ASK ASTRID. Advice Columnists Are Made, Not Born.


Ask Astrid, burlesque emcee Miss Astrid's advice column logo

Burlesque Emcee Miss Astrid with pearls

 

Dear Miss Astrid…

Dear Miss Astrid,

As an aging stripper legend I find myself tripping over my own tits and my beaver is wearing thin. Any suggestions?

Ms. Judith Stein
Canada’s Legend of Burlesque

Dear Ms. Stein,

You are a star full of fire and brilliance dispersing a blaze of spectro-colors like tiny rainbows.  Your public loves you.  Why can’t you love yourself?  So your tits dangle?  Some people have to buy tassles to have that same effect.  And I have no idea why you own a beaver — is that a Canadian thing? — but it sounds like a great gimmick.  I would suggest massaging it with oil once a day to make it shiny and sleek.

 

Dear Miss Astrid,

When people ask if I’m a feminist, what should I tell them?

Peacefully yours,

The LezButton
Boise, Idaho

Dear The,

Do you like when people ask your opinion?  If so, your answer should be yes.

 

Dear Miss Astrid,

I’m a mom and a burlesque dancer, but it’s really getting to be difficult the older my kids get. The ladies at the PTA won’t talk to me, and they won’t let their children play at our house. My family puts a lot of pressure on me and disapproves of what I do. I’m thinking of quitting. Do you have any advice for how to handle this?

With respect and admiration for all you do,

Georgia Washington
Seattle

Dear Mrs. Washington, 

I cannot tell a lie: this is a perfect opportunity to get away from your terrible family.  Start touring.  Its like a time machine.  In New Zealand it is 1999 for neo-burlesque.

 

To the Almighty Miss Astrid Von Voomer,

I just LOVE your eyepatch. Where can I get one?

Sincerely,

Fluffy Duvet
Minneapolis

Dear Fluffy,

ooh!  It’s so easy!  Just sustain a blinding injury — my lover stabbed my eye with a knife! — and then shop for an eyepatch at your local CVS.  Fun!

 

Dearest Miss Astrid,

I am getting too old to keep doing burlesque and nobody knows who I am anyway. My costumes aren’t fancy enough, my boobs are lifeless and saggy. I am too pretty to be the funny girl and too old to be the pretty one. All my friends are famous. They travel a lot and have trophies and tiaras. Frankly, I bore myself to tears. I have no other job skills. What should I do?

Woefully yours,

Patty Cake
Vancouver

Dear Patty Cake,

You’re not the only one who is bored to tears.  I hate you and everything you stand for. Go choke on poutine.

 

Miss Astrid’s mother was a Bavarian Princess.  Her father worked in a German freakshow billed as “World’s Tiniest, Meanest Man.”  Her mentor in singing and love was Sammy Davis Jr. The above qualifies her as an expert on everything.  “I already have an opinion.  You just don’t know it yet.”

Pearls of wisdom from “the true weimar fraulein” will be delivered on the last Friday of every month, and we welcome you to ask Miss Astrid anything you like. Email her at askastrid@burlesquebeat.com. You can also tweet her.  She likes that. Please address your question “To the Almighty Miss Astrid Von Voomer,” or “Dearest Miss Astrid,” or at the very least, “Dear Miss Astrid,” and sign your question with your name, city and state/country. Please. Let’s not piss her off. And remember, this is the advice you need—not the advice you want.

Ask Astrid. The first step is recognizing that you have a problem.

Photo ©Don Spiro and used by Burlesque Beat with express permission.

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