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A Little Bit Wicked: Life, Love, and Faith in Stages

A Little Bit Wicked: Life, Love, and Faith in Stages

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A Little Bit Wicked: Life, Love, and Faith in Stages

4/5 (58 valutazioni)
276 pagine
4 ore
Apr 14, 2009


Written by Scribd Editors

Kristin Chenoweth has seen the ins and outs of show business. This petite Oklahoma superstar stands at 4' 11", but her career and personality can be described as nothing but larger than life.

Chenoweth has won a Tony Award for her role in You're a Good Man Charlie Brown and starred as Galinda in the smash-hit musical Wicked. She then went on to appear in TV shows like Pushing Daisies, The West Wing, Sesame Street, and then her own sitcom. But all the fame the glamour had to start somewhere.

In this fun and inspiring book, Chenoweth shares her story of how faith and family helped keep her grounded and helped shape her journey: from singing in front of thousands in Baptist church conventions, to beauty queen pageants, and all the way to stardom on Broadway and TV.

Written by Chenoweth herself and co-author Joni Rodgers (Crazy for Trying, The Secret Sisters), A Little Bit Wicked gives fans a deeper look into Chenoweth's life, all while revealing an uplifting story for anyone hoping to follow their dreams.

Apr 14, 2009

Informazioni sull'autore

Kristin Chenoweth is an award-winning musical theatre performer, opera singer, television and film actress, and an exclusively signed Sony Masterworks recording artists. Visit for more information on Kristin and her recordings: A Lovely Way to Spend Christmas, Let Yourself Go and As I Am.

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A Little Bit Wicked - Kristin Chenoweth


chapter one


Spread your legs," the beautiful girl says softly, and I do.

She waves the metal-detection baton between my knees and up and down over my torso while another TSA agent rifles through my bag.

Am I the only one who feels vaguely invaded every time this happens? My heart sinks when I hear that call for female assist. It seems to happen every time I fly, and I fly a lot. I don’t feel that I’m entitled to special treatment, but is there really some valid concern that Broadway performers are plotting to take over the world? People, we don’t get up that early. I promise. You have nothing to fear from us aside from the occasional eruption of He’s Just My Bill while we stand in line at Starbucks.

I can’t believe how tiny you are in person, the TSA agent exclaims. "I mean, you’re like small."

Yup. I’ve heard that. I raise my arms to crucifixion posture.

You don’t look that little on TV. I saw you on the Oscars last month. She smiles, and I smile back at her. That must be so awesome. The red carpet and all those movie stars and the parties—oh, my gosh. You were at a party with George Clooney, weren’t you? I bet you went to like a million parties and like partied with movie stars until dawn.

In truth, I went straight home because I was in the middle of shooting a movie, Four Christmases, and I had to be on the set at five forty-five the next morning looking like someone who sleeps occasionally. But partying till dawn with a million movie stars—it sounds so lovely, I don’t want to ruin it for her.

Wouldn’t be Oscar night without the parties, I say gamely.

"I like you on Pushing Daisies, gains the young man going through my underwear. And I saw you in that, um…that magazine. You know."

Yes. I can tell by the color in his cheeks that he’s talking about my itsy-bitsy bikini layout in an issue of FHM that is probably still tucked between the mattress and box spring of many a corn-fed all-American boy.

"I got the calendar. It’s awesome," he says earnestly.

Well, thank you so much. You’re so sweet. I shine him a Miss February smile because I see him eyeing my fancy-schmancy hair gel. That’s as close as I could get to travel size. It’s only half an ounce over. Do you suppose…just this once…

He takes my hair gel, which cost $28, which is worth it if you have flea-fine hair like mine. He takes my tweezers, and I need my tweezers. Why, why, why do they always commandeer my dang tweezers?

Let me just say right now and for the record that I, Kristi Dawn Chenoweth, do solemnly swear that I will never hack through a Kevlar door and stab a pilot in the neck with my tweezers. I will never seek, nor have I ever sought, to overthrow the government of the United States of America by force of tweezer. Anyone who knew me back in the eighties can tell you, I am far more dangerous without my tweezers. Jimmy Kimmel once whipped out a photo of me from my pageant days, and I thought those eyebrows were going to leap right off the matte finish like a couple of centipedes. I had a whole lotta Brooke Shields going on, except Brooke somehow manages to carry it off, all of which is to say I need my dang tweezers.

