Monday, July 7, 2014

Sometimes Life isn't Fair

Someone I knew died early Saturday morning. Not someone I knew particularly well, but someone I've spent enough time with that when RIP statuses began popping up on my Facebook, I couldn't believe it. "I just saw him posting pictures a couple hours ago. He had USA painted on his stomach and was smiling. This can't be true."

But it was.

Someone hit him with a car as he was walking home. Someone literally careened into his body with their vehicle and left him die in the street and drove away. He didn't die in the street though, he died while being airlifted to the hospital. Police still do not have anyone in custody.

I didn't know this young man well. We had the same major, so we had several classes together. We worked together on a few projects. We delivered pleasantries. We likes statuses and posted happy birthdays. I realized earlier he liked my blog on Facebook. But we weren't close, however I couldn't help but cry when I realized he died.

It's not fair, I thought. It's not fair that he doesn't get more time. The problem with sudden death is all the openings it leaves behind. You don't get to say goodbye to your family. Or your friends. Or your dog. You don't get to take out the trash or tidy up your house. You don't get to answer that text message. You don't get to say you're sorry or I love you.

Life changes so quickly. It was Fourth of July and he was out having fun. He probably had plans for tomorrow. He could have been walking across that street thinking about what he was going to do when he got home, but then he never made it. Sometimes we can't even make it across the street. But isn't that how death happens, you plan on living--but then something changes. No one wakes up in the morning and thinks, "I'm going to get into a car accident and die today."

About 7 years ago, I went across a highway median. I lost control of my car and ended up in oncoming traffic. And in that quiet moment before collision, I thought, "I'm going to die." Later at the hospital a police officer was getting my statement and before leaving he said, "You're lucky that SUV hit your passenger's side. If it hadn't, you wouldn't have made it."

Still to this day, nearly a decade later, I'm troubled by the clarity of feeling like I was going to die. But for whatever reason, I'm still here. I'm not one to believe that my life didn't end that day because I had something important left to do, the words so many people offered as comfort, because how can I say that me being here makes more sense or is more important than that young man being here.

I think it's just a crapshoot, really.

But maybe I'm wrong. My insights on life are not doctrine. All I know for certain is that 25 is too fucking young to die. That someone shouldn't die when they're crossing a street. That we should get a chance to say goodbye to our parents or children or dogs. We should be able to clean our house and hide anything embarrassing. If there was any fairness in this world, that's how death would work. But as said many times before now, life is not always fair. It is messy and oftentimes far too short.

Matt told me while tears ran down my face that all we can do is say what we need to say. Tell people you love them. Tell people you're sorry. Do what makes you happy. And I know he's right, but it still doesn't cure the gnawing feeling in my stomach.

I am and will always be a right-fighter. I want what is fair, I want what is right, I want things to make sense, but I'm learning that, unfortunately, what is right is not always an option.

So instead, I'll say I love you. I'll say I'm sorry. I'll do what makes me happy. And I'll try to live like I was given a second chance, because for whatever reason some amazing people aren't given that same chance.

And the least thing we can do, is try and live enough for them as well. 

R.I.P. Dan

Sunday, June 22, 2014

Seven Things your Barista Wants you to Know.

The internet is now solely comprised of lists. I've written about this phenomenon before, but I feel like I just have to give up. Buzzfeed and Thought Catalog and every rip off of the two have taken over the world one "20 Things to Do as a 20 Something before You're a 30 Something" at a time.

I guess I'm not winning this battle.

But after seeing several pieces with names like "How to Piss Off Your Starbucks Barista" or "Things You Shouldn't Do at Your Coffee Shop" I felt I had to throw my two cents in--mainly because these assholes got it all kinds of wrong.

Particularly this one. It's all--don't say eXpresso, don't order weird stuff. Bitch, have you been a barista for three minutes? I have been doing this dumb shit for closer to a decade than I care to admit, and for the most part as long as I don't have to clean up your human waste WE ARE GOLDEN.

So without further ado...


SEVEN THINGS YOUR BARISTA WANTS YOU TO KNOW


1. WE'RE NOT GOING TO GO DOWN ON YOU. LIKE EVER. Lets make this clear. I know there is something super sexual about baristas, I know this because half of my readers find my blog while searching for barista porn (I see your googles, bro), but that doesn't mean that we are actually going to have sex with you. Mainly, because we're covered in various syrups and smell like a dumpster, but also because you just ordered a Strawberries and Creme Frappuccino, fool. In the unusual case your barista wants to give you a quick bathroom HJ, he/she will let you know--so don't try to woo us. But hey--if you talk the cute, little orange girl I work with into doing some irresponsible things with your genitals, more power to you. Quick Warning: Her favorite song is still Robin Thicke's Blurred Lines and she's thinks that having chlamydia gives her super powers. Have fun, dreamboat.

