18 July 2013

Post #89

What in the fuck has been going on?!

Love life:

"It's not you, it's me."


                                                         
Work life:

Customer:  I waited six weeks to give you notice, I want it done tomorrow.
Me:



Home life:

I love you too Bitch Tits.  

Well, not that much.  Love is a relative word my dear.
But...we can still hold hands.***




Life in general:

Home -> Work -> Home

That's living,

Katie E. Eshelman

***Zoshua was not harmed in the making of this blog.  I was petting her for shit's sake.



06 June 2013

Post #88


It's come to my attention that after 30 years of age, when you have a job, a pet (shout out to Bitch Tits), and a home to take care of...every damn week goes as such.

Monday

After I "fixed" Monday.  So...Tuesday.


Hump yourself.  It's fun I promise.  *Buy more batteries Wednesday


Nope, not Friday.  Does not matter how much you f-ing drink at "happy" hour.


Damn skippy, it's Friday bitches.


Can Sunday football come back soon?

Katie E. Eshelman


31 May 2013

Post #87

When I was ten my mom threw me a surprise birthday party.  It was the last time I ever wanted to celebrate the day of my birth again.  A group of tiny screaming girls and beanie babies was the end for me.  Unfortunately, time doesn't give two shits and I am about to leap into my thirties.  So the story goes.



Wait...what in the hell?  I am going to be HOW old???


Bunch of bullshit!


Well?  Dammit.

So I decided that I have two, yes only two, options.

OPTION #1:


Goodbye cruel world, I'm off to join the circus!

OPTION #2:



It's my birthday, shots for everyone!


Oh for fuck's sake who am I kidding, numero dos it is.  I'm going to rock this shit!

Dirty thirty,

Katie E. Eshelman

30 May 2013

Post #86

A few months back (February 14th) Southwest Airlines, the goddamn pioneers of the sky, knew that I needed a Valentine.  And boy did they deliver, drink tickets...four of them.  Those thoughtful angels.  So when I received a correspondence from them yesterday I got a tad bit excited.  They knew of my impending trip to Cali for Independence Day, and wanted to surprise me with a couple more tickets for free booze.  Turns out it was an early birthday card.


You squirelly bastards!  How many half-assed poured, free drinks this time?  5?

Not a single, f-ing drink ticket given.  The goddamn, puddle-jumping assholes at Southwest decided that a thoughtful birthday card signed by 31 of their employees (yes I fucking counted) would suffice.  Oh, but then I read the fine print...


Thanks Vijaya (If i ever meet you I will call you Vagina), Dwayne, and Stacy, etc. for the "gift".
Are you shitting me???


Apparently, the card doubled as a receptacle for my bombass birthday photo located in some exotic location.  Kudos guys, you rock!  Wait...there is a back to the card that requests I add my 3.5" x 5" photo to it, and then if I choose to do so hashtag it to Twitter.  You stingy turds couldn't even bust for the 4"x 6"?  

Alright fine.


@SouthwestAir #RRbday #goingonthemantel #wherearemydrinkticketsandluggage?

Thus sums up the first birthday card of my impending doom.

Up, up, and away,

Katie E. Eshelman





16 May 2013

Post #85

It never fails, I see a roach and I flip the fuck out.  I hate them more than I hate the notion of non-alcoholic beer.  So the other night I calmly dismissed myself from downstairs, told my sister I loved her and all that shit and proceeded upstairs with a night cap.  That's when terror struck, it turns out hair ties can be terrifying.

Night cap fucking ruined!!!

That's right, a goddamn hair tie.  I'd like to think I keep my shit together under pressure, whelp, not when it comes to roaches.  Fuck that shit.  Needless to say the hair band was dead.  As dead as the penny my sister assassinated the shit-out-of, some time ago. I'll never forget when she admitted to it, I laughed my ass off.  The way she tells it, she tried to smack it with her shoe for a good minute before she realized it was just a harmless coin.  It seems that quite a few inanimate objects resemble cockroaches.

Side suggestion?  Never hang up an ensemble for a future date/gala/wedding/conjugal visit on your window curtain rack.  In the dead of night?  It will resemble a serial killer and scare the living shit out of you.   It can make for an extremely awkward 911 call.  In my case it could also lead to bedazzling said outfit with my forty-five.

