knifefight in BK

school makes me busy. look at this awesome video.

Apparently grad school is "time consuming," hence my lack of posting/sleeping/advanced brain function. Sorry about that, my 3 readers (hi Mom!), but I think this video makes up for it. Vaguely menacing machine of horror? Check. "Something that passes for graphics, sort of"? Cheeeeeeeck. "Totally rad" stock music? CHECK. Awesome cameos by surprised, giddy dudes in safety goggles? Ch-ch-ch-check. Gratuitously long video redundantly, hilariously demonstrating the brutal li'l gadget that your prison/other type of establishment in which people frequently attempt to flush shoes, bricks, entire packs of gigantor maxi pads, cans of housepaint, a U.S. Army blanket, and other people down the toilet CANNOT BE WITHOUT? CHECK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Sign me up for some cinematic majesty, muffin monster!

cat-taunting for under a dollar

I'm not a cat, or a cat psychiatrist, but I'm not sure if placing an angry plastic mouse that a.) smells "great," and b.) wields a sign saying "HEY CAT! ARE YA STUCK IN THERE" in your cat's litter box is a great idea. First of all, how did the good people at "HEY CAT! Litter Box Freshener Manufacturing Concern" establish WHAT fragrance YOUR cat will love in his or her toilet? How do they know that? I'm going to assume that people who make vaguely threatening litter box inserts that sell at 99 cent stores are pretty much guessing what fragrance your cat will like. I'm also assuming they're pretty much guessing as to whether or not their surly plastic mouse is toxic/radioactive/made completely out of actual pressed mice. But let's ignore that, and move on to the thought behind this product. First of all, is an angry mouse with a protest sign the right choice? What if your cat can read, and feels like you're mocking him? Then he's going to poop in your bed. And you know what? YOU DESERVE IT because you're the asshole who plunked some stinky heckler into his toilet. Can you imagine if people bathroom air fresheners were like this? Anthropomorphic and kind of insulting? Maybe, say, shaped like a policeman, waving a sign that says "HEY JERK! OVERACTIVE BLADDER?" or "HEY LADY! YOUR HEMORRHOIDS ACTING UP AGAIN?" or "HEY DOUCHEBAG! YOU'RE A COMPLETE BASTARD!" You know what? That would be sort of dumb. The instructions on HEY CAT! clearly state you're supposed to dangle this 2-D tormentor over the lip of the cat box, so it's pretty much at cat-face level (so your cat can read the angry mouse's sign, and then probably try to poop on it), and let it fragrance up the room. Because nothing smells nicer than ammonia and poop PLUS "soon-to-be-feces-caked floral mouse" or whatever. I'm going to guess that my theories make up only a small part of why this product is gathering dust in a 99 cent store. Just sayin', insult air freshener, probably not a rational product to market to cats.

obama family inspires engrish-makers, nation, world, etc.

This is my favorite thing... within a one block radius of my boxing gym. Since a hearty chunk of real estate between the Flatiron and Macy's is occupied by an ever-changing cast of massively sketchy wholesale shops, it's not unusual to see depressing window displays full of crappy clothing soon to be seen on the runways of, um, a street vendor's table. Since about, oh, let's say 5 seconds after it became clear that the presidential race was going to be Obama v. McCain, a healthy chunk of these store windows have been packed with odd, cut-rate Obamamania in every form imaginable. The following shirt popped up a while back on 26th Street and I've been actively laughing about it ever since. BARACK OBAMA, Happy dream family, Barack, Michelle, Malia, and Sasha. That's right, it says happy dream family. There's a part of me that's looking into buying a crate of these, and another part that says this is probably only the tip of the iceberg in terms of bizarro Engrish tributes to our President and his happy dream family, so I should probably wait for the "Obama Future Joy World Times of Change President Man" coin purse series or maybe the "Let's so Obama! It up!" dog sweaters...

ruin your child's dental health with ugly beasts!

I'm sorry, but this is terrifying. "Now your child can experience the joys of plaque removal by practicing on a totally faded plush animal, complete with his own disturbing set of eerily human TEETH!" As if the idea of intentionally putting a foaming, pasty brush inside your mouth wasn't weird enough for small children, now you can add the horror of Jan Svankmajer-esque bizarro animals (and "wacky" spelling, holla) to the equation! Here come the Plak Posse Palz, stuffing surrealism right into your child's mouth! Never mind the fact that a vacant and stoned-looking wall-eyed plush is kind of creepy enough on its own, let's toss some dentures in there and pretend that small children will jump at the chance to play with/provide dental care for these weird bastards! "Mommy, can I scrub my wasted dragon's dentures, PLEEEEEEEEEEASE?" "Only if you do all of your chores first, Spray!" Right. Totally. Product: FAIL.

walking apehouse

 

