Tongue In Cheek -- Do Not Read This If You Are Easily Offended, Too Politically Correct, Averse To Humor

"Get Your Tongue Out of My Mouth, I'm Kissing You Good-Bye!"

Now that you've read the book's title, you're either the kind of person who is probably hooked for the rest of the story, or your eyebrow is raised and you're sniffing.

Still reading? OK, onto the next winnowing. The following kinds of people SHOULD NOT read Cynthia Heimel: People easily offended, especially by swear words (the worst ones!); politically correct feminists; anti-feminists; those irritated by hipness, especially the provincial New York-L.A. kind (she lives in both cities!); and those objecting to lavish use of exclamation points! (She's very fond of them!)

Now, the following kinds of people probably SHOULD read Cynthia Heimel: People who value clever wordsmithing; who aren't above a good, fun, old-fashioned session of male trashing; those who can forgive her hipness because she tells embarassing tales on herself in a self-deprecating way, a little bit like Linda Barry, but sharper . . . and above all, those who like to laugh at the human predicament. Especially the female human predicament.

So who is this Heimel person? The bio goes something like: crazy hippie becomes young divorced welfare mom, then alternative newspaper writer, then successful writer for Village Voice and Playboy, TV sitcom writer, and author of popular books with catchy titles ("Sex Tips for Girls;" "Enough About You"; "If You Can't Live Without Me, Why Aren't You Dead Yet?").

She's now in her "early 40s." Subjects of her latest book's essays include: women's plight (chapter title: "Feminist Rants"), battle of the sexes, shopping, motherhood, L.A., dogs and pop culture.

Heimel is in town, of course. Last night she read at the University of Washington, sponsored by University Book Store. (She's extremely popular with University Book Store readers; "I see straight-laced people in suits from Safeco laughing and pointing at her stuff, and I see kids off the Ave, with heavily pierced bodies, laughing, too," says Judith Chandler, who runs the bookstore's authors program.)

Today, she's signing books at Tower Books in Bellevue, 6-8 p.m. She also stopped by The Times yesterday for a chat.

We asked her several important questions, including:

Q: If you find true love happily ever after, won't you lose the source of your best material? A: I see, you want to me to be unhappy?

Q: Do you really like sex that much, or do you just say that for the Playboy audience? A: I just say that . . . once a year I have one of those days where I have to go on the prowl - I'm like a wolf, they're only in heat once a year. Dogs, twice a year, that's the difference.

Q: Do you think society's going to evolve so it's acceptable for you to be raunchy when you're 60 or 70? A: Yes. I joke about the world being created for the baby boomers, but it's true . . . Nobody laughs at Mick Jagger. (Interviewer: But he's a man). Hmm, that's true. Nobody laughs at Joni Mitchell; well, maybe, hmm. . . But, I don't think women are going to put up with being mistreated, and then for being mistreated for being older. Q: Reactions to Seattle? A: I'm getting a weird vibe. I've been here one day and I'm worried. . . I'm on a shopping spree to find out where to live, taking the temperature of each town. I sense a little snotty New Yorkish thing, like, `Are you cool enough to talk to?' from people in the street, a little touch of it.

Portland doesn't have that; there, it's `We're nice and that's all we are.' Here, there's a feeling of competitiveness in the air. Maybe it's because Seattle's been through a little too much grooviness lately. Grunge, the music, Nora Ephron's movie ("Sleepless in Seattle"). Maybe it's too much attention, too fast.

Q: In your heart are you still the welfare mom, or part of this new L.A. glitter world? (Editorial note: She's been on "The Tonight Show.") A: My heart is still in the gutter.

Enough scintillating interview. Want to hear some Heimel prose? (Caveat: the really funniest stuff is either too long or too X-rated for this family newspaper, like the one that links how we'd be better off acting like innocent dogs, and how she was flirting with this blond guy, and - oh, forget it, it's impossible. . . )

Nature doesn't care

"Not that I blame men. OK, I do, but only because I am a bad sport. It's biology's fault. Nature is not a feminist.

"If nature were a feminist women would have no biological clock and no menopause. Instead of being born with all the eggs we'll ever have, women would produce new eggs until we were 80, giving birth would be a breeze, and there would be no such thing as a stretch mark. Men would run out of sperm when they were 50 whereupon everyone would approve as we dumped our worn-out, flabby husbands and scooped up young dudes and started a whole new life, a whole new family.

"But nature doesn't care about women, nature only cares about the perpetuation of the species. Nature is a bitch."

`Have a good time' "Good mothers, when they realize they're guilt-tripping their kids, stop themselves in mid-whine . . .

"My son's going out now. I wanted to go to the movies with him, it's his last night here. But no, Mr. College would rather be with his friends. I want to say "Don't leave me!" so much it's killing me. I'm going to. I open my mouth.

" `Have a good time, hon,"' I say. Victory. For now.

Fat and loved

"Oh, to be a lesbian! Never again to become tongue-tied and stupid and self-deprecating and laugh too much! To wear sweatpants my whole life long!

"If I could be a lesbian, I could have chocolate cake for dinner every night and still get laid! Men, who have sex glands in their eyes and centerfolds in their hearts, are strange, deranged, picky and exacting about women's bodies! Other women are not! Other women would be empathetic about cellulite and bad-hair days! Plenty of lesbians are fat and loved!"

Swimsuit season

"Dear Problem Lady:

"It's that dreadful season . . . Bathing suit season . . . Would it be better to just stay indoors for the entire summer? A friend."

"Dear Friend:

"First of all, you know those strangers on the beach? They're not looking at you, they don't care whether you live or die. They're just hoping you don't notice that their butts are more bovine than any cow's. At least the women are. The men, even the pear-shaped ones, all think they, themselves, look lovely. And they're in such a state of erotic overstimulation they can't even focus on body blemishes, they just want to ---- whatever they see."

Boys and guitars

"Do you know what? I have spent a full 20 years watching boys play guitars."