during the rather substantial thunderstorm between 11 p.m. and 1 a.m. last night: There’s a special place in hell for you, my friend. Leaving a poor, defenseless animal outside to bark, shriek and cry like that ...

Next time, I’m calling the cops on you for animal endangerment.

Been itchin’ to go off on another one of my pseudo political rants, but then I read the paper this morning and well, lookyhere! my latest pet peeve has been addressed: Lookit

For those I haven’t spouted off to over the past few weeksunaware, Indiana issued at the beginning of the year a new license plate. And it’s a lovely plate, all blue with a nice big American Flag and “In God We Trust” in a pleasant white serif font. If nothing else, it’s damn more attractive than the current plates, which are and have been ass-ugly since they rolled out in 2004. You can even get the new plate AT NO EXTRA CHARGE when you go to renew your plates.

That’s great, except for the obvious problem that the state is opting to throw away a sizable chunk of change so we can all look like a bunch of simple, God-fearin’ folk. I mean, if someone can find data on how many Hoosiers actually attend Christian churches regularly and faithfully, please send it my way; otherwise, you’re not going to convince me that everyone’s getting this plate because they’re devout Christians. Judging by the cars I see on the road every day of my life, however, you will convince me that we’re a vain bunch of m’er f’ers when it comes to our rides—again, 2004 license plates? Ass-ugly, so who WOULDN’T jump at the chance to get a better-looking plate FOR ZERO DOLLAH (besides me, because I’m pissed off enough about this issue, plus it goes against every one of Mother’s sensibilities, and that’s an always an added bonus)!?? It’s just like those morons who buy “Support the Troop” magnets, if you think about it: They’d much rather shell out the $2 to a for-profit business on a ribbon magnet—not to mention ruin their paint jobs—than, say, spend $4 on a pack of disposable razors or toilet paper to send overseas to an actual soldier. At least the for-profit’s making money, because the STATE sure won’t with this nightmare.

No. Separate church and state, or else every single religion in Indiana needs to have its own plate available free-of-charge.

Many of my pals often lament the state of clothing these days; since I’ve been a free-lancer, my wardrobe has gone from casual business casual to “straight out of the dorms,” what with my affinity for tie-dyes, concert t-shirts, flip-flops, yoga pants and the like. (Last year, I started maturing my wardrobe a tad, but I often still look like one of those scary people who never quite declare a major—even when they’re, you know, 49.) This weekend brought Peep’s christening, however, and the delicious weather that would be SO inappropriate for my usual black suit or brown dress pants, so I decided that I would hit Tarzhay to see if they had anything remotely interesting for cheap. Amazingly enough, they did, and I ended up getting the first dress (!) I tried on, a faux-wrap number with an empire waist and black, white and gray leopard print. All it needed was red accessories—and I do have the be-all to end all in red accessories, as y’all know— and I’ll make a nattily dressed christening witnesser, I thought. It’ll be wonderful.

So, fast forward to Sunday: It’s 12:35, and after I’d a) spent 40 minutes in the bathtub ridding my legs of their winter covering (hey, it was a celibate winter, and I’m Eastern European. Do I gotta paint more of a picture?); b) covered an assignment at the local Romanian Orthodox church; and c) gotten stuck by a train as I mad the mad dash to one church from the other, I arrive with moments to spare. And I cut a pretty dashing figure, if I do say so—had my dress on, my nails painted, my contacts in, my hair toussled perfectly by the wind, and I’m rockin’ the Manolos. Couldn’t be better, right?

The first thing I noticed as I began my descent to the floormat in the church foyer (OH. YES.) was that my foot completely dislodged from my right Manolo as its dainty little stiletto wedged itself in the doorjam. After that, it was the searing pain to my knees, which had not only partially broken my fall, but were now skinned as my body lurched forward upon impact. And as I lay there stomach down and praying that my dress is still covering my ass because holy shit! no one needs to see either the industrial sized girdle I’ve got on or the fact that I’ve only shaved above my knee because hey! celibate, it took every bit of my composure not to yell “FUCK! THAT HURT!” at the top of my lungs. Fortunately, a gentleman who turned out to be Peep’s Godmother’s husband unwedged my shoe and helped yank me up off the floormat, slightly worse for the wear and not just a tad mortified.

Poppy’s brother, who was in the foyer with his little girl, also witnessed my grand entrance and, ever the videographer, said that he caught it on tape. He was just kidding, of course, but if y’all happen to catch something on YouTube and my dress is up over my ass, do me a favor and flag it as “Offensive”; NOBODY needs to see that.

From NYP’s gossip gasbag Cindy Adams comes, in reference to the latest diaries of Anna Nicole Smith’s to be, ahem, released, this gem of moral turpitude:

Mmmmmyes, because the thieves who got their hands on the diaries and are trying to sell them to the highest bidder are somehow not disgusting for stealing them.

My crabbing here is not about whether she’s a public figure; of course she is, and therefore everyone wants to to view the trainwreck, right or wrong. My point here is, as long as they’re not inflicting harm on anyone else and within the context of them sitting alone in their private domain, every nutjob in the known universe is allowed to express their private thoughts in any manner they choose. Pen and paper, spray paint, interpretive dance ... all of it. “How could you?” What the hell kind of question IS that!??

I interviewed this cat for a Monday centerpiece; he’s a hairstylist/musician who owns a teeny salon in the back of a guitar shop. All I’m saying is, be prepared to laugh your fool heads off, because this is AWESOME:

Haircuts in the Summer music video

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PS: If you think he looks familiar, you’re very observant!

And may y’all quickly find some sort of peace after today’s events.

Because I suspect this is to what ye sick m’erf’ersy’all diehard fans have to look forward:



It could happen.

Great debate over on Gawker about celebrities’ rights to not be talked about in the press ... well, it’s not so much a “debate” as it is people with half a clue rightfully taking talkshow meathead Jimmy Kimmel to task over his performance on “Larry King Live” last week. Nevertheless, I’d have weighed in, only every time I was ready to add something productive to the the bashing, someone else beat me to it. Anyway, here t’is: Lookit

My ... ahem ... PURCHASE from the weiner party is in, but instead of driving out to work to pick it up, one of MY BOSSES is bringing it to me when we have our hair done Tuesday. Isn’t that awful? We both were skeeved out when she made the suggestion, and yet I still wasn’t motivated to get my ass off the couch.

Heard from Mer a couple times this week—she’s having an excellent time in Iran and is down to her last $50. God help customs, because she does NOT take too kindly to the rules. But she loves the people over there and said she has plenty to share when she gets back. Hope she brought me back something cool.