2. DON'T SHIT ON STUFF. It's upsetting to someone that doesn't have a child just how often I have to deal with other people's feces. But it's more upsetting that you can pay $5 for a latte but have not figured out how to use a toilet. What do you have Parkinson's of the asshole or something? It's not that hard. Sit down, do your business, FLUSH (you animals) and leave. Stop trying to hover! No one has contracted AIDS from pooping in a public restroom, unless their toilet seat was covered in dirty needles--in which case, I think it's best you wait until you get home, okay?

3. COFFEE IS NOT LITHIUM. Stop pretending that coffee is going to fix your defunct personality. If you cannot function in the real world before having a sip of your dark roast, you're not a caffeine addict, you're just a bitch. Work on that. Maybe with a trained therapist and a handful of mood stabilizers. Thanks a bunch.

4. EXCHANGE PLEASANTRIES WITH US. The answer to "hi, how are you doing today?" is not "medium cappuccino." So when I ask you, the aforementioned question and you respond with medium cappuccino, I'm going to make sure that someone with questionable hygiene makes your beverage. I understand that to you I am just some coffee monkey who is paid solely to provide you with a service, but that doesn't mean that this coffee monkey doesn't enjoy a little social interaction. Maybe I really care how your day is! Maybe I really care that your wife is screwing the dude that cleans your pool! Maybe I really care that you haven't had a non-pharmaceutical-assisted erection in 12 years! Nah, you're probably right, I don't care. Here's you're medium cappuccino that smells like athlete's foot.

5. STOP BITCHING ABOUT THE PRICE. It is no secret that this dumb shit is expensive. I know this, you know this--and guess what?! Complaining to the person at the bottom of the coffee company food chain about the price of your latte is not going to change that. Ohhh, you don't want to pay $7 for some moronic concoction of a caffeinated beverage you created? Well, let me send the CEO a snapchat letting him know. He definitely values my opinion.

6. DON'T GIVE ME MONEY FROM YOUR UNDERGARMENTS. This one doesn't need an explanation. You are a gahtdam savage.

7. IT'S JUST A NAME. CALM THE FUCK DOWN. So I misspelled your name. It was Kimberly with a C and two EE's. My bad, Cimberlee, but here's a thought, maybe you should be mad at your mom for not knowing how to spell your fucking name. Also, it's loud in here. There are a ton of things going on--milk steaming, timers beeping, and you're talking like Marcel the Shell. Or maybe I just can't spell, you ever thought of that? Maybe I'm an idiot who makes coffee for a living and spelling isn't exactly my forte. Does that mean that you should instagram my mistake, so you and all your friends can have MAD LOLZ at my expense? That's not nice. How about I make fun of you for not being able to pronounce macchiato or for ordering a coffee milkshake at 7am? Oh wait, I already do. Guess we're even, Tifanknee!

Sunday, June 15, 2014

Happy Father's Day. Please Don't Shoot Me.

I live in FL and my AC went out 2 days ago, and I now know what true suffering is. So because it's Father's Day and I can't bring my laptop into the bathtub full of ice I'll be laying in for the rest of the night, here's an old post about my dear old Dad.

***

My dad is an interesting man.

Not interesting like he runs marathons and speaks Latin.

Interesting like he goes in and out of a Cajun accent without ever having spent any real time in Louisiana. He is obsessed with Nazi history, much to the dismay of my half-Jewish mother. He refers to himself solely as Padre de Gato and almost shot me in the face when I was a kid.

Yeah, you read that right.

I was six years old, and my dad almost offed me.

He was teaching my brother and I about gun safety. Being a southern-raised good ol' boy, my dad having an arsenal of weapons was as common as other dads having golf clubs.

"Never touch my guns," he said. "Now this one isn't loaded, but..."

Pop!

A single bullet whizzed by my head and shattered the dining room window.

I screamed.

He screamed.

My mom drew up divorce papers.

It was a pretty traumatic day.

Surprisingly enough, my dad was not kicked out of the house after his safety lesson gone awry, but he did spend the rest of the afternoon boarding up the window and trying to figure out how to spin this story to DCFS.

To this day he swears the my first near-death experience was an intentional lesson in disguise.

"I taught you an important lesson--accidents happen," he'd preach, "You now know to be afraid of guns... And besides if I wanted to shoot you, Allison, you'd be dead."