So I'm at the gym, minding my own business, reading a Star magazine, when some hulking mass of meat stomps onto the treadmill next to me. Which is lame. Because literally EVERY SINGLE TREADMILL IS OPEN, except for the one I'm on, so WHY? But maybe Captain Beef wanted to feel less alone in the world/gym, and who am I to judge? So about 3 minutes go by before the bizarre, feral, rhythmic grunting starts to really just get to me. What are you doing? Why are you doing that? Do you need to use my inhaler? And then the stench hit me. This man/apeman smelled like a garbage bag full of sweat, balls, and chicken soup - it was that top note that really just made me sort of gag a little. So I soldiered on for a good 4 more minutes before I just couldn't do it (running with your head completely turned sideways and trying not to breathe in through your nose is HARD). But I'm not heartless and for some reason I didn't want the missing link to NOTICE I was bailing on him and his carnival of aromas and song, so I went and did some situps for a minute, and then went to a different treadmill. Very, very far away from Mr. Fetid Sweatspray. And huzzah, friends! Not 30 seconds elapsed before my meaty companion had rejoined me, hopping onto the treadmill right next to me, grunting and stomping away as though he hadn't just had to stop his flailing and walk 50 feet to start all over again. So I left. Defeated. And kind of nauseated. Chicken soup and balls, everybody. Drink it in.

international optimus prime appreciation day

As you probably know, August 29th is International Optimus Prime Appreciation Day (as established by the 2008 Stuff on My Cat calendar).
Optimus has chosen to celebrate by lying on the floor. I hope your day is as enriching as hers.

i guess that's good... right?

Sometimes my pals forward me cute little things that daily candy talks about. This was not one of those things. So basically I'm gathering that it's a fancy looking, non-absorbent maxi pad that sticks to your skin so when you're getting out of your limo at 4 a.m. you don't accidentally show off your cervix to the paparazzi AND you need not suffer the shame of... a waistband? I don't know, the website keeps saying "no pantylines," but I thought pantylines were the lines on your butt that g-strings would theoretically eliminate, whereas waistband lines are something one remedies by, like, wearing the right size underpants. But you know what? I'm not a scientician. So I don't know. What I DO know is that the best part of the amazing strapless g-string's site is the part where they casually sneak "pole dancing" into the list of contexts tailor made for their product. You know, tight dresses, short dresses, EROTIC DANCING, going to the spa... Huh? Aside from the fact that having a li'l swatch of fabric, cute or otherwise, straight up TAPED to your pubis and coccyx is kind of, I don't know, whatever the opposite of attractive would be called, I like that they have a bridal version, and that if you go to the instructions page, they tell you how to go to the bathroom - "carefully pull the panties to the side and replace when finished." Thanks, strapless g-string!

dear women's athletic shoe consortium,

Hi, my name is Gail. You might remember me from the time I fractured my foot during boxing a few years back, because it seems that banged up Chucks from high school are not "appropriate footwear" for "boxing," and then I walked around on a fractured foot for 5 weeks before I saw a doctor because I figured that sometimes your foot just swells up, turns purple, and sends fiery, nauseating waves of agony up your leg every time you take a step? You know... how that happens sometimes... right. It was at this point in my life at which I was introduced to you, lectured repeatedly on your importance, and informed that you were going to become a part of my life unless I was into periodically grinding my foot's innerworkings into a pulpy mash of nastiness. Remember me? Hi! How are you? Anyway, I just wanted to mention that, unless you WANT me to start jogging in cheap heels and flip flops and knowingly pulverize my metatarsals into a fine dust, you need to stop making every piece of functional women's athletic footwear I come across look like a 5 year old girl picked out the color scheme. Why is every other pair of functional athletic shoes I see white? Does the word LADY combine with the word RUNNING to spell NURSE SHOES? For reals. Justin has the pick of every combination of silver and gunmetal, and I have effing white with periwinkle? I will say good day, sir. Is it really necessary to make the ONLY black shoes all black, because I don't really think I'm going to Jazzercise anytime soon. And yet THIS is how you treat me, women's athletic shoe consortium, like I'm definitely looking for something to match both my baby pink Tinkerbell backpack AND my late 1960s nursing career, or like I'm some kind of ephedra-addled aerobics relic from 1989? Reeeeally? I know I'm weird for caring, but if MEN'S functional athletic shoes can manage to look like they weren't hallucinated by a feverish preschool girl, why must women's? My options are white, white with dusty pink, white with cornflower, white white white, or black on black for chain-smoking aerobic instructors drinking Tab in 1987. Oh, good! Good. I can rarely be bothered to care about what I look like in a fitness environment, but I will not put my feet into the shoe manifestation of Princess Frostine and attempt any sort of activity. Don't even pretend like it's ok to make all the soles white, either - that's just a giant middle finger to people who live somewhere that necessitates walking and don't plan on devoting their lives to shoe care (like my former boxing coach, true story, half our session was spent with him lovingly, diligently wiping the street-filth from the sides and top of his hurt-your-retinas-white gym shoes). Don't make me buy men's shoes just because you're a jerk, women's shoe consortium. In conclusion, dusty pink can rot, and women like monochromatic greys just as much as our penised colleagues. Suck on that before you spit out a whole new line of "baby pink on cloud white" abominations.
Your friend (?),
Gail

all of your slow-mo beer-spilling needs covered in one cute, robotic package

happy __________!

As we approach/exit/are nowhere near the holidays (depending on your religion)(and mine is nata de coco), I'd like to take a moment to thank everyone who reads this crap. You're awesome! I'd make you a pie if we were physically and emotionally close enough for this action to be warranted! I mean, thanks. Pacman Jones and I will be looking for you under the mistletoe. (And if you steal the picture I've lovingly crafted for this occasion, I will be waiting with a baseball bat.)

Love and kisses,
Gail

happy happy halloween

...hope your mask doesn't turn your face into bugs and snakes for some reason!

bfffestival

spring break?, originally uploaded by justin and gail.