Miss Chenoweth, could I please get a picture with you? asks the female assist sister. "My little girls listen to the Wicked sound track like ten times a day. They’ll go crazy when they hear I actually got to wand down Glinda the Good Witch." She laughs. I laugh. We all laugh. Wand? Witch? Get it? I glance nervously at my watch.

It’ll only take a second, I swear, she swears. She whips out her cell phone and shows me photos. They are adorable. Two little peanut-butter-and-jelly princesses.

Sure. No problem.

I pose with her, and it only takes a second. And a few seconds more to pose with the young man who loves me on Pushing Daisies, and a few more for the passengers behind me in line, who aren’t exactly sure who I am but assume, because the other security people are now asking for my autograph, that I’m famous.

Y’all are so sweet, I keep saying. I really need to get to my gate, though.

Ma’am, you have to be at the gate thirty minutes early for first class, the gate agent tells me when I get there. We gave your seat away.

But…but it was paid for. My father checked me in online. And I was here but—

There should be a seat in coach. She studies her computer monitor with a look of deep disapproval. Just get on and take whatever seat is available.

Oh…okay. I weigh the time constraint against the possibility that arguing will get me anywhere. Heavy sigh. Then you’ll refund the difference for the first-class seat?

There’s no refund, she says curtly. It’s up to you to get here on time.

She shoots a no-nonsense glance toward the Jetway, and I dutifully drag my bag on board, passing through the first-class cabin with my eyes forward. It crosses my mind briefly that I could pipe up and ask the dapper businessmen which of them is sitting in the seat I paid for, but I don’t want to come off all Don’t you know who I think I am? so I go to a seat facing the wall just on the other side of the magic curtain.

You need to take your seat, miss, says the frazzled flight attendant.

Could you help me with this bag, please? I indicate the overhead storage miles above my head.

There’s no room in the overheads. You should have been here earlier.

Yes, we’ve established that. I made a mistake. I apologize. But if you could—

If that doesn’t fit under the seat, it’ll have to be checked.

No. Really. I can’t check it. There’s medication in it, and somehow my checked bags never end up landing the same place I do.

Well, here’s a tip. Don’t put medication in your checked bags.

I didn’t.

You’ll have to check it.

I’m not checking it.

There’s no room.

I’ll find room.

Her lips go thin as a snapping turtle’s. My grip tightens on the handle of my Louis Vuitton trolley bag. We stand there giving each other the bitch-eye.

Ms. Noodle? A voice from the seat behind me blossoms like a tiny crocus and rises to a shriek. The little girl is spazzing with joy, refusing to be hushed by her embarrassed mother. Ms. Noodle! Ms. Noodle! From ‘Elmo’!

Hey there, cutie. I smile at her without giving up one degree of grip on my bag.

I’m sorry to bother you, says the mom. "Are you the Sesame Street girl?"

The flight attendant looks at me suspiciously, wondering if I’m someone, and quickly letting me know I’m not. Miss. Please check the bag and take your seat.

Ms. Noodle! Ms. Noodle!

Could she maybe get your autograph? asks the mom. When you get settled?

Miss? You need. To take. Your seat. Please.

Ms. Chenoweth? There’s a hand on my elbow. The flight attendant from first class has joined the fray. I’ll find room for your bag up front.

I nod. At least Louis will travel in style. I appreciate that. Thank you.

Sorry for the inconvenience, she says kindly.

Turtle Lips turns on her heel and stalks down the aisle. My bag disappears into the Emerald City up front. Making Miss Noodle faces for the little girl behind me, I sign my name in a Hello Kitty notebook, then sink into my seat, swallowing tears that burn uncomfortably close to the surface. It’s no one’s fault. The TSA agents, the gate dominatrix, the frazzled flight attendant—they’re undoubtedly nice people who would have been gentler had they known I was traveling to a funeral. A death in the family. That’s one of those conversational trump cards that makes everyone around the table lower their eyes, but I’m not one to play those cards. Not how I was raised.

My BlackBerry vibrates in my pocket. A message from Aaron. He’s being very sweet. Shortly after the Oscars, he e-mailed me a whole lot of words, and I ended up going to Mexico with him. Cabo is a place we go to find each other. Long story short, Chenorkin is on again.

That needs to be off, Turtle Lips snaps on her way past.

Tell me about it.

I power down the BlackBerry and close my eyes. I hate flying. My travel karma sucks. Even when everyone is nice—and people usually are—my flights get mysteriously delayed, my bags inexplicably turn up in Toledo instead of Toronto, my heel breaks as I dash down the concourse. It’s always something, and I’m only half joking when I say this might be genetic.