Good to know, Pops.

However, his "lesson" didn't really teach me to be afraid of guns, but it did make me very suspicious of him.

So Dad, just know, I'm still watching you, you son-of-a-bitch.


 But happy Father's Day, nonetheless.

Sunday, June 8, 2014

Sunday Wrap Up: Sh*t That Doesn't Matter Edition

What a crazy week, y'all! I almost set my blog on fire after having to pretend to know how computers work, The Biebs has obviously been watching a shit-ton of Fox News, and there's a show about sexy, extra small ladies on Lifetime.

Let's go over this garbage, mmkay?!


Little Women: LA

Lifetime, the network that brought you every movie about Tori Spelling getting beat up by some guy she met online, has done it again! What you ask? Well, I'm not really sure, but they found some hot little tickets that need pedal extenders and decided to make a whole show about it.

The following clip involves a hot tub soup of these little ladies in little bikinis, talking about whether it's acceptable or not to let people exploit their stature. Someone known as "Midget Lady Gaga" explains that as long as she's getting paid, she doesn't care what she has to do.

Sounds like she needs to change her name to "Midget Kim Kardashian".



Justin Bieber is Pretty Racist

Surprise! Justin Bieber is a total dick. For anyone who hasn't seen the now infamous video where J-Biebs repeatedly uses the N-word and talks about joining the KKK, you can see it here.

Now, I know some people--mainly 13-year-old girls--are saying that he was young and should be cut some slack, but I'm going to pass on that one. Doesn't this little asshole remember that he was discovered by Usher, and that Usher is in fact a black man. I think it's time for ol' Daddy Usher to take him out back and beat him with a bag of soap.

Of course, Justin says he is so sorry and has spent the last week in church asking the Lord to use his Lord magic to destroy any evidence of him being a racist prick. 

Oh, and he was also baptized in a bathtub--which no one explained to him is actually just a bath.


The Fault in YA

The Fault in Our Stars premiered this weekend and I can still hear people weeping hysterically. (I haven't seen it yet, but plan on ugly crying for at least a week afterwards.) 

The Young Adult book has been praised by teens and adults alike, but a recent Slate article by Ruth Graham, suggested that adults who enjoy YA should be ashamed, because these books are ultimately written for children. 

Um, you can take all the seats, Ruth.

Can we all remember that 50 Shades of Grey was written for adults, not to mention a myriad of other lit that is not worth the paper it's printed on. So if I want to sob hysterically about teenagers with cancer who fall in love, I will do so with absolutely no shame. 

Stop book-shamin' me, Ruth.

***

Alright, that's all I've got this week, guys. Anything worthwhile I missed? If so, leave it in the comments! 

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

Why I'll be Blogging on Myspace from Now on.

Nothing quite makes me want to burn down the internet like trying to be tech savvy. 

I know I should be better at this, being a dot.com kid and all, but if it doesn't involve updating my Myspace with a super sparkly graphic, I don't want to know nothing about it, ya dig?

This all started when I wanted to give my ol' blog a little sprucing, well apparently the upgraded comment system that I added to my blog (while tryin' to be fancy), blocked my ability to customize it without changing the template manually. And since I just learned that you can, in fact, turn off an iPhone, that shit wasn't going to be happening. So I uninstalled the comment system and ALL of my comments disappeared--including the default blogger ones. That's when I started crying.

I don't want to have to figure this out.

I know this might get my super-cool millennial card revoked, but I have no idea how a computer works. I also have no desire to learn. I like to imagine that two teeny, tiny hamsters live in my laptop and are running on a wheel or flying a kite with a key attached to the end.

Or maybe Ashton Kutcher dressed up as Steve Jobs lives inside my iPad and allows me to play Angry Birds, who knows? Some people, I'm sure. But they probably don't make coffee for a living.

My dad is always talking to me about cookies and ram, and how I should have taken some classes in college on how to do something besides Facebook stalk exes and google naked celebrities, but I didn't. However, I can literally find you 789 pictures of Rihanna's tits at any given time. And in my opinion, that's a resume-worthy skill. 

But apparently when your blog decides to lose it's damn mind, it doesn't do you a whole lotta good.

Fuck, I still have an AOL email address. 

No one told me that being a blogger would involve so much computer stuff, I thought it was 60 percent being snarky and 40 percent becoming Twitter famous. But now I'm attached to the stupid blog, and let's be honest it's the only hope I have for not being a barista anymore, so what do I do?