Bugs can suck it,

Katie E. Eshelman


10 May 2013

Post #84

My dear cousin Becca told me I should do a Mother's Day blog.  Usually these posts are spur of the moment, as I have never been able to plan the unpredictability of my life...bunch of bullshit.  However, I felt this was for a pretty damn wonderful cause.  So, this one is for the moms.

Washing machine vs. hand wash.  I know what you are thinking "shut the fuck up about the damn machine",  trust me this will be the last time I mention it.   It serves a point for shit's sake.  For the past couple of weeks I have been hand washing all my clothes...and by ALL I mean the clothes that I desperately need to look presentable at work and the undergarments that go with.  Let me tell you, my hands feel like I have been working in a garden for at least 2 years and 24 hours and look like the skeletal paws of the dude from "Tales From the Crypt."  My last batch of washing consisted of two shirts and two pair of skivvies.  That's when it hit me, I'm kind of a little bitch.  There was a life before modern electronic appliances.  Where laundry was always done with tender loving care.  I have to say right now, fuck that shit.  I felt like a toddler without their iPad.

Madness!

I pondered this revelation over a lovely episode of "Chopped" whilst dining on a delicious dinner of gazpacho, and by gazpacho?  What I really mean is a bowl of hot salsa...dusted with some sea salt.  That's right, I ate a bowl of fucking salsa for dinner, I had nothing else in my fridge.  I was too busy laboring to go to the store, plus my wine was really tasting cold and comforting. And for the record, I thought I was using the ingredients in a clever way, I would win "Chopped" so fucking hard.  Moving on, it made me really appreciate my mom.  How hard she worked to raise my sister and I, as I know it couldn't have been easy.  She cooked, baked, washed, loved, yelled, cried, and worked for us.  I also know she would have grabbed my bowl of gourmet, hand-mixed, gazpacho and finished the whole damn thing.  That's what my mom does, she makes me feel like I have my shit figured out when I most certainly do not.  So, to the mother who can use the f-bomb more times in under a minute than anyone else on the planet, seriously...I think she could win the Guinness Book of World's Record.  Happy Mother's Day, in my opinion you are doing it right.  


Love you forever and forever love you with all my heart to infinity stand…loheha.

To all the ladies in my life who comprimised their Vee Quivas for the gift of a child,

Katie E. Eshelman

08 May 2013

Post #83

When I was a kid, my mom and dad told me that I was born in the desert, raised by wolves, and found under a cactus.  My mom also told me she was an alien. They thought it was damn hilarious until my 2nd grade teacher called an emergency meeting.  This was after I told the entire classroom I was essentially a human wolf being raised by extraterrestrials.  That had to be a fun conversation for them. However, I do think this shaped a portion of my adult life.  I still believe I might have been raised in the wild for a brief period of time, it would explain a few of my finely tuned instincts.  For example my innate ability to sense when danger is approaching.  When I am drinking at a bar/party?  It's uncanny, I know the exact moment when I need to ditch the booze and return to the safety of my den.

A  fireball shot?  Fuck yeah!
And...I'm out!

My Irish Exits are one of a kind. The reason why I bring this story up is because of an incident that occurred last night, it reminded of my father's ability to weave a great tale.  I called him to ask a question and he was clearly just waking up.  After he somewhat answered my question and giggled for a minute, he then tried to explain to me that he was adopted...and in fact was actually a Native American Indian.  Holy hell.  I asked him why.  Oh yes, his facial features clearly pointed to this conclusion!  How could I be so blind!?  I reminded him this morning of his story and he immediately blamed my mom.  What?  Yeah, apparently she watches a bunch of "weird fucking shows" and when he dozes off they invade his brain.  I love my family.

Call of the wild,

Katie E. Eshelman

02 May 2013

Post #82

Five score and seven years ago my sister and I purchased a home that I now refer to as "purgatory"...I want out of this dwelling more than I want out of a bar during the middle of a nice night of drinking.  What can I say, Irish Exits are my thing.  Got a call from my sister on her day off, our washing machine decided to throw up all over the fucking place and quit.