I don’t know much about my biological mother. Only that she was twenty-one when I was born, a flight attendant who got pregnant by a pilot who had a wife and children. That’s the story anyway, and while I’m a curious person by nature, I feel a surprising lack of curiosity about whether it’s true.

My real mom is Junie Smith Chenoweth. Her name is a bright wink to her birthday, the first of June, and she is the best mom in the world. (I’m sorry if you were under the mistaken impression that your mom is the best mom in the world or that there might be moms in Portugal or Wisconsin who come close. That’s not the case.) My mom is this wonderful dichotomy: her breezy, athletic style blends a jeans-and-sneakers spirit with skirt-and-pumps grace. She’s one of six tall sisters, each of whom is uniquely fabulous. When I was little, Mom’s dark, curly hair was sassed up with Frost & Tip and pulled back sometimes in a casually twisted headscarf like Jackie O. She has gorgeous blue eyes and bone structure that works beautifully with her well-chosen glasses. Not everyone’s face works with glasses. Mom pulls it off.

Best of all, there’s not a hint of stage mama about her. She knew nothing about showbiz and cared even less. The home she made for us was all about happiness, the value of a hearty breakfast, the importance of doing what’s right. Instead of pushing me to perform, she taught me to pray, and that made her the perfect mother for me.

Dad also wears glasses. (Come to think of it, I’m the only one in the family who doesn’t.) His thick brown hair has gently grayed over the years, but when I look at his face now, I see the same quiet strength I saw when I when I was barely big enough to climb up into his lap. I’ve always seen him as the gatekeeper. One of those Rock of Gibraltar men who stands on faith and lives by principle. He’s balanced and calm, a suit man until about five minutes after he gets home from work; then it’s Bermuda shorts and shirts, which Mom has to help him match because he’s color-blind. My earliest memories are of my father chasing me around the coffee table, teasing, I’m gonna get you! I’m gonna get you! but always letting me get away so I could feel like I won. (In many ways, we’re still playing that game.) We don’t always agree, but he’s the first one I turn to for advice about business and life.

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. If I ever need evidence of the Lord’s hand on me, proof of His plan for my little strand in His tightly woven tapestry, all I have to do is look across the dining room table at Junie and Jerry Chenoweth.

No one ever made a secret of the fact that I was a bonus baby who drifted quite miraculously into the family when I was five days old. Mom was only twenty-four and facing a heartbreaking hysterectomy three years after the birth of my brother, Mark. She and Dad desperately wanted another child. They were prepared to wade through the paperwork and spend years on the adoption waiting lists, but they didn’t have to.

Mom confided in the ob-gyn who was going to do her surgery that more than anything, she wanted a little girl. That’s understandable, right? Join the national average, balance out the Christmas card, tea for two and two for tea, and all that. But I think it was more than this for Mom. She and I have always had a unique connection, and I wonder if, somehow, some part of her spirit knew that I was out there, that I belonged to her, and she needed to find me.

Cue the Mile High Club.

When my flight-attendant birth mama turned up pregnant by a married man, her wealthy family shipped her off to Oklahoma (or so I’m told), and arrangements were made for the expected baby to be placed with a nice Catholic family who were next in line on the long list. But just before I was born, the adopting mother-to-be turned up pregnant herself and offered to allow another family to have this baby girl. She told the ob-gyn, and he immediately thought of my mother. It bugs me when people assume that this woman passed me along because she figured having her own baby was better. I’m certain that this was not only an incredibly selfless thing to do, but also a huge act of faith; a lot can happen in the course of a pregnancy, especially for a woman who’s struggled through years of infertility. Perhaps some part of her spirit knew that I didn’t belong to her. It also bugs me when I hear about Angelina’s adopted son or Rosie’s adopted children—as if that word will always separate them instead of binding them together. Angelina’s son and Rosie’s kids and I should get a regular apostrophe-plus-s like everybody else. I’m Junie’s girl, plain and simple, whatever serendipity and string-pulling went into the magic bubble ride that took me from forbidden love to the Chenoweth home in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma.

I felt like I had you, my mom always told me. I had the surgery, and we came home from the hospital together. It felt just like that newborn recovery period when I had Mark.

