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