You know how sometimes you go to your front door on a friday morning, expecting to find your best friend's west-coast based best friend (I know, we totally have a BFF triangle, but it's one of mutual love and respect), but instead you find both your best friend's best friend AND your best friend, who you had no idea would be appearing on your side of the country because your man-prize best friend (stay with me here) is really good at keeping your best friend's travel secrets? Me too, because that is what happened to me on friday morning. My weekend was a flurry of skee-ball, best friendery, Wii-ing, and joy, broken up only momentarily for me to go get my ass schooled by the wonderful women of the Gotham Girls Roller Derby (I LOVE YOU, SURLY TEMPLE!). I'll be back shortly with your regularly scheduled posting.

i'm sure you were hoping i'd have some halloween costume ideas for you

Of course I do. I've gathered a few of my favorites here from some random internet costume shop. Please use them and enjoy them because they are brilliant.
First we have a Dressy Devendra Banhart. I like to think of this as his "Elegant Evening Devendra" look. What you need for this look is:
1. A penis
2. A beard
3. A dress
4. I don't know, probably makeup?
5. Probably a good 15 obsessed sensitive hipster-girl stalkers walking behind you or something.
I want to say "just dress up like Manson, but super ethereal." Yes, I know he doesn't always wear a ton of makeup and jeweled bikinis. Look at that picture and tell me it's NOT Devendra Banhart. I dare you.

The $900 Broccoli for Some Reason
This costume is A. broccoli, 7. costs $900, and H. what? Yes. True. Good luck with all that. I hope there's a veggie-sexual group of plushies you can join afterwards or something. Perhaps you can start such a group. I really don't know what else you're going to do with a $900 plush broccoli outfit, although the possibilities for weirding out, say, people at a funeral are ENDLESS.

I'm pretty sure this was supposed to be an Anna Nicole Smith costume, but then she died, so they copped out and called it like "Wacky Drinkin' Housewife" or whatever. But listen, you know and I know that this is an Anna Nicole costume. All you need to complete the look is a hideous, clammy man creepily hovering next to you, and a lot of pink clothing. Bonus points if you go as zombie Anna Nicole... too soon? Hmm.

I don't know, I think this is either a "Crispin Glover Lumberjack" costume, or a "Williamsburg aging hipster" costume. There's really no other way to explain the hair, and the man's creepy face. And now I'm noticing that he seems to have some kind of... left breast? I don't even know what to make of this concept, or the fact that someone would charge you $19.95 to BE this awkward Crispin Glover/hipster/lumberjack with one breast... You know what? Don't go as this.

Have you ever thought to yourself, "I really want to dress up like Star Trek-era Kim Cattrall, but I also really want to dress up like Rick James?" PROBLEM SOLVED.

The legged dolphin. I'm assuming it's a special order because dolphins don't have legs. I think it would be nice if your Halloween costume honored the.. differently-abled... aquatic life. Imagine the heartbreak of realizing you're the only dolphin with legs, and bring that anguish to your performance. If dolphin ostracism alone doesn't help you craft a truly despairing-but-noble, tear-soaked rendition of legged dolphinry, think about this: you just spent like $800 on a legged dolphin costume.

Elderly Jesus. WTF.

This one's my absolute favorite: Sad Child Secretary. Are you looking for a clever-but-also-sort-of-depressing costume for your child? Here's what you need:

1. Wig from 1993, possibly run through a blender
2. Ill-fitting "power suit"
3. Sad blouse (yes, a blouse can be sad - look)
4. Benadryl enough to make your child slightly groggy and crooked-faced

Voila! Your child is a sad child secretary. Prepare for the complements to roll in. And also the job offers.

friends, do not trust me with your electronic devices. or with mine.

Our (insert colorful yet appropriate obscenity here) hard drive (verb form of obscenity) died last week right before I left for New Orleans to see some awesome people get married. Please bear with me as we await word from the hard drive hospital in scenic Madison, Wisconsin as to whether or not the (new obscenity) data can be (maybe a slightly angrier obscenity) recovered. Meanwhile, let's quietly mourn the passing of every (let's just toss in a new obscenity here) expensive piece of electronic crap I've ever destroyed with my magnetic field of awesomeness and... bad electronics: 20G iPod, Powerbook, hard drive, every watch I've ever owned, you're in our hearts. Now I have to go deal with the fact that I have neither a photo library to rummage through NOR a photoshop with which to mangle these photos... that I don't have. Discuss.

27 years of gail-ish majesty

That's right, it was my birthday. I'd like to use this forum to be lazy in thanking the approximately 2163 pals who made my spirit journey formation anniversary celebration so full of wonder and joy and greetings! THANK YOU PALS. I LOVE YOU ALL INDIVIDUALLY AND ALSO AS A WHOLE UNIT OF PALS. Also, as my birthday is an event that traditionally is celebrated for about a month (the beginning of which I'll mark as the day I received the heavenly gift of the Wii), I'd like to take this time to pre-thank everyone who will continue to make this particular spirit journey formation anniversary so very special as well. THANKS YOU IN ADVANCE, PALS. Please enjoy the photograph depicting me turning into a glowing-eyed cyborg while Rich eats some guacamole in celebration.

goodbye sweet lady!