I can’t imagine what my father was going through in the meantime. Sorting through logistics and legalities. Waiting on pins and needles. Mom says they could hardly breathe during the one-year waiting period in which the biological mother could have changed her mind. But the moment of truth came and went, and I was their baby. Signed, sealed, and delivered. Not necessarily in that order.

I am deeply grateful to the three women who brought me into my world: one loving enough to reach out for me, two loving enough to let me go. However, since the question always gets asked, no, I have no interest in contacting or being contacted by my biological mother. I’ve never felt the slightest frisson of something missing in my life, and the whole medical-records thing doesn’t concern me much. I’m vigilant about my health. (In my profession, you’re either vigilant about your health or you’re Janis Joplin.) I do vaguely wonder if my biological mother suffers from Ménière’s disease like I do.

If you’re unfamiliar with the joy of Ménière’s (and I hope you are), imagine a floor-warping, ceiling-spinning, brain-churning, think-you’re-gonna-die-and-afraid-you-might-not hangover and multiply that times the aftermath of a power outage at the all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet. That’s Ménière’s. Saying it’s an inner ear disturbance that causes vertigo sounds so Bless my petticoats, Miss Petunia is having a spell. This is more than that. This SOB is seriously debilitating at times. So I sleep on an incline (even though hotel housekeeping people look at me as if I were requesting handcuffs and a swing above the bed), I limit sodium and several other factors that bring on episodes, and I take my don’t-fall-over-and-throw-up drugs when I fly or experience a climate change. And I pray. A lot. I’ve tried everything short of the handcuffs and swing in an effort to control it. Bottom line: Ménière’s disease sucks a big fat corncob. Knowing if some biological family member also has it wouldn’t really make a difference. I mean, what are we supposed to say to each other about it?

Howdy, stranger. Throw up much?

Yup. Tough to be us sometimes, huh?

Yup. Have a nice day.

You, too. Try not to fall over.

The light haze of curiosity isn’t enough for me to risk disrupting my life or the life of the woman who gave me up for adoption. She made a difficult choice, and I have profound respect for that. In 1968, abortion was still illegal in the United States, but she apparently had the money (and the flight bennies) to go wherever she needed to go to get it done. She chose to have me instead, and thank you does not begin to cover how I feel. But that’s all I’ve ever really wanted to say to her.

There was one strange little incident back in my pageant days. While I was the reigning Miss Oklahoma City University, I was invited to sing at an event honoring then vice president Dan Quayle, who was visiting Tulsa. At this sort of event, I was always accompanied by my handler, Kathleen McCracken, the pageant Rambo who steered me to wherever I was supposed to go and made sure I looked like a beauty queen when I got there. You get to be like sisters with your pageant handler (which makes me an aunt to her daughter, who’s now a Broadway babe). Who else can you trust to let you know if your roots are showing or there’s a scrap of toilet tissue trailing from the hem of your gown?

A huge crowd had turned out to greet the vice president. After I sang, speeches were made, I sang again, and then I was wrangled off to a table to sign autographs. A strange assortment of folks show up to get Miss OCU’s autograph: lots of little girls and I don’t know whom else. Some people in Oklahoma don’t get out much, I guess. I don’t allow myself to wonder if there’s an autographed eight-by-ten glossy of me attached to the head of an inflatable doll in some guy’s basement up in Okfuskee County. I prefer to think we were all caught up in the festive occasion, and people wanted something to remember it by. It’s not like I was famous; the whole autograph thing was probably more thrilling for me than it was for them.

I’ve been watching your career.

The voice was choked with emotion. I glanced up to find a small blond woman with luminous green eyes.

I just wanted to say…I’m so proud of you.

Well, thank you so much, I said with my pageant-perfected smile. That’s so sweet.

Oklahomans are proud of their own, but she seemed particularly overwhelmed. Her eyes welled. She bit her lip and thrust a wrinkled program forward, unable to say anything more. I didn’t find this terribly odd; I’d sung God Bless the USA, and a lot of people get choked up about that song. It’s not unusual for one song or another to strike a deeply personal chord, and I’m grateful when people let me know that they were moved. It’s a privilege. I signed her program and thanked her again. As she retreated into the crowd, Kathleen gripped my arm.


Kristi, that woman—she looked exactly like you.


I think that might have been—I mean—do you think she’s—

I bolted from behind the table, not to stop the woman, only to catch another glimpse of her, to see if the resemblance was as striking as Kathleen thought. I craned and gandered after her, but like me, she stood head and shoulders shorter than most of the people in the crowd. It was like trying to spot a daffodil in a cornfield. Only a few seconds had passed, but she was already lost in the throng.