Just to lay all my cards out on the table, here are some things I can/can't do on the internet.


So any of y'all have a three-year-old savant that can design my website, and I can pay her in apple juice and hugs? Or someone can offer me free web design out of their van.


But until then, I'll just continue manically writing the Disqus technical support people until they get so sick of me they just do it themselves.

Oh, and updating my Myspace page, of course!

Sunday, June 1, 2014

Sunday Wrap Up: I've Been Banging the Same Guy for 11 Years.

I've had quite the eventful week, which included a man ordering the dumbest drink imaginable and me trying to sell my diploma on Craigslist.

 Let's go over some of the highlights, shall we?


I Bought a Mattress

I did one of the most adult things a person can possibly do this week--aside from expertly plucking out gray hairs and wearing control top pantyhose with running shoes, of course.

I bought a mattress.

And not just some semen-stained knock-off from Bobo's Mattresses and Stuff. I bought a piece of heaven-sent, memory-foamed goodness that I will have to turn tricks on to pay off. 

But it's worth it. This mattress supports me in a way no real-life person ever has. I'm like, "Hey Sealy, my back is kinda hurting from slinging lattes for 10 hours." And Sealy is all, "Come lay down, little momma. I'm about to contour to your body and alleviate all your aches in pains. And don't worry about it being hot as dick outside, I've got cooling gel inside of me to keep you comfortable."

It's easily the best relationship, I've ever been in. Speaking of relationships...


It's My 11 Year Anniversary

Friday marked the 11th year of my random penis funeral. Yep, 11 years since I tricked some unsuspecting dude into loving me. 

I know some people are thinking, "Wow, 11 years, how romantic", but I'm here to tell you that being with someone over a decade is exactly the opposite of romance. Matt rolled over the morning of our anniversary and gave me a high-five for sticking it out. He then went to work, and I spent the entire day debating if I should shave my legs. Spoiler alert: I did not.

Later that night, I made him homemade chicken marsala, we split a bottle of Pepto-Bismol, and talked about how awesome our new mattress is.

True love forever.



Most Ridiculous Starbucks Drink Ever

I'm not saying I work for Starbucks, but if I did, I would be super annoyed by the drink that made the news this week. 

A Texas man ordered "The Most Expensive Drink at Starbucks", which was a Vanilla Bean Frappuccino with a ton of modifiers, including 60 shots of espresso. The man would have paid $54.75 had it not been for his Gold Card reward, which made this monstrosity free of charge.

The man said the 60-shot concoction was delicious, which makes me think he has completely burned off all of taste buds smoking meth. And with approximately 4,500mg in the frappuccino, a penchant for meth would be the only way to explain why this dude's heart didn't stop beating upon completion. 

As a barista, I'm not salty that this guy decided to drink the blended equivalent of Draino, but I am salty because now everyone and their freaking mom are going to want to emulate this moron, in hopes to make it on the local news. 

Thanks a lot, dick.


So that was my week in a nutshell, guys. Got anything that can top my sexual, new mattress, 11 years of bliss someone tolerating me, or a blended heartattack? Leave it in the comments! 

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

I Had to go get some Scratch-Offs, but I'm Back Now.

My babies, my babies, my internet babies!

I have been gone for so long. Sooooo long. I can only imagine how you guys have felt. Like I abandoned you, like mommy said she was going to the store to buy some smokes and some scratch-offs and never came back. From the bottom my heart, I am so sorry to have put you through...

Ohh, you didn't notice I was gone.

Hmm, this is awkward.

Oh well, what can you do. I missed you all bunches but felt the need to take a little hiatus. I was even thinking about shutting down "I'm Not Really a Barista", but the thought of letting my barista blog atrophy didn't feel right. This was the first time I've ever shared my weird, inappropriate musings with more than just my inner circle of friends, and I loved it. It gave me the opportunity to [internet] meet so many funny, talented people. It inspired me to keep writing. So even though, I'm a different person than the one that started this blog four years ago, it's still a part of me.

I know I can't be the only blogger who has felt this kind of uncertainty. Has anyone ever thought about leaving their blog or starting a new blog? I've always been a little concerned on what I should do when I'm REALLY not a barista anymore, which, let's be real, may never happen. Latte-Maker fo' Lyfe. Do you think that a blog is something that can grow with you as a person and a writer? Do you guys have plans for the future of your sites? I'm interested in hearing other bloggers' thoughts on this.

But for now, and probably much longer, I'm here. Still not really a barista, and I couldn't be happier about it.

Now mommy has to go buy some more scratchers, you kids don't get into my wine coolers.