My Mom's adorable little cat passed away this morning during a routine vet procedure. We've been informed that she had quite advanced undetected cancer. We're not sure how old she was because my Mom got her from her nun friends, who'd found Miss Kitty chillin' on the grounds of the convent. True story! After spending the first part of her life roughing it outdoors, she was whisked away to a posh and glamorous world of soft food, Canadian vacations, and warm houses where she remained happily for many years, annoyed only periodically by a showboating canine housemate. Miss Kitty was a wonderful, sweet little lady who I will forever picture boldly stealing my Mom's breakfast (true story). She was so loved and we'll miss her so much!

not that there's anything wrong with it...

Have a nice weekend, nice people!

the real optimus prime...

...is my cat. Duh! Which one one of these things looks the most like a giant, benevolent robot? My cat. I never thought much about what I'd named Optimus Prime about seven years ago (except to occasionally bask in her name's majesty) until everyone's favorite director, Michael Bay (so understated!), recently butchered- I mean, loving tributed- those wacky robots in disguise, Transformers. I'd like to think my cat is a little less preachy and self-righteous than her robot counterpart can be at times, what with his moral tirades and... energy axe. But the point I was making was that my cat is awesome, and I'd be totally down if she decided to lead the autobots, or turn into a truck or something.

oh! myspace.

One of my favorite things about myspace is reconnecting with people with whom I had nothing in common at the age of 7 and even less in common now. I mean that. I always kind of wonder what I'm supposed to say when some perfectly lovely person I barely knew when I was 13 writes me some long, sweet letter about how they found me and couldn't believe they knew someone who lived in New York, and why don't I have any pictures of my kids up? and it's so neat I stayed in school after 10th grade, when they dropped out to start a family. The point is, I like that myspace lets me chat with people who might as well live in an alternate universe from me, it's like finally getting to see what happened in the chapters of "Choose Your Own Adventure" that I DIDN'T pick (but I have lovingly visualized for you in picture-form - that's me with my 2 boys, Jaydrew and Krevota!). Don't think I'm knocking my roots - it's not that I think being raised by a fancy doctor from the east coast who gave me all the opportunities in the world is "better" than if my teenaged biological mother has raised me on her parents' ranch in rural Nebraska with no hope of escape, it's just that I can't imagine that world. Long, boring explanation aside, my favorite part about meeting different people from my past on myspace is that they're an endless font of cheesy surveys that I can complete sarcastically. I've completed one for you, because I looooooove you...

sorry i ran out on you

...It's not your fault, I've just been kickin' it 1998 style and chillin' with my BFF from high school and HER BFF from post-high school. It was so awesome that I couldn't bring myself to pause the magic and turn on the computer, but please don't be sad, because I'm sure I'll have way more to say once I finish the scavenger hunt I'm doing tomorrow (go Yay Team!). PLEASE HAVE A FANCY WEEKEND.

the only reality show i've ever loved...

...IS A SHOW ABOUT FISHING. And you know, I'm ok with that. Because Deadliest Catch is awesome. You can befriend the actual boats and deckhands on myspace! You can go to one of the boat's online shops and buy a thong that says "shut up and fish" for some reason! You can watch any given episode and be assured that the stars will inevitably fish for crabs, find or not find crabs, smoke heavily, and get all soggy and then make witty comments! There's something comforting about knowing that the next episode will probably involve the drama related to something important and metal breaking in the middle of finding or not finding crabs, resulting in the cast of grizzled dudes (in varying states of grizzled-ness) swearing, chain-smoking, or doing whatever it is your brain tells you to do when you've been continuously manipulating extremely dangerous machinery on an ice-covered, perilously jostling boat for 40 straight hours. I'd like to one day befriend an Alaskan Crab fisherman, just to be like WHY? Because it's crazy that something as uneventful sounding as FISHING FOR CRAB is about as dangerous and hardcore as, you know, eating a bag of glass shards "just because." And for the record, I'm totally an Edgar girl, Phil's really growing on me this season, Blake still annoys me, Jake's still confusingly adorable, and I'm totally excited about next week's episode, where there will surely be more crabs and sweet orange jackets and swearing.

if i had a dollar for every time i got food poisoning, i'd have, like, probably enough to buy a dvd or something.

Have you heard about this latest botulism-tainted olive thing? Yeah, I just happened to be eating some olives today, and upon frantically digging the can out of the trash and discovering that the brand and code seem to be possibly among the recalled, I see now that I might have olive-related food poisoning. AGAIN. Here's a funny story for you, that my Mom will probably be annoyed that I'm posting because in the wrong light it could be a weak but possibly entertaining Lifetime original movie: when I was in high school, we moved, and for some reason my Mom brought to our new house an open can of black olives of questionable vintage. I'm not sure how long they sat unrefrigerated in transport, plotting away, but that probably didn't matter since they were REALLY OLD before the move, as in OLD ENOUGH TO COHERENTLY PLOT AGAINST ME. I'm guessing like a week later, my Mom made this salad for me... with the Olives of Horror in it. DISCLAIMER: MY MOM WASN'T TRYING TO KILL ME. PLEASE DON'T MAKE A LIFETIME MOVIE ABOUT THIS. Naturally, within about 8 hours, I began a journey into what I call The Worst Food Poisoning Ever, in which I spent about a week on the couch, with a fever, vomiting, in a delirium in which my brain seemed to think I was actually trapped in a level of Super Mario Brothers 3. True story. Not as funny as the time I had a bad crab cake and had to stop about every three blocks on the drive to school to vomit out the car door, but definitely amusing because I COULDN'T STOP SEEING THIS ONE LEVEL OF SUPER MARIO BROTHERS 3 THAT I COULDN'T ESCAPE. Weird. And if you want like 35 other hilarious food poisoning stories, just ask me about the (condemned) diner where I used to hang out in college, and how I learned that french fries aren't opposed to trying to kill you. Anyway, check your olives, and have a nice day.