I’ll never know for sure, but if that really was the landed flight attendant, that young girl from old money who made the choice to bring me into the world and cared enough for me to give me a good home, I love her all the more for walking away. Perhaps she has a happy family of her own now. (Please, God, let her have a happy family of her own now.) And perhaps she’s chosen not to tell them about her difficult past. I wouldn’t dream of intruding on this woman’s privacy, and naturally I’m uncomfortable with the idea of strangers intruding on mine, but it makes me happy to think that she knows about the blessings that have rained down on this life she knitted. If she was aware of the Miss OCU pageant, she must know about Wicked, Candide, and Pushing Daisies. She must have watched me collect a Tony and sing at the Oscars. She’s reading this book right now. It’s the loveliest thing she could have said: I’ve been watching your career. There’s no bragging rights attached to that statement, no attempt to reestablish a territory. There’s only gladness in the most unselfish package possible.

Remember the Bible story about wise King Solomon? Two women came to him with one baby, each claiming to be the infant’s mother.

Bring me a sword, he said.

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  • (4/5)
    A Little Bit Wicked is the autobiography/memoir of singer and actor Kristin Chenoweth. I bought this book on whim and really hadn’t seen Chenoweth in much before besides Pushing Daisies, although I absolutely loved that show and her role in it. So, I learned about Chenoweth from this book, including all her other roles and various endeavors.It’s mostly told in a linear fashion, although not exactly so, with each chapter starting out with a “current” (as of 2008) happening that then ties into her past. Chenoweth gives a fair amount of details about her life, including her family, friends, professional decisions, etc. although she notes at the end that “When I’m a grand old dame of the stage, I might get around to writing a proper ‘tell-all’ autobiography. Right, now, I’m offering this completely biased ‘tell-a-little’ slice of life, which reflects my personal recollections and opinions.” I’m okay (perhaps happier) with the “tell-a-little” format rather than the full divulging of the secret lives of Hollywood celebrities, although there were some moments that did feel rushed in this book. For instance, Chenoweth completely brushed over some of her roles, merely mentioning an entire movie in one sentence and moving on to the next thing. Personally, what I found most interesting in this book was the behind-the-scenes mechanics – how, for instance, a sitcom was developed and then quickly sunk or the engineering of Broadway special effects. It was also interesting to read about how much assistance those on the stage and/or screen get – people changing their costumes, doing their hair, or helping out on the home front by cleaning, managing, etc. These kinds of reminders are helpful to us regular folks sometimes so that we remember why it’s that much more difficult for us to be glamorous!Overall, I found this book entirely engrossing and very funny, although of course with serious moments thrown in here and there. It was entertaining and interesting enough that I would recommend it to those who have an interest in musical theater, television, or movies or are just looking for a humorously told story to read.
  • (5/5)
    Loved this book, as read by Kristin Chenoweth.Have gained much respect for her after reading this.Would highly recommend this book, especially if you're a music theater/arts lover anywhere between the coasts.
  • (5/5)
    I was completely impressed by Kristin Chenoweth. I'm pretty leery of celebrity autobiographies (generally I don't really care to hear from them how amazing they are), but Chenoweth was honest, respectful, and fun. I really like that she didn't do the typical birth to current time format, it was much more grouped by subject in a somewhat linear order. She's very mature and honestly made me laugh out loud several times. A must for any theatre-lover, and highly recommended for everyone else.
  • (5/5)
    I think I may have ruptured something while reading this book. I mean, the hair episode, and just the entire tone seemed like the Ms. Chenoweth that you see on the various talk shows she's done.And I learned things (for example, I don't read nearly enough gossip rags).All in all it was a clear five star book, a good author, and an amazing writer (I may actually go read other things she's written, which never happens when I read these sorts of books). A pleasure to read all around.
  • (4/5)
    Decent autobiography, fun in part because she's a tiny Oklahoman with a Baptist background. How adorable is that?
  • (3/5)
    A Little Bit Wicked is exactly what I thought it was going to be - a rather fluffy diversion and a glimpse into the life of someone I'm glad to get to know a little bit. Kristin Chenoweth is a hard-working Oklahoma girl and this memoir takes us from her childhood ballet classes to Broadway and beyond. Recommended for her fans.
  • (4/5)
