who would help a out a sister who’s STILL waiting for her fuel line to thaw by bringing over chips and salsa, among other things.

Girlie, you RULE!

Because if someone at the paper would’ve told me about this little gem:

Phony ballot gets man probation

Post-Tribune staff report

Suspended Lake County police officer Ponciano Herrera admitted he submitted a phony ballot in the May 2003 East Chicago primary election.

Herrera, 42, of East Chicago, pleaded guilty to procuring or submitting a false, fictitious or fraudulent ballot, a felony charge.

Lake Superior Court Judge Thomas Stefaniak Jr., placed Herrera on probation for 90 days and entered the conviction as a misdemeanor, as called for in the plea agreement negotiated on behalf of Indiana Attorney General Steve Carter’s office and Herrera’s lawyers.

The misdemeanor conviction would allow Herrera to return to the police force.

Four counts of perjury and four counts of vote fraud were dismissed in exchange for Herrera’s admission of guilt.

Herrera, an East Chicago native who served in the U.S. Air Force and returned to his hometown and joined the Lake County police 15 years ago, became emotional when addressing the judge. “I have always tried to be a servant to the community,” Herrera said, “but I am only human.’’ After being suspended without pay, Herrera said he took a job with the Gary street department.

Stefaniak heard from Antonio Barreda, an officer in the Union Benefica Mexicana, a civic and social organization in East Chicago, who said Herrera not only has been a committed and involved member of the group but also pitched in to help in the hurricane recovery efforts in New Orleans.

Family members of Nick Idalski, a soldier killed in Iraq in 2005, said Herrera arranged for a police escort for Idalski’s body and handled many details for the family.

Herrera was one of dozens of people charged with vote fraud in the 2003 East Chicago primary election, which was set aside by the Indiana Supreme Court.

Charges of domestic battery during a May incident have been dropped against a Lake County Sheriff’s officer.

Officer Ponciano Herrera of East Chicago, was named in a complaint filed by the Lake County Sheriff’s Police on behalf of Darcel Espinoza of Merrillville. But according to an investigation conducted by the county police, the claims were baseless, according to Lake County Police Chief Gary Martin.

“We conducted a thorough investigation and the complaint was found to be unsubstantiated,” Martin said.

According to an incident report obtained by the Post-Tribune, Herrera, who is the father of Espinoza’s child, showed up at Espinoza’s home, let himself in and asked to see their daughter. Espinoza said she declined because Herrera smelled strongly of alcoholic beverages.

“(The) complainant stated that she then told her daughter to lock herself in the bedroom,” the report states. “Complainant advised that Mr. Herrera then threw a plastic water bottle at her which struck her in the head.”

The report said Herrera then opened the door as if to leave, at which time Espinoza tried to shut the door and lock it behind him. But Herrera pushed the door back forcefully, slamming Espinoza between it and the wall. Afterward, he dragged Espinoza by her wrists into the dining room area, causing rug burns on her knees, and dug his fingers into her neck.

Sgt. William Paterson and Officer Brian Marsh, who responded to the call, observed abrasions on Espinoza’s back and knees, swelling on her forehead above the right eye and a bruise on her left wrist and thumb. They took pictures of these injuries along with damage done to the wall where Espinoza got caught by the door and a typewriter that Herrera allegedly threw off the balcony, the report states.

The report also says that Cmdr. Dale Bock advised Paterson and Marsh to file the domestic battery charges.

But when Espinoza was interviewed by police shortly after, her stories were different, Martin said.

“She had explanations for her injuries,” he said, adding that he felt confident Espinoza didn’t recant her report out of fear of Herrera. “(Paterson and Marsh) did exactly what they were supposed to do, but once the investigators took her statement, it was found that the incident didn’t happen.”

Espinoza didn’t return several calls for comment.

Herrera, who ran for an East Chicago council seat, said he’s relieved Espinoza changed her story. “I’m a law enforcement officer and this is a delicate situation,” Herrera said. “I’m fortunate that she told the truth to the investigator.”

Law enforcement officers may file charges in a domestic battery case based on observations at the scene or outside witness testimony, regardless of whether the victim presses charges, said Lake County Prosecutor Bernard Carter. But Carter added that unless the police give the prosecutor charges, his office can’t investigate.

You know how I was talking about nipple clamps the other day in random conversation? Ok, the universe is apparently trying to turn me completely off to the idea of nipple play, because here’s this—Lookit—and I’m just like, “That’s it, I’m out.” I can’t imagine that it’s a real procedure, but I mean, I don’t know about y’all, but many strippers, with their fake hair and nail-art painted nails, are already walking, breathing fire hazards. Do they really need to be more combustible? That’s what I’m saying.

Today’s new song obsession is Slade’s “Run Runaway.” Ask me how many times I’ve played it. Go on, ask me! ZILLIONS. Over and over and over. Fiddles, crunchy guitars, simple lyrics sung by ugly Scottish men in kilts—what’s more fun than that?

Had dinner with the fam celebrating my and B-Dub’s birthdays tonight (his 32nd is tomorrow—Happy B-Day, baby!), and the best thing ever happened: We were cleaning up, and B-Dubs wanted to take the leftover hamburger from the burgers we grilled because, you know, it’s 21 degrees out and we’re hardcore up here in the NWI. So he’s putting the hamburger in a Ziplock, and I looked at it and said “A bag of meat—wow, a big bag of meat, even,” not really thinking anything other than my brother had a big blob of hamburger in a Ziplock.

Not two seconds later, my nephew starts chanting in an almost rap-like fashion, “That’s a big bag o’ meat! Oh YEAH!” and then of course my niece starts chanting along.