these three videos have prevented me from posting, as i'm laughing so hard i can't breathe

why does "the crazy" have to be so... involved?

today's daily rotten had a link to this article about a woman in california who has been relaying to the community "messages from God" by, you know, painting them on her house and car in giant letters and broadcasting from a loudspeaker attached to the roof of her car and stuff. if you look reaaaaaaaally closely at the picture of her there, you can kind of make out what looks like the "large pins" she had jammed through her lips so she can't eat. you know, cause "God told her to." right. let me just ask a question here: why does craziness always have to be so wordy? what particular general deity is it who seems to pick out these people with extremely intricate, verbose conspiracy theories to "serve him?" what's up with that? is there an actual "paranoid lord of the whackjobs" out there somewhere, getting people to "expose" his thoughts on how, like, reagan stole their brains or something (this is a specific reference to a crazy man in chicago i used to see by the virgin megastore, if you want the whole war and peace-length story about how the government is using his teeth because of russia, you'll have to find him)? i think anyone living in a major metropolitan area has seen at least one of these crazies: they're usually yelling about the government, or the freemasons, and holding signs that read like a bottle of dr. bronner's soap, except with more "hitler's ghost clone raped my dog causing the elemental breakdown of the nation of ulaq4 not visible in the earth spectrum of eye deceptions" and less, uh, soap. i'm just wondering why the crazy can't involve less sweeping theories and explanation, like "huh, those geese flying overhead really won't shut up about the latest in alien technology" or "God sure seems to have a lot of theories about the relationship between gay rights and socialized medicine." anyway, if you want to see the rest of the pictures from the article...

the softer side of jukies

i've been informed that cage (and his many arms and heads, at left), rob sonic, and hangar 18 will be among the majestic def jux showcase performing at long island cancer research benefit on march 23 at the landmark on main street, port washington, long island. you can get tickets here on ticketweb*.
i pretty much can't think of a better reason to see a cage show outside of "it's a cage show." you should go if you're anywhere near long island. seriously. because even if you don't like cage, the spectacle that is hangar 18's live show is awesome. and... ok, i'm not really familiar with rob sonic, but if he's good enough for el-p's endorsement (which i like to call "the blazer of approval")(see, this is a joke about how el-p wears blazers?)(maybe you'd get it if you went to private school, where we HAD TO wear blazers, and it wasn't, you know, "underground") then he's probably awesome. go ahead, buy some tickets for your whole family. it's cool. i'll wait for you to come back. unless you don't think this foundation's cancer research DOESN'T deserve your support... you jerk.
and for everyone who thought hip hop never did anything good, in your face, bill o'reilly. 

toilet training for... tigers... who speak japanese. and live in a house. as a family. with underpants.

dennis haysbert for president

i know people have been talking about the lack of an "obvious choice" for the democratic candidate for president in 2008, but these people have been overlooking someone so perfect it's almost funny: dennis haysbert. let's face it, he was an awesome president on 24, and while d.b. woodside, the guy that plays his brother (who amazingly rose through the political ranks, from principal of sunnydale high all the way to president of the united states), is a pretty decent president, he hangs out with peter macnicol and his weird eye job, so i wouldn't vote for him. i BELIEVE in dennis haysbert. he makes me feel like allstate might be decent insurance, and i trust him when he tells me that the military channel goes behind the lines. sure, i might not know his political stance, but his role on 24 has clearly proven that he's totally the best president ever. i mean, for real, he dealt with conflict so gracefully you'd think it was on tv... which it was... but still, he made it look REAL. the point is, anyone who's watched 24 is probably totally cool with the idea of dennis haysbert as the president, and that's got to be at least a massive chunk of the voting population. i'm just sayin'. haysbert in 2008. unless he's secretly a fundie or busy fighting bad aliens or something. in that case, um, woodside in 2008. yeah!

from the department of things that don't even REMOTELY look like a bomb

ok, so this aqua teen hunger force marketing campaign wasn't your typical "billboard with an attractive woman in a bikini imploring you to purchase this product"-type thing, but COME ON. since when is something resembling a rectangle flipping you the bird on a lite-brite ANYTHING LIKE A BOMB? i'm not an explosionologistician, but i'm pretty sure lite-brites are meant for mirth and joy, not death and terror. granted, whoever decided to being an entire city to a screeching halt over a battery-operated lite-brite thing probably doesn't "get jokes," but still. this whole thing reminds me of when i lived in chicago and some stupid, hysterical moron called 911 because they saw some guacamole on the sidewalk and naturally assumed it was anthrax (actually, the best part of that story was mayor daley stating in a press conference that "guacamole isn't dangerous, it's good for you - people have to start calming down").or hey! how about the time some technologically retarded paranoid idiot on a plane thought someone's iPod was a bomb? it's nice that people with a flair for the (overly) dramatic and absolutely no common sense are so quick to start a blind panic. what a better place the world is, thanks to the schizoid terrors fabricated by people with nothing better to do! you'll have to excuse me now, i need to call the FBI about the biological weapon i saw lurking ominously in my 'hood... meanwhile...   

wait, why does this exist?

i'm pretty sure this is one of the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse. you know; death, famine, war, star trek cookbook? maybe i'm not qualified*** to comment on this matter, but didn't they eat food that came out of a magical hole in the wall called a replicator? is this actually one of those? because that might be awesome. a recipe for "worf's fancy klingon hair-n-liver pudding pops" that i have to make with my own hands would be less awesome. again, magical device that makes any food? awesome****. book that tells me how to make something that's normal food but with an obnoxious name? not awesome. pass the gahkarblahhyhhqfl7* or whatever.