My cup runneth over!  Stellar.

I kind of saw it coming, as whenever you did a load of laundry it sounded like a horny, teenage gangbang was taking place in our laundry room niche.  To make matters worse?  It was also spewing oil.  What in the fucking fuck?  Yeah, the damn thing was so old apparently it was outfitted with a goddamn transmission.  To boot?  The drain below the 1952 Cadillac "Cleaner of Clothes" is clogged.  That's just swell.

In other news, Arizona Floorcoverings Bar & Grill has decided to expand it's business endeavors.  We are now also a wine tasting venue.

7 bottles of sophistication right there folks.  Bring your cassette tapes,
we are getting fancy as fuck and blasting some beats.

Juan's Barber Shop, Computer Repair, and Beauty Salon is getting a run for it's money.  Actually, if we combined forces we would run 34th Street and Thomas like it was nobody's business.  ASU Supply Chain Management degree is in full force here my friends, those five...and a half years did not go to waste.

Salud,

Katie E. Eshelman

23 April 2013

Post #81

I must start this tale with a confession.  My sister owns Dr. Scholl's clogs.  I begged her to reconsider, but no...she had to have them.  Last night she was out on our patio enjoying a lovely e-book wearing said clogs, when terror struck. I was inside when I heard what can only be described as a bluegrass, folk dance solo.  Turns out my sister was being attacked by a flying cockroach.  Got to love Arizona wildlife!

Go Megan go!!!

She ran inside (putting me in harms way, fucked up) and screamed "Raid!!!".  I promptly ran behind the couch like a little bitch and then slammed the door behind her.  The concert lasted another two minutes.  She got the fucker.

La Cucaracha, la Cucaracha, ya no puede caminar!!! 

Raid is sometimes not sufficient.  I instructed her to also douse it in Boric Acid, one can never be too certain that these shits are dead.  I also think it's an effective scare tactic for the other flying bugs of Satan...this could be you.  I mean they can survive a nuclear blast for fuck's sake.

Ten minutes later she was attacked by another, and I was privy to an encore performance. Thank you Dr. Scholl's, you made my night.

Exterminator on speed dial,

Katie E. Eshelman

19 April 2013

Post #80

I lost the remote for my bedroom TV the other night due to a nightmare I really would like to forget, chucked it in my frantic quest to wake-up.  I figured,  fuck it...I'll just browse on my iPad instead of getting out of bed, turning on the television...fuck, I am exhausted just thinking about it.  Plus, I procrastinate like a motherfucker.  Why do today, what you can do tomorrow?  Last night rolls around and I have a bit of booze in me and suddenly I must have it...like that late night Filly B's carne asada burrito.

The quest began.  I scoped out the entire room.  Looked for dents in the walls and such where it might have crashed and landed, no such luck.  It took me seconds to realize that I had done it, I had somehow manged to curve ball the remote underneath my goddamn bed.  The rest goes something like this...

Maneuver A: "Under the dust ruffle shuffle."

Doesn't work.  So, I actually went full belly to the ground and peeked around.  Fucks.  It's against the wall directly below the center of my headboard.  There's no way in hell I am going to reach it by hand without getting stuck under my bed.  Time to get crafty.

Maneuver C: Savers back scratcher, $1.99.

My next thought was, why in the flying fuck do I have a used, thrift store, back scratcher?  Nasty.  Then I saw the date purchased.  Looks like it might have been a late birthday present for my sister which she obviously, promptly returned to me.  Oh well, it worked.  Remote procured.  Wiggled my way to almost crawling, and that's when my "fuck it" ring get's caught on the berber carpet.

Before the destruction.

The damn ring unraveled like a cheap sweater.  Not the "it" (nope that's just fine) it was the "fuck" ring.  I somehow managed to free my hand and left it stuck in the carpet.  Then, I decided to drown my sorrows in the Food Channel for the next hour.  While also trying desperately to figure out a way to have a half-way normal conversation with my jeweler about how I need him to rework my ring to say the f-bomb again.  Classy.  I fell asleep as that was a job for today and now a job for tomorrow.  

It's the Shit,

Katie E. Eshelman

17 April 2013

Post #79

About a year ago I checked my mailbox and discovered a magazine called "Cat Fancy".  What in the flying fuck?  I assumed it was Megan's.  I sat down, shook my head, and came up with a game plan for my sister's "Feline Intervention."  Turns out my friend played a vicious joke on me and it was in fact subscribed to me...for a whole damn year.  Well done Kate, well done.

12 months later...

Perhaps...I AM  still trying to crack the code on why Bitch Tits
wants to kill me.

In other news:  I purchased what I thought were four, large, spectacular, wine sippy-cups (because I am a sophisticated adult of course.)  Flat out fail.  I anxiously awaited the delivery of these mother fuckers for three months.  They are the size of shot glasses.

Oh look, a new ring!!!

Naturally Zosh was a fan, she loves when my dreams are destroyed.

That sippy-shotglass is RUINED!  Cat licked it for fuck's sake.  Gross.

Sips and giggles,

Katie E. Eshelman

16 April 2013

Post #78

I have been shamed.

Apparently, my sister is not happy when I buy random, unnecessary chemicals and spill/splash/toss them onto her floor coverings.  Yeah, I fucked up and thought that Ferrofluid was a fun idea...


It wasn't.  Looks like a bat took a shit on our living room rug.

"Custom".  
Noted.  Such horseshit, we needed new rugs in the first place.

It's not like I won't replace them, I manage a flooring store for fuck's sake.  Needless to say, my last delivery was approached with baby steps.  Silly Putty can't possibly damage the rugs we no longer have.  I believe I won this battle.

H2Oh Shit,

Katie E. Eshelman

10 April 2013

Post #77

I had a dream last night I was engaged to my ex-boyfriend and was a vegetarian.  Let me rephrase that.  I woke up in the middle of the goddamn night, sweating profusely; in the throws of a deep, brain fucking, nightmare.  Once I came to my senses and realized that it was in fact a slumber-induced horror?  I couldn't fall back to sleep.  Far too dangerous. So, I thought I would watch TV.  Nope...son of a bitch, remote is missing.  Pinterest it was.  Found this, I think it most accurately depicts my emotions of the early morning.

He didn't put a ring on it...and I still love meat!

I have decided to never eat late night linguini and clam sauce again.  Terrible fucking idea.  In fact, second worst idea I've had this month.  The first?  Buying my dad Gallium.  http://www.lenntech.com/periodic/elements/ga.htm  I thought it would bring him back to his childhood when he used to roll pennies in mercury.

Absolutely not as cool as mercury and taints your hands like
you rubbed them in newspaper ink.

Came home to the shipment and couldn't help myself, I had to test it out.  Luckily, I was heavily buzzed. So, instead of containing it in the palm of my hand while being awed by it's magical powers.  I prudently and somewhat accidentally, tossed it all over my sister's bathroom and called it a night. 

Yeehaw! Hasta maƱana!!!

Woke up the next day with black hands and a mild headache.  Walked downstairs, where my sister gently asked why there was Mercury all over the fucking place.  It's gallium Megan, not mercury...get it right for fuck's sake.  Plus, I am almost positive it's not dangerous.  The Internet wouldn't ship me harmful material.  I am fairly certain she wasn't exceptionally pleased with my answer. 

All in all April has been wildly successful.


Twenty-nine and counting!

Katie E. Eshelman

23 January 2013

Post #76

I am very well aware that my blog posts are about as reliable as a lifeguard with ADD.  Turns out people are still reading.  Why?  Well here's the stat update I received.  


Fucking stellar!  One tragic, yet epic, story about a mouse and this is how people find you?  Second to
electronic rage.  Sigh.

Rest in peace Cheez-it, you were never a rat monster in my eyes...for the most part. http://eshelwoman.blogspot.com/2011/11/post-55.html

In other news, which I will try and sum up as quickly as possible...



My job.



My social life.



My relationship with Bitch Tits.



My love life.

That's about it for now.  Happy hour was a little too good to me last night, I need a nap and an aspirin.

Happy Middle of the Week to all!
Katie E. Eshelman