Well, B-Dubs and I looked at each other and fell out at these two little kids rap-chanting about a bag of meat, so I of course encourage the nonsense by telling B-Dubs to throw a beat behind it, and he starts beat-boxing while the two of them are marching around the coffee table yelling at the top of their lungs, “That’s a big bag o’ meat! Oh YEAH!” and I’m at the table just dying. (There also may or may not have been some further encouragement by me in the form of bustin’ out some chair-dance moves.) My sister, meanwhile, is looking at us like we’re high on crack and is all, “Yeah, I don’t want to hear this all the way home.”

I swear I didn’t say a word to them. I can’t help that my influence, it is stealthy in its mightiness.

Earlier this week, I sent my peeps an e-mail with the historic CBS Nightly News clip that aired either Thursday or Friday night about the 29 year-old Marine who died of melanoma for which he was never given a diagnosis until it was already Stage 4. The reason I sent it was not because I wanted to discuss politics* but because it was an amazingly well-done piece and I was blown away by the condition of the guy when he died. (I mean, Dad weighed 130 when he died, but under 80 pounds on a guy that was likely average height!?? Good Christ, that’s unreal.)

Yeah, should’ve thought to embrace the bcc mechanism on my Thunderbird, because today—not Tuesday or yesterday, mind you—I had a whole e-mail war going on and all kinds of people annoyed, and I’m like, “Whoa, y’all! I wasn’t even talking about Universal Health Care!” That’ll learn ME. Jeez.

My big assignment for the week so far has been, in anticipation of Valentine’s Day, talking to NWI’s most “roMANtic” restaurants to find out what makes them the place to be: Is it ambiance? Food? What? And as I’m interviewing them, it occurs to me—and this will shock no one, I’m sure—that I’m probably the least conventionally romantic woman on the planet ... well, maybe not the PLANET, but it’s gotta be the Northern hemisphere, at the very least. I mean, the various owners were talking about this and that, and I get the whole flowers/cards/candy/nice dinner out thing. I just prefer to find “romance,” if you want to call it that, in less contrived ways. Or maybe that speaks volumes as to the guys I’ve been involved with over the years, I don’t know, but if someone wanted to take me out and spend that kind of scratch on me for Valentine’s Day, I wouldn’t appreciate it like he would want it appreciated. This of course is not to say that I would rather go to Outback Steakhouse over Rodizio’s or Lucrezia’s; I’m just saying it would be lost on me. (And probably something about the manner to which I’m accustomed.) But, like, rose petals in the bathtub and that kind of stuff? I could see myself thinking “Great. A cliche” if that ever happened.

What do I find romantic, then? That’s the other thing: I never know until it happens. Anyone else like that?

Funny, but I don’t recall GERMS being on my birthday wishlist. I better not be coming down with a cold.

Speaking of birthday gifts, I was going to model CatRag’s gift, but my boyfriend insisted on doing it himself: Lookit. (Mother loved it, too, Cat!)

It’s now almost 12 hours into year 38 for me, and I at least I no longer feel like I’ve been beaten about the upper back with a truncheon (even after yesterday’s 3-hour nap, necessitated by one of my editors who thought it would be funny to have me up and working yesterday morning after an extra-late night). But it was a good pain in which to suffer; anything that can restore my faith in the NWI music scene with the sheer joy akin to getting picked up by a 20-something and then bent over the hood of a car signifies a good night all around.

I’m not even sure I can describe Friday night’s show with River Oaks, FIL and The Steepwater Band other than with a slack-jawed “Whoa ...” Like, put your drink down and stare in wonder at how three skinny boys from Portage can make all that rock. Just unreal. At one point, guitarist Jeff Massey did this thing where both his hands were on the base of the guitar, and it was all “weedleeweedleeweedleeweedleeweedleeeeeeeee!” with fingers flying, swear to God. I’ve never seen anything like it. River Oaks, led by my D-list celebrity BFF hairstylist Ben Mollin (I love bringing that up), opened up the gig, and it was the quirkiest of the three—Girlie describes it as “middle-aged punk,” while FIL was hard-driving power pop(Girlie and I hate this cliche, but I have no better way of describing them at the moment). Then Steepwater, then a jam featuring Steepwater and NWI guitar virtuoso-leprechaun Danny Giorgi, who can sing backup with a cigarette in his mouth like no other. Seriously, I can’t say enough about these guys, and not just because they’re friends of mine. (Sidenote: Are they REALLY going to make them play the last freakin’ second of the Super Bowl!?? Really!??) So, when Steepwater comes to a bar near you, treat yourself and go. Oh, and I would say go buy something of theirs off iTunes, but keep in mind that magic can’t really be recorded well.

Second day of my birthday weekend: Up at the asscrack to work, then lunch with Kaffy, then sleeping. Glorious sleeping.

Today was lunch with Mother—who’s doing well with the anti-psychotic, and that’s the best gift for which I could ask, really—and now I’m over at Girlie’s for Crap TV night after hanging at her family restaurant for the Super Bowl. Have I told y’all lately that my peeps are the greatest peeps in the world? Because they really are, and I love every one of them. The birthday wishes have me all mooshie and stuff, even the drinks from my Facebook pals whom I’ve never met. It’s nice being remembered.

I’ll post pics from Friday night when I get home...

12:26 ayem: Ok, I’m home now, so pics ahoy below the fold (please note that for my purposes here, I ran some of these through Photoshop quick fix, so colors and stuff are going to look wonky): 

Went shopping with Girlie today to get a new pair of jeans before the big bad snow comes to bury us all, and as I came out to model, the following conversation ensues: