Keeping it Clean: Kristin Chenoweth, 'A Little Bit Wicked'

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COOTER, HOO HOO and Georgia O'Keefe.

Those are a few of the terms that Kristin Chenoweth uses for her vagina in her new memoir, "A Little Bit Wicked: Life, Love, and Faith in Stages" (Touchstone). And that's really about as wicked as the book ever gets; not surprising really, considering she's a squeaky-clean, God-fearing lass from the Bible Belt state of Oklahoma.

Chenoweth is best known for her tiny stature (she stands all of 4 feet, 11 inches) and her roles as Glinda, Good Witch of the North in the Broadway show "Wicked," and most recently as Olive Snook in ABC's "Pushing Daisies." In "A Little Bit Wicked," the singer/actress tells of her idyllic childhood in Broken Arrow, Okla., as the well-adjusted adopted daughter of a dedicated Christian couple who she says she's as devoted to as they are her: "Some people say we pick our parents, but God had to play some jazz to get me to the family where I was supposed to be."

From her early days taking dance lessons, singing at church ("I'm Only Four Foot Eleven but I'm Going to Heaven, and It Makes Me Feel Ten Feet Tall"), appearing in state talent shows and attending Oklahoma City University where she met her beloved voice teacher Florence Birdwell (it was at Birdwell's suggestion that Chenoweth changed her name from Kristi) to her out-of-the-blue casting in her first New York production, Chenoweth writes fondly of a sweet upbringing devoid of teenage angst or much drama.

In fact, some of the biggest dramas in the book seem to involve Chenoweth's hair. She very entertainingly describes the time she ended up with a Playboy bunny's hair extensions and how she burned her hair on a candle she'd left on the back of her toilet. "By the time I started asking myself, "Hey, what's that smell?" the smoke alarm had deployed, and moments later the maintenance man pounded through the door and found me beating my head with a towel."

Following Chenoweth's path from would-be opera singer to Broadway and TV star, the memoir is peppered with comical accounts like that of the eye-watering "Cooter Smash" incident, in which Chenoweth acquires the ability to predict the weather with her — yes, you guessed it — hoo hoo. Chenoweth also shares the secret of her "death cookies," which she swears have actually been known to kill people who have eaten them — "I will never again make those cookies for anyone over the age of 50."

Throughout the book, Chenoweth manages to speak of her faith in God in a way that's not cloying or preachy. She's candid about her views of homosexuality. Her appearance on Pat Robertson's ultra-conservative talk show "The 700 Club," "urging the Christian community to be more open-minded, loving, and inclusive," angered many of her gay and Christian fans alike, and Chenoweth is genuinely surprised and saddened by the results: boycotts of her shows and albums were called for from both sides and she was fired from a stint on the Women of Faith tour.

She also addresses her bare-almost-all photo shoots for FHM and Allure, which caused Howard Stern to ask, "I just want to know how you do this Christian-music CD and then you do the T-and-A thing in nude photographs?" (She doesn't answer the question; in fact she's pretty baffled by the big deal that's made of it all.)

If the events in Chenoweth's life seem trifling, remember this isn't Carrie Fisher we're talking about here. No drugs or crippling mental illness have made their way into Chenoweth's life (or at least none that we know of), and the way that she and co-writer Joni Rodgers write everything is as upbeat and peppy as a Broadway number. Even when discussing her complicated on-again, off-again romantic entanglement with producer/screenwriter Aaron Sorkin (the book actually includes a section written by Sorkin), Chenoweth remains polite and guarded.

Anyone looking for a kiss-and-tell is going be disappointed, but fans of Chenoweth are going to love her entertaining and perky account of her dirt-free life and career. That is, unless you have a problem with meteorological hoo hoos.

Written by Express contributor Ewa Beaujon
Photo courtesy Touchstone