots, dripping mascara and showing off leathery, sagging thigh. When do I know when to say when with flashy clothes and glittery makeup? I am a tramp with Dignity!

-hot diggety

Dear dig dug,

Kitty thinks you’re barking up the wrong tree on this one. You’re never too old for glitter! Sagging breasts? Just think of that as feature-length cleavage. Kitty looks forward to seeing the old whore who lives down the street waiting for the bus, as do the neighborhood school kids. You should hear them call out in their cheerful childish tones!

Really, cupcake, you should dress in a way that makes YOU feel good at the time. Damn the feelings of others! Vogue magazine might tell you to invest in a closet chock-full of Escada and a platinum Rascal scooter, and these harpies will tell you What Not to Wear. They firmly decree that “No woman over 35 should wear skirts above the knee.” So you have a grace period of about 4 years! Problem solved?

But Kitty feels confident that there are no definitive rules, with the one exception being that VPL is déclassé at any age! Pull up your pants, Paris Hilton!

That old whore from the bus stop is happy, and that’s good enough for Kitty. Kitty personally can’t wait to age another 20, er, 40 years so she can really work the “whatever happened to Baby Jane?” look. Scarlet lips lined outside the natural border, eyebrows plucked off and drawn back on? The stuff of legends. Add an ivory-tipped cane, and you’ll be rapping the knuckles of orphans in no time!

You might try to pick a role model for your impending golden years, someone you feel oozes class and style, and hop that train. Joan Crawford? Debbie Harry? How about the Queen Mum or Mrs. Hannigan? Loni Anderson? Ah, or Vegas Ann-Margret.

Anyhoo, dignity, schmignity. After all, you don’t want to cheat your loved ones out of a Jenny Jones appearance? See You’re Too Old, You’re Somebody’s Mom, That Sexy Gear Is NOT The Bomb!

Once more into the bleach,

-Kitty

Let the Spirits Flow

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From the Desk of Kitty Winn

Dear Kitty Winn,

I have a lame problem, and I’m trying to wrack my brain to make it seem less lame and more earth shattering, but in the end, it’s pretty lame. Maybe I am lame. You tell me.

I am working on a book. I think what I have so far is really good, and other people have told me so, but I can’t seem to make any progress on it. My therapist says I have a fear of success, but what I could really use in my stagnant life right now is a little success. I thought about hiring someone to crack the whip and make me write, but I can’t really afford it. As it is, I use every diversion at my command to keep from sitting down in front of the computer, and when I finally do, nothing comes to me.

I don’t expect you to have any miracle psychological or logistical solution, but perhaps you can recommend a drug that’ll help me loosen up a bit and get my fingers flying across the keyboard.

Yours,

The Procrastinating Pen

Dear Pen,

What is the writer’s best friend, if not alcohol? Does the name James Joyce ring any bells in your dainty post-everything skull? Where would literature be without booze- you could fill the Library of Alexandria with all the great pages that have been sodden by drink. And then you could burn it down. Perhaps you are not the whiskey guzzling type. Then I suggest you toughen up! Writing isn’t for wusses.

By the way, I would like the name of your therapist. I could stand to have someone pandering to me right now. But maybe thats just my hangover talking.

-Kitty Winn

Hungry for love

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from the desk of Kitty Winn

Dear Kitty Winn,

I have a relatively new boyfriend (six months) and an even newer bit of pudge. I have begun to exercise because I am not into it. But how do I find out if he thinks I am fat?! You can’t just ask!

I have to know!!

-can’t sleep (no trouble eating, though)

Dear Sally,

Au contraire, mon cherie, guys love it when you come right out and ask! Repeatedly. Try to cry while inquiring.

Wait until you are slated to head out for a big night on the town. Put on an especially form-fitting frock and collapse in a heap of smeared lipstick and Lee Press-Ons, drumming your feet on the divan until your mules fly off. He’ll ask “What’s wrong, darling?” and you can yank back the curtain from your fun house mirror of body image!

Actually, Kitty will let you in on the secret to men: Everyone likes a little junk in the trunk. You must learn to wave it like a juicy filet before a hungry dingo. If this guy’s not into it, you can surely find someone who is!

And why aren’t your budoir antics enough to keep off the pounds? No woman worth her weight in Fracas should have to suffer the indignity of exercising, especially after only six months of lovin’. Is this the real heart of your problem? Is he a dud between the sheets?

Let’s get physical,

-Kitty

Can I have some more, please?

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from the desk of Kitty Winn

Dear Kitty Winn,

I wrote to you a few weeks ago and your advice about the breast implants was swell, but I must admit that I knuckled under and paid off my credit card debt instead. But I do have a few bucks left, just not enough for elective surgery. So I’m slinking back to you to ask how I should fritter $1,000. Is it time for a vacation? Some shiatsu massages? Or should I be practical all the way and tuck it back in a musty bank vault? And then there’s always charity. Surely there’s some starving children somewhere. Is Biafra still trendy? Kitty, you’re my last resort since I usually do all my financial planning in a whirl of penitence following a drug binge. And I’m out of drugs!

-Mo’ money, mo’ problems

Dear MoMo

Now I know how the workhouse master felt when Oliver Twist asked for seconds. We don’t double dip in askery here. Do you think Dan Savage has to sit around all day, dreaming up new places for his readers to stick their rude bits? Well, I’ll take this indignity on the chin since you have caught me at a blank in my schedule. That impossible black hole when Rockford Files is over and Magnum, P.I. won’t be starting for another 40 minutes.

However I think you will find you have answered your own question- what you really seem to need are drugs. And if crawling around on the floor for a couple of days, playing with scotch tape and string cheese while blaring Scott Walker does not give you any ideas, well, you will be out the money anyhow. Tidy, isn’t it?

Now go away.

-Kitty Winn