The death of Anna Nicole Smith is mildly entertaining. Hell, I’m a celebrity gossip queen, and this tops the gossip for the year so far. Besides, I feel like as humans, we’re wired to be obsessed with tragedy. And her story is what Lifetime movies are made of. Poor girl.

However, I am so absolutely appalled I can’t even think straight—why the eff is the media referring to her as “The People’s Princess””?!?! I saw the cover of The Stranger this week, and I just about shit myself. They can’t be serious, right? I mean, The Stranger is always trying to be witty and funny, so this is a witty and funny joke, right? Then I heard that some newscaster said, “She’s like our Princess Di.”

“Our” meaning America.

You’ve got to be fucking joking. Anna Nicole Smith is not the Princess Di of America. That is just embarrassing, creepy and weird. This bitch could barely speak; was in a constant state of a drug-induced stupor; at one time weighed more than the dairy cows that pump out our milk; married some creepy death-bed 80-year-old man for money (come on, no one really decides to date someone that was alive during cowboy and Indians and 10 cent loaves of bread); posed for Playboy; and was a spokesperson for a DIET PILL. Definitely the picturesque human being that I want my kids to look up to some day.

Tell me, is America so fucked that we think this compares to raising money for charity, reading books to kids with cancer and visiting AIDS-affected communities throughout the world? Cause those are just a few of the things Princess Di did.

I continue to be embarrassed about this so-called “home of the free and the brave” we live in.

Currently Feeling: Like I drank six glasses of wine too many last night. Oh wait, I did.
Currently Anticipating: Painting our apartment tomorrow, picking out fabric for our dining room chairs and other super nerdy decorating shit.
Currently Loving: That my parents and little sister are taking a vacation to San Francisco this weekend that I wasn’t invited to. Jerks.