    Kristin Chenoweth writes like she talks. Adorable. She is very likable; her voice is realistic and casual and friendly. The book reads like a conversation. Light and fun, would be a good beach read.
  • (4/5)
    I am a big fan of Kristin Chenoweth and I try to follow her work. That being said this was a great book with a lot of insight into her life and early career. It was both funny and a little sad. A fast read. I hope to see more of her.
  • (5/5)
    I've seen Chenoweth on TV, especially the weird and wonderful Pushing Daisies, and enjoyed her work quite a bit. I also had heard that she dated Aaron Sorkin, whom I admire greatly for his work on the West Wing. So I got her memoirs and am glad of it. She's a lovely person, with a great sense of humor, a unique way of expressing herself, a lot of intelligence, intense dedication to her crafts - singing, acting, and dancing. She is a Christian who has a gay male best friend and a tendency to date Jewish men, so she happily defies stereotypes.Her memoirs make for a fun and informative read.
  • (4/5)
    I am a big fan of Kristin Chenoweth so this was definitely a treat for me to read. I listen to the soundtrack for Wicked on my iPod all the time. I only wish I would have seen her perform as "Glinda" in Wicked live with Idina Menzel. But nonetheless, she was my favorite character on Pushing Daisies as Olive Snook. Oh, and did I mention her fabulous cameo on Glee (to die for). So I couldn't help but picking up this book in order to get more insider information on this tiny (with a very big voice) gal.The moment you open the book you quickly hear Kristin's voice - you can hear her southern drawl, and her personality really shines through with each paragraph. Reading about her trials and tribulations made me love her even more.At first the time line is a bit confusing because she runs back and forth from past to present, but her tone of writing is so fun that you can definitely overlook that. After awhile you get used to the skipping around and it just becomes part of the charm. I loved getting insight into the workings of Broadway, how she felt about being adopted, her faith, her schooling, Wicked, her love life, that huge mega-hit "Kristin", and it all wrapped up into this "tiny" package that you can definitely envision as being KRISTIN. I thought it was interesting, light and more than once found myself laughing out loud. If you're a fan of Kristin Chenoweth, then you definitely have to read this (although I will forewarn this not a tell-all book; she doesn't dish on any co-stars or friends and I really appreciated that).
  • (5/5)
    Most people know Kristin Chenoweth from Wicked, The West Wing, and/or Pushing Daisies. I'll confess something: I've never seen either of these things. Don't get me wrong: I would love to see her (and Idina) in Wicked (but I think that ship's already sailed, although, I am hoping for a film adaptation with Kristin and Idina as the leads, of course) and probably would've gotten into Pushing Daisies (but I vaguely remember scheduling conflicts for me between this and another show. Which show you ask? I really can't remember so apparently is wasn't memorable), but I just never got the chance. No. The first time I heard about Kristin Chenoweth was when I was 12 years old and had just seen the Wonderful World of Disney version of Annie in which Kristin plays Lily St. Regis. She was just all-around hilarious in that film and was really my favorite character (sure, I liked Annie and all, but Lily St. Regis was just so charming and adorable). After watching that movie over and over (and okay, over) again (and learning all the songs and dance routines), I grew up (somewhat) and didn't watch it again until a couple of months ago when I dusted up my VHS version of the film and watched it with my five year old sister (and it by the way still held up). Soon after that, I caught Kristin on Glee, loved her in it and decided to read her autobiography/memoir. was amazing. Going into this, you know A Little Bit Wicked isn't going to be some literary masterpiece and you also know that it's not going to be some scandalous tell-all (because really that would've been all over the media). It seemed like a cute and funny book, so I thought what the hell. I sure didn't expect to start laughing as soon as I turned to Page 1. Kristin just oozes fun and is not afraid to poke fun at herself. From saying to Ellen that she has to sing from her "Hoo-hoo" to kissing Idina Menzel to break the tension after the bigheads of Wicked stormed out, you can just tell that Kristin is possibly one of the coolest people around. I'm not a religious person at all, so I thought that that particular element would bother me coming up as much as it did, but surprisingly it didn't. It's probably because Kristin Chenoweth seems like one of those people who's just really open-minded about most things that would piss off a majority of uber-religious people. I honestly can't find one thing that I had a problem with in regards to this book. It really delivered what I wanted. A humorous memoir that wasn't too angsty, yet had the right amount of heart. I'm sure that Kristin Chenoweth will go on to do even more great things and I'll be rooting for her every step of the way. You know, all us short girls (I'm five feet, if that) have to support each other. Also, now when I push in my Annie DVD (I've since upgraded) for the umpteenth time and my older sister walks in and rolls her eyes asking, "Why are you watching this AGAIN?", I can reply with the utmost certainty "Because Kristin Chenoweth is just THAT awesome!"