*i'd like to apologize to anyone who can actually speak klingon. not for my own inability to communicate with a fictional race, but, you know, because you CAN speak klingon, and care that i can't (speak dorkinese). ha.**

**i KID! i kid because i LOVE. come on, worf, you know it's funny.

***no. ok? having a crush on this awesome guy in 7th grade does not a trekkie/er make. sorry.

****for the record, if this book was one page long, and that page said "please insert this into your replicator to begin star trek cooking experience," i'd probably find that pretty entertaining as well.*****

*****the joke, you see, is that replicators aren't real. thanks.

"yeah, i got jokes."

the cat is in a shoebox.
that's pretty much what's going on; other than that, i'm kind of "out of things" right now.
don't worry, though, i've been watching some really shit horror movies lately, and i'll get around to posting about one of them.
but, go "have a weekend" or something now.
also please enjoy optimus prime in a shoebox.

i'm going to be the "way too old to be into this crap" kind of loser...

look, i have a soft spot for boy bands. i'ma just say that, because there's no shame... ok, i know it's dumb. i KNOW that. i figured that out in college, when my "ha-ha-ironic-art-school-smug-fascination" with the backstreet boys turned into... let's just say that i can take ANYONE in any sort of karaoke showdown involving their first 2 albums. i will BURY you. and i'm ok with that. several months ago i finally felt ok with deleting all the bsb from my ipod... and immediately became obsessed with j-rock to fill the void left by brian, nick, a.j., howie, and kevin. i'm going to take this opportunity to expose myself as a giant l'arc~en~ciel fan. that's right, me 'n' j-rock. so basically, i'd like to assault you with the magic that is l'arc~en~ciel. if you don't like it, that's probably because you're jealous. of my awesomeness. and... of hyde. because he's the prettiest man in the room*. thank you.

some crap

bbc.com had this exciting picture of some ray and this lady in a kimono, and... that doesn't really relate to anything. here's some crap for you to read, so you don't have to pick through dailyrotten yourself (?).

1. ha ha ha ha ha, "bitchy cheerleaders" shocked a community for some kind of naive reason, possibly because they never went to high school or never actually met a live teen girl or something.
2. this guy's still an evil little demon-elf.
3. our stompy upstairs neighbors are still douche-clowns. there's not a link to that, because they're dumb, and they don't belong on al gore's internets. bastard people.

happy new year, y'all!

we (me, and the cats) here at knifefight want to wish you a very majestic and un-carnage-filled 2007. yay! justin and i thought we should... stand with a baby... to celebrate. right... don't worry, it's not our baby. not that we are anti-baby, i mean, for real, adoption is TOTALLY the new kabbalah, right? my mom, for the record, was 26 years ahead of the hype, though - nice work, mom. always a trendsetter. i was totally the maddox of 1980. wait, i was saying happy new year. happy new year! i promise i'll update more. thanks for sticking around. (and thanks to sarah and brandon for unknowingly letting me exploit your offspring in the picture there)(for the record, this baby would totally not have said "bitches.")

I.P. FREELY

ladies and... ladies, behold the p-mate, the "portable feminine urinating device" that's basically, um, a funnel-y, slide-type deal you can use in lieu of growing your own penis with which to urinate whilst standing. i pretty much think... ok, i don't know what to think, but i really enjoy 1. the illustrations, 2. the fact that the website implores me to "discreetly enjoy hygienic freedom", and 3. come on! it's a lady-pee-ramp! woo hoo! i've always said that if i spontaneously generated a wang, the first thing i'd do is drink a gallon of coffee and pee. men don't have to deal with the wee-sprayed seats like we do - you know, where the lady before you clearly didn't get the memo that you WILL NOT actually get chlamydia if your butt-cheek grazes the plastic toilet seat at starbucks, and thus decides to just sort of "aim" in the general vicinity of the toilet and furiously spray urine everywhere in a 5 foot radius, like a human sprinkler? anyway, i envy people who are anatomically precluded from having to deal with the horror of mopping up another human's warm urine while doing the pee-pee dance in a filthy, cramped stall, and i'm glad the nice people of p-mate are fighting to combat this tragedy. now, i know what you're thinking: why in the crap do i know about this magical device? BECAUSE THE G-MAIL TOLD ME. that's right, gmail took one look at my email conversation with my friend kathleen, and somehow knew that the most appropriate banner ad would be for a portable lady-pee-ramp. how's that for technology? kathleen, did you even know that our dinner plans somehow quietly implied that we were in dire need of "hygienic freedom"? because i didn't. anyway, i have to go now... and buy myself a pack o' p-mates for the holidays.

