I already knew Miley Cyrus and I had a lot in common: a love of hot pants, pole dancing. But not until her recent oh-no-she-didn’t interview with Ohio radio station Q92 did I realize we were sisters from another mister. Smiley hates Twilight, too! Our reasoning is a tad divergent. Cyrus says she doesn’t “believe in [Twilight]. I don’t like vampires ... I don’t want anything to do with it. I don’t like the shirts, any of it.” Perhaps church-girl Miley is aware God hates fangs, but, really, jealous, much? I, on the other hand, am fine with vampires. Bill Compton can suck my blood any time. If True Blood’s Bon Temps, Louisiana, actually existed, I would be at Fangtasia like every night. Yet even the hair gel-loving vamps on the CW’s Vampire Diaries are about forty shades darker and more complex than Twi’s limp fish Edward Cullen. Who we know is a ruthless bloodsucker because his skin glitters in the sun. Come on. Inside me is still an awesome 13-year-old girl, and she is insulted.

● Mermaid Oyster Bar (Greenwich Village) - Mix-n-match aphrodisiacs at this beachy slip. Sixteen varietals, including the elusive Hood Canal.
● OBAO Noodles & Grill (Midtown East) - Noodle colony of Michael Bao Huynh's budget Asian empire: pad see iew hearts green mango kimchi.

It’s hard out here for a MILF. Case in point, hot mama Elizabeth Hurley, 44, who in a effort to defy gravity, often goes to bed hungry -- subsisting only on vodka and one meal a day. Happily, I’ve been on this very diet since high school and am already anticipating a pantless Madonna middle age, complete with boy toy named Jesus and scary obliviousness to the fact I am o-l-d. According to Hurley, wine and coffee cause bloating, which leaves only one liquid standing: vodka. (Water? please.) So how does Liz take her white lightning? “If I’m at a party I have a small [vodka] with a lot of fizzy water and a huge squeeze of lime,” Hurley tells the Daily Mail. “Initially it’s like medicine but I’ve got used to it now.”

● Sigmund Pretzel Shop (East Village) - Twisted dough perfect tens in Alphabet City. Never settle for street pretzels again.
● Cafe DuCharme (Park Slope) - Swiss Miss muesli and tarts from 7 to 7. Holster your Café DuDouche quips -- yes, charming.
● Bar Henry (Greenwich Village) - Tacky neon façade belies elegant copper and velvet interior. The Mickey Rourke of wine dens.

Whipping up the same tired pitchers of Sex on the Beach every soiree and then not expecting to wake up on the bathroom floor, crusted in vomit and peach schnapps, is the definition of batshit crazy. Luckily, the seasonal sages at Back Forty are looking to help a drunk out, offering professional guidance on three weekends in November. Starting this Saturday, November 7, Michael Cecconi, the cocktail ace at both Back Forty and its landed gentry cuz Savoy, will lead classes on DIY-ing his fancy fresh creations at home. Students will learn to shake that thing, muddle like it’s hot. Not one to acknowledge boundaries between liquor store and Whole Foods, Cecconi will also help participants face their fears of squash plus vodka.

● Piccola Cucina Focacceria (Greenwich Village) - Killing any legit Pizza Hut excuse, artisanal stuffed crust pie 'til 3am.

● Tipsy Parson (Chelsea) - Haute Dixie puts the andouille in pig in a poke. Call up Tinsley Mortimer, ask her what that is.

Here in the land of women it is a time-honored truth that Halloween is merely an excuse to wear our naughties outdoors. One only needs to throw on her favorite corset, wig, fake eyelashes, tranny heels, and garter belt, and voodoo costume magic, she is good to go. When that creepy guy in the Jon Gosselin bald pate sidles up at the punch bowl and asks who she’s supposed to be, she can simply roll her eyes, be all like, “Sarah Palin, obviously. Don’t you see the glasses?” Unfortunately, a disturbing spike in pantlessness and underwear as outerwear is threatening to render national skivvies night obsolete. Every day can’t be hooker day, can it?

My first thought upon hearing that OxyContin “Hollywood connect” and former ER med student Sam Jones III had been arrested was: what is Lindsay Lohan going to do? Hot on the heels of her pasty-ful yet soulless Ungaro debut, recall to court over that pesky probation, possible restraining order against Papa Lohan, and spit-swapping with married man and Sienna Miller reject Balthazar Getty, this is just another setback that LiLo so does not need right now. Poor thing has taken to bathing in body glitter and allowing a small animal to gnaw at her fingernails. But don’t fret, I have the solution to everything, even these ugly leggings. It’s called pumpkin liqueur.

I used to think ABC was good for only one thing -- the mesmerizing Mormon hips of Dancing with the Stars’ Lacey Schwimmer. Now, however, there is Modern Family. Perhaps targeted to the same hysterical white woman demographic as its Wednesday-night chaser, Courtney Cox’s shrieky Cougar Town, I must be a h.w.w. after all because I LOVE it. This week’s episode, “The Incident,” featured a flashback to Al Bundy and hot foreigner Gloria’s nuptials, when Shelley Long’s starter wife got smashed on “Horny Colombians” with Gloria’s cousins, started hurling Charo ethnic slurs, and body-slammed the wedding cake. Which got me thinking -- how exactly can I whip up these Horny Colombians at home? Further bolstered by CNN’s muckraking three-part look at the treasures of Colombia -- coke, guns, and hos -- I determined the ingredients of a Horny Colombian are in fact two parts blow, two parts gunpowder, and one part silicone. Lime wheel to garnish.