  • (4/5)
    I was looking for books to add to Book Mooch and found an ARC of Kristin Chenoweth's A Little Bit Wicked that I got back in February and hadn't read. I'm a big fan, but with all the other books I have to read (and a full 999 Challenge list!), I thought I should read something other than a fluffy star bio. When would I ever get to it? But before giving it away, I thought I'd look at the photos. Then I flipped through the book and instantly got caught up reading a story about a plane ride with the Flight Attendant from Hell. I flipped some more, read some more, flipped and read, flipped and read, until I realized I'd read at least half of the book! So I went back and started at the beginning. Now I'm a really big fan. If you like Kristin Chenoweth and/or star memoirs, read this one. It's funny and fun, honest and engaging and sweet - pretty much the impression you get of Kristin herself.
  • (3/5)
    Fun, light, and easy. Probably will be enjoyed by Wicked, West Wing, or Pushing Daisies fans. Good for an airplane or the beach....
  • (5/5)
    I don’t normally venture into the non-fiction section of a bookstore unless by accident, but when I spotted Kristin Chenoweth’s memoir A Little Bit Wicked I knew that I had to read it because 1) I love all things Wicked (although it does not dominate her story); and 2) I fell in love with Kristin Chenoweth when she played Olive Snook in Pushing Daisies.THE GOOD BITS{A little slice goes a long way} I loved the format of this book. Yes, Kristin Chenoweth goes in chronological order, but it never felt that way. A Little Bit Wicked seemed more like a compilation of bits and pieces of Kristin Chenoweth’s life, never quite connect-the-dots but everything had its time and place and I felt lucky to be reading about it. I ate A Little Bit Wicked it up in one evening, but this book can easily be stretched out like a decadent and rewarding dessert for 16 evenings!{Warning: Avoid any liquids while reading} I guarantee that there are a whole lot of snort-worthy moments, and I giggled my whole way through reading! Kristin Chenoweth is honest-to-goodness adorable, even when she has her non-bubbly moments, and I love how the writing captures this effervescent woman. She is 100% human (I know, I had concern that she was all bubble) with hurts and hopes, trials and triumphs, and she knows how to throw a decent punchline. From the truth behind where babies come from to her eat-them-and-maybe-die White Trash Cookies to the inspiration behind Ellen: The Musical to being tricked into a date with a pilot while racing across the country, it is hard to NOT laugh at Kristin Chenoweth’s mishaps on her rise to popularity.{On Aaron Sorkin} So I didn’t know much about Kristin Chenoweth’s love life before I read A Little Bit Wicked and really the her current status is nobody’s business but her own, but can I say that I adored Aaron Sorkin’s own account of how he fell in love with her? All I can say is that, in A Little Bit Wicked, I can sense how much Kristin Chenoweth and Aaron Sorkin care for each other – even if they were off-and-on, even if they never get back together – despite everything, Aaron Sorkin wrote a beautiful piece for A Little Bit Wicked and I think it was pretty cool of Kristin Chenoweth to share it with the reader.THE BAD BITS{Wicked-ly disappointed} Okay, the lack of Wicked was not exactly the end of the world, and I am sure Kristin Chenoweth may be all Wicked-out, but I had thought there would have been more dish on Wicked as suggested by the title. There were a few brief mentions, but if you shared my expectations of Wicked delights, this is not the book for you. This is more for fans of Kristin Chenoweth and perhaps GLEE-hards.THE OVERALLI don’t know how A Little Bit Wicked does it, but somehow it embodies the bubbly known as Kristin Chenoweth and delivers anecdotes that can either make you laugh or cry or even sniffle with a hint of chuckle. A Little Bit Wicked may have be Wicked in name only, but it is everything I expected from Kristin Chenoweth! A Little Bit Wicked may be short in length, Kristin Chenoweth most definitely is not – and I hope that there may be more stories to share in the future.
  • (4/5)