since we last spoke

i was all busy hanging out with BFFs and looking at some radishes and stuff, and if you'd like to know about this majesty and excitement, please begin your investigation here.
thank you, and always turn out the lights when you leave the room.
and i promise i'll update more as soon as i get my damn holiday shopping done (you WANT your monogrammed toaster cozies, don't you?).

knifefight is on a bff-related hiatus

ok my loyal 3 fans whom i love more deeply than you'll ever know, i have some best friendening to attend to at the moment, as my bff since 1994 is visiting. i know you understand, for you are beautiful, majesty people.
i promise you all the majesty in the world upon my return. and yes, i miss you already.

halloweenie

i think halloween is fun, and i'm going to talk about it in spite of the fact that walgreens is only selling santa crap at the moment. i really like halloween and i think they should air the horror movies on the tv more often than they show the romantic comedies, you know, in general. but my point was, i'm pretty awesome, and as such, i have awesome halloween costumes. as you can see, i was a catholic schoolgirl this year. as was elise. not SEXY schoolgirls, mind you, because i WENT to private school and i know the brutal truth: REAL schoolgirls look like frumpy plaid mailboxes. and i'm all about keepin' it real. and... you know... getting my costume at the goodwill for under $10. but whatever. (also, luke was a football player, which is why he's posing like so.) anyway, we went to see the village halloween parade. if you're not from new york, imagine a bunch of people dressed like half-assed drag queens carrying 15 foot tall anti-bush interpretive puppets marching down a street with way too many people crammed onto a sidewalk trying to see it. i noticed some frankly stupid trends in costumes, and i'm going to make fun of them now...

a day in the life of why our upstairs neighbor's an obnoxious douche-ape

4:30 a.m. - pleasant slumber interrupted by upstairs doucheclown(s) thundering down the stairs right above our bedroom (apparently they either don't trust gravity, or are just COMPLETELY OBLIVIOUS DOUCHE-HATS) to walk their endlessly yipping dog, while slamming as many doors as possible. (this was SUPER fun when i was getting up at 5 a.m. every day to go with the red cross to upstate ny during the june floods)
4:42 a.m. - slumber yet again interrupted by thunderous return trip up the stairs, barking, slamming.
10 a.m. - shower interrupted by UPS guy, unable to deliver package to douches upstairs, who don't answer their buzzer, instead choosing to stomp around oblivious to high-pitched buzzing emitted from small box on the wall by their door.
11 a.m. - cat-feeding interrupted by lit cigarette butt landing on windowsill, next to cat food bowl, for chain-smoking upstairs neighbor feels that the world is his ashtray. and by "the world," i mean "our apartment."
11:30 a.m. - trip to throw trash out interrupted by next door janitor screaming at me about upstairs doucheclown's giant pile of cigarette butts, elegantly decorating the sidewalk.
11:31 a.m. - man screaming interrupted by me almost getting hit in the head by flying cigarette butt from upstairs window.
1 p.m. - telephone call to potential wedding vendors occur as such: in that the wonderful service cingular provides means that i can only make a clear phone call on my cell phone when standing right next to the entrance to our apartment, every other sentence i speak is punctuated by upstairs douche-ape screaming obscenities. like so: (me) hi, i'm calling about your event space- (douchebag, while stomping) FUUUUUUUCK! FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!! SHIT! SHIT! (potential wedding vendor) excuse me?
2 p.m. - engrossing episode of "homicide: life on the street" periodically interrupted by swearing, stomping, cloud of secondhand smoke pouring in living room window, lit cigarette butt landing on windowsill and setting leaf on fire.
i could go on. and on and on and on. and on. but i won't, because if i don't get out of the house RIGHT NOW, i'm climbing up the fire escape and throwing lit bags of cat poop through their window.

yet more evidence that i should have been born japanese...

what to do when a guy with a diaper on his head and an old west bandit try to rob you

my favorite part, other than the menacing diaperhead, is the almost erotic armpit closeups on the TOTALLY CONFUSING aerobics... class? anyway, thanks to the truly special ed david for making this a part of my life.

for everyone who wants to see the ring...

...and the three of you who don't. i don't think the picture does it justice, 'cause in real life it sparkles and glistens and speaks fluent japanese and conversational esperanto! no really, it's awesome, and i'm not really a jewelry person, in that most of my accessories come from the luxury goods boutique known as h&m or the always elegant (and deeply mourned) retail slut. and again, big ups to niceice.com, the people who care so much about diamonds that they rejected the first 5 we were interested in for being "not brilliant enough."
as an aside, if you want to see some other people getting hitched/justin in a funny outfit, go here.
if you want to see what justin and i look like in the fabulous province of quebec, go here.
and if you like pina coladas, and getting caught in the rain... piss off.

oh! canada.

no, i am not neglecting you, for i love you all so very, very much, but i have to head up north to the land of maple syrup to hang out with the illustrious dr. mom for a while. moms are important. anyway, i'll be back on tuesday, probably with some wacky pictures (if you'll recall, the picture at left is from the LAST mom/canada adventure - i'll try to top "close encounter with large bird who wants to eat my eyeballs" this time). anyway, have an awesome labor day, and always remember to turn off the lights when you leave the room.

roommates are sort of like the antichrist.

i used to watch "the odd couple" when i was a little kid, because little kids watch weird crap (see also "empty nest," "the golden girls," and "CHiPs"). that show's funny, i think, um, unless you're LIVING it. i've had arguably some of the worst roommates ever. EVER. i'm lucky that the man in my house smells nice and folds laundry like he was raised in a secret child labor camp run by the gap. see, my first roommate in college brought home random homeless men to sleep with; i encountered one of them eating a brick of cheese while naked in the kitchen. she also used my aveda shampoo in the dishwasher, stole my freaking CHANGE to buy weed, and had a raging coke-fest when i was away at my grandmother's funeral - this i discovered upon coming home to a trashed apartment full of people in their underpants, one of them passed out face down in a bowl of cat food. what's my point? roommates are sweet krishna's way of telling you he hates you...

the future mr. and mrs. knifefight in BK

now it can be told: on july 2nd, 2006, outside a casino overlooking niagara falls, justin dropped to one knee and didn't shine my shoes but instead asked me to marry him (and presented me with a ring pop)(see picture at left). duh, i said yes (hello? have you SEEN justin? he's totally dreamy). anyway, the past month and a half, we were looking for the perfect non-sucrose-based engagement ring, so we could tell the family in some kind of traditional look-we-have-official-jewelry sort of fashion. i mean, i would've shown them the ring pop, except i was so excited that i ate it. anyway, now that we have the sparkly rock and the family got their chance to shriek over the phone, i have permission to tell the internets. what up, al gore? (and big ups to the awesome people at nice ice for making sure i have the sparkliest ring ever)

it's my birthday, let's buy me some presents!

well, team, i'm 26. if it was 500 years ago, i'd be elderly! but it's not, and in spite of my crankiness and disdain for the kids today and their reggaeton and stupid hairstyles, i'm young and... virile... or something. anyway, feel free to buy me a unicorn (or sarah jessica parker with a thing taped to her head)(rich's idea), or, like, leave offerings of fragrant meats and cheeses in my name at your local... deity... place. yay for me! anyway, if you want to know what you're up against, check out the picture: my BFF nicole got me the cutest plant-guys ever, and my mom sent me a majestic bouquet of fancy-type flowers that's presently taking up most of our living room. ha ha ha yay!

random things

hi, i've been really busy doing important things like trying not to get heat stroke, watching the cats sleep in their cardboard houses, and thinking about how much i love graham crackers, but here's what you should know right now:
1. people are scared of boobs.
2. you, too, can smell like derek jeter!
3. magic beans, magic cheese, whatever.
4. this woman's crazy, and i love her. and her world. of owls.
anyway, i have to go now, because kazaam is on. don't worry, i'll be back soon this time.

adventure

ok team, just ignore my promise to update real quick-like, i'll be in sullivan county for the next couple days, volunteering with the red cross. as chicago's illustrious mayor daley once said, "water is dangerous." he also said "guacamole is good for you," but that's another story for another day. anyway, i'll be back this weekend, probably with damp shoes on, and i'll update then. so send the red cross some money already.

happy belated canada day!

first of all, man, i love toronto. i want to hug everyone in all of canada, including the surprisingly non-urine-soaked homeless people we came across outside every tim horton's in toronto. i want to hug the blue jays, the veggie dog vendors, the waitresses at the crepe place, the people from our hotel (excluding the creepy lord of the rings conventioneers)(whoa), the lady at the canadian border, the people at boston pizza who were very interested in our vacation, the late tim horton, the parading people in toronto's stunningly odorless chinatown, the woman who sold us a coffee crisp, and basically everyone we did or didn't encounter during our time in greater ontario. secondly, if you even THINK you're ready for the 600+ pictures that make up my rockin' vacation, whoa, you're wrong. 600 PLUS. ok? give a lady some time to upload all that crap. don't worry, i'll tell you what i think about yogurt in the meantime. until i get my 600+ picture act together, listen: canada is awesome. THEY SELL VEGGIE DOGS ON THE STREET, PEOPLE. veggie dogs.

gone fishin', but substitute "doing other things in different geographical locations" for "fishin'"

friends, neighbors, 3 people who read my blog, i'm going on vacation until july 3rd. it's ok! stop crying! you're making me blush! i'd love to promise updates while i'm gone, but, um, i'm not made out of internets, or something that would facilitate the putting of words onto places of the web-sort. as usual, i might suggest the far superior amusement provided by people like rich and, like, dr. and mrs. engrish and the ladies of go fug yourself or whatever. but for crap's sake, don't forget about me, or i won't give you the commemorative niagara falls snowglobe i was totally going to buy you. hey, you know what? why don't YOU go on a vacation, too? then, like, we can totally have a slideshow later. SWEET. anyway, i love each and every one of you, even the ones i'm not related to/forcing to read my blog through whining and emails full of "sad face" emoticons, and i'll miss you all very, very much. be strong. know that my return brings things like dumb stories about what will undoubtedly happen to me when i try to cross the canadian border with bags and bags of unauthorized cheese products. ok? peace out, nice people. (if you need me, please consult with the picture at left, of me not standing anytime, next to tiffany, not standing anytime. the picture is next in the gail chain of command.)

yay team gailstin!

four years ago today, justin and i officially decided to force our collective majesty on an unsuspecting world. in honor of the momentous occasion that is our anniversary, i present you with some fanciness from our first few wacky months together. yay team gailstin! here's to 4 more years of justin putting up with me and my general ridiculousness, and 4 more years of people asking inappropriate questions about how a normal guy wound up with such a weird lady. yay! don't worry, i'm sure i'll have a bunch of sickeningly adorable pictures of our dinner adventure to post tomorrow.