    Chenoweth's folksy charm saturates every sentence in her autobiography, which is an account of how she rose to stardom on stage and screen. Though positive and chipper throughout, she is not afraid to throw herself under the bus for mistakes she's made. It's also a refreshing account of the thoughts of a person of faith who stands out for being too liberal for conservative Christians and too conservative for liberals. Her book's main theme is "Hey, I'm just being the best me I can be" and makes no apologies for it. She's pretty open about her relationship with TV writer Aaron Sorkin, though she does admit that she's kept a lot of the really personal stuff off the page. (And rightly.) And we see her side through the whole "700 Club" debaucle and can't help but be sympathetic towards her. Though frequently naiive, it's apparent that Chenoweth has a big heart, but also balances it out with a strong backbone to stand up for herself.The writing and narration is choppy, but the tone of the novel--an intimate, warm, about-to-be-handed-a-slice-of-pie-and-the-latest-gossip kind of tone--keeps the book fun and breezy.
  • (4/5)
    I now have a true girl-crush on Kristin Chenoweth. If she's anything like she comes across in this book, she's one of the funniest, most charming people ever, but with just enough vulnerability that you don't hate her for being perfect!
  • (4/5)
    Narrated by the author. I didn't know anything about Kristin Chenoweth other than she was the squeaky-voiced actress on "Pushing Up Daisies." She narrates her story with an appealing Southern charm, punctuating it with trills and giggles. She doesn't dish much Hollywood dirt; that's not her personality as she would be the first to say. But she does tweak a few folks in a humorous way, herself included. Her Christian faith and open heart towards all lie at the heart of her personal philosophies.
  • (4/5)
    I am a Broadway and theater fan, so this was a fun book to read, and I find Christin Chenoweth to be honest, funny and a good person. I enjoyed her candor, and her stories. I also commend her on her determination and staying true to her values, her friends and herself.
  • (5/5)
    OK, if you read my other reviews it becomes pretty obvious that I don't generally like memoirs....but for some reason I keep trying them. Well, this one - I loved!It's written with a light spirit, humor, some tears, and honesty. Chenoweth admits that this is not a tell-all. But it is a great story about her life and the choices she made, always believing that God was along for the ride, even when things didn't seem to be going well. If you've seen her on Broadway, in concert, in movies, or on TV and enjoyed her presence, give the book a try. It's quite an enjoyable journey from Broken Arrow, Oklahoma(!) to Broadway and L.A. I just got the feeling that if I had the chance to sit down to dinner with her, I would see the same person that sprang to life on those pages. It's genuine and fun.
  • (5/5)
    I loved this book! Kristin Chenoweth is hilarious! After reading it, I want to be her friend. She gives a great look into her life growing up, her acting career and the anecdotes that go with both.
  • (4/5)
    The fabulous Kristin Chenoweth has opened her life to let us peek into the events of her past that have made her the amazing woman she has become.She first came on my radar with her run in Wicked the Musical and I have loved her since. This funny, cute, and heart-warming book takes us on her journey to singing on Broadway, and on to television and movies.I love that this book isn't a chronological treck from point A to point B. But, instead, is a collection of random thoughts and stories that, pasted together, shows the reader the big picture that IS KRISTIN CHENOWETH
  • (3/5)
    I picked this book up because I've always been interested in Broadway, and in the path that gets people there -- and while I have not seen a lot of Kristin Chenoweth myself, I have enjoyed what I have seen, and I thought it would be interesting to read a memoir by her.And parts of the book were definitely very interesting -- I especially liked the parts where she is talking about her experiences with her music training in college, and the strong connection she had with the teacher there.There were two things that put me off about the book, though. The first is the organization -- it's not really chronological or topical, but is an odd mish-mash of both. And so just when I'm getting really interested in what's happening at that point in her life, the book jumps to another time period altogether, only to jump back again later. That isn't anything I'd blame Chenoweth for, offhand, as I'd guess that it's probably more of an issue between the writer (Joni Rodgers) and editor. The other thing that put me off was all the religious references. It's not the fact that there were religious references at all that put me off (I'm religious myself), it's that they so often seemed awkward or artificial, almost as if someone had decided *after* the book was written to "go back through and put lots of Jesus bits in everywhere!"I think it's an interesting and fun enough book, but in the end, it just wasn't as well-written as I was hoping for -- and as a result, it took me a good while to get through the book. This is definitely a book that I'd recommend picking up from the library, though, and I think that Chenoweth fans would probably consider it a worthwhile purchase.Comment
  • (5/5)
    Kristin Chenoweth is adorable. The only celebrity memoir I have ever enjoyed, other than Barbra Eden.
  • (3/5)
    I wish there had been some pictures to go with this fun little romp of a book
  • (5/5)
  • (4/5)
  • (5/5)
    Very good