Have You Lost Weight, Roberto Arango?

Puerto Rican Senator Roberto Arango has been working on his fitness. And as anyone who has ever been on the winning side of a diet knows, sometimes you feel the need to take photographic proof of your weight loss.

And then sometimes while posing yourself for these pictures, you wind up on all fours on a bed taking a cellphone photo of your asshole in a mirror. And then sometimes you end up posting that photo on Grindr, an app meant to help gay men find other men in their vicinity.

Now hold your horses, Roberto Arango is not a homosexual. In fact, Mr. Arango is a Republican who opposes gay rights and gay marriage.

To make sure that people realized that he's not gay, just a proud dieter, he released this statement:

"You know I've been losing weight. As I shed that weight, I've been taking pictures. I don't remember taking this particular picture but I'm not gonna say I didn't take it. I'd tell you if I remembered taking the picture but I don't."

So you see, this is all just a big misunderstanding. Roberto Arango was not trying to tantalize potential suitors by flashing his tuchus like a cat in heat, he was just trying to document his weight loss. Whew... what a relief!

Looking good, Roberto, looking good.

I Love Twitter Relationships that will Ultimately End in Domestic Violence

For those of you who have lives and don't care about Twitter, you might be surprised to hear that many a relationship begins on the social networking site. Yep, something about that little blue bird makes people want to take their pants off (remember former Congressman Wiener's boxer-brief fiasco).

Well, the Twitter bird is at it again, and this time it's between Chris "I'm-gonna-knock-you-out" Brown and Lindsay "My-father-doesn't-love-me" Lohan.

Sunday night at the VMAs, while Brown tried to dance his way into making people forget he beat the shit out of Rihanna, Lilo was all but throwing her freckled vag at him. Okay. Fine. She just asked if he would like to meet her, but come on what are they going to talk about... an exit strategy for Afghanistan? No, they are going to bone.

Personally, I can't wait for these two nutjobs to fall in love. Because we all know that Lindsay would eventually go into a coke-fueled rage and bludgeon him to near death with a tire iron.

That's called karma, bitch.

Dear Customers, Stop Being So Fucking Crazy

Originally, this blog was born out of a deep-rooted hatred for working in customer service. It has since morphed into an assortment of unimportant, mildly-entertaining posts, that will ensure that I never obtain a real job. However, sometimes I feel the need to kick it old school, primarily when I encounter a douchenozzle customer who makes me want to lace their latte with pubic hair. Recently, I met a crazy woman who made me want to do just that. Enjoy.

The dance of the barista and the emotionally-unstable customer:

Bitch: I want a sugar-free caramel macchiato.

Barista: Okay, is there anything else I can get for you?

Bitch: (audibly louder) Will you give me one damn second?

Barista: Oh, okay, take all the time you need.

Bitch: I want a piece of coffee cake.

Barista: Alright, is there anything else I can get for you?

Bitch: (yells) No! Are you trying to make me fat?

Barista: (laughs)

Bitch: (silence)

Barista: Okay. We'll get that drink started for you.

A second barista begins making the drink. The customer walks the 10-feet to the handoff counter.

Bitch: It's not done yet? God!

Barista: I'm almost done. It will just be a few more seconds.

Bitch: (yells) What are you doing? I said make it cold!

Barista: Sorry, I didn't hear that. (under breath) Because you didn't say it, you psychotic bitch. But I'll remake it.

Bitch: Oh. Yes. You. Will.

At this point most of the employees are watching, baffled, at this woman's unprovoked anger. The barista hands off the drink. The woman rolls her eyes, walks out, and heads back to her home at the mental institute.

Now, I'm not saying this woman is crazy. Yes, I am. I'm just saying that I would put money on the fact that she hasn't touched another person in years, and her only socialization is with her cats, all of which are named after Golden Girls' characters. I'm sure she also mentioned this fact on her Match.com profile.

Oh, cat Blanche, you're such a slut,
just like real Blanche.

One would think when your only companionship is your sassily-named felines and the camera crew from Hoarders, you would take human interaction where you could get it.

But what would I know, I just make coffee for living.

Help! My Girlfriend Has a Gag Reflex

Dear Barista,
I seem to have a problem and hopefully you can help me. My girlfriend of 7 months refuses to go down on me. I go down on her all the time, but the favor is never returned. She says she is scared to do it and thinks that she might throw up on me. I told her just to try it and I said nothing would happen. She still refuses and I'm really starting to get frustrated by not getting oral. I don't know what to do. Is it being an asshole to push the subject? Please help me.

Downtown Deprived

The other day a friend asked me how I knew so much about disturbing sex acts and malfunctioning relationships, since I seem to be in a fully-functioning long-term relationship. First, I told her to mind her own damn business, but afterwards I thought about it. I think I know so much about this topic, because deep down, I am a sexual delinquent. Yep, you heard it here first. I haven't figured out exactly what sick thing turns my crank yet, but I have no doubt that I will be perusing Craigslist looking for some misguided stranger to throw tomatoes at me soon. I'm looking forward to this time in my life, but until then I have you guys. Thanks for making dreams come true. Now on to the advice...


Deprived, as a "lady" who has vomited on a man when a fellatio session went awry, I can't help but sympathize with your girlfriend. I mean there really is no greater shame than baby-wiping a half-digested Lean Pocket off of a potential life mate. I mean, other than being a Bachmann supporter.


However, this fear is no reason to give up on the most powerful bargaining tool known to women: the blowie.


Maybe you should explain to her the crippling power of the blow job. Does she know about Clinton? What about half the members of Congress? This type of power can be quite the aphrodisiac. 

If after you tell the story of a little boy from Arkansas she's still not interested, maybe you could show her some Mandingo porn (Just Google image him). I mean, if women can take that monster down and not vomit like Rachel Zoe after a trip to Pinkberry, than surely she can give yours the ol' college try (Considering you are not a tripod yourself, Deprived).


If after all this motivation, your girlfriend still has no interest in "returning the favor" then I suggest you think about how important this particular sex act is to you. And as I've said in previous posts, I'm assuming it's pretty important since you decided to write a stranger on the internet.


Good luck, Deprived, and if you find yourself single after my string of horrible advice, well then I have a reader who is sick of giving hand jobs. Maybe we can make something happen. 


XOXO ALLIE


P.S. If after reading this, you think you're fucked up enough to appear in this blog, write me at notreallyabarista@gmail.com or on Twitter @AllieOopsie. You will remain anonymous!

I Love Super-Straight Marcus Bachmann

Marcus Bachmann is a straight man.

I would be willing to bet that he goes home every night and makes love to his crazy-eyed wife, presidential-hopeful Michele Bachmann.

Sure he cries afterward, but it has nothing to do with the fact that vaginas repulse him or that he misses his college roommate, Claudio.

After totally-hot sex with his wife, Mr. Bachmann heads to dreamland. And you know what he dreams about?

Yep, you guessed it, Jesus. No, not his sweaty, 6'5, Hispanic pool boy-- Jesus, the son of God.

After a restful eight hours, where he doesn't have even one dream about performing in a Village-People cover band, he gets up and goes to work at his Christian-counseling clinic.

Now let me make this clear, this clinic is absolutely not a gay-to-straight camp. Mr. Bachmann knows that people can't pray away the gay, they have to shove it in the nearest closet behind a pair of size-12 stilettos and some back copies of the magazine, Uncut.

After a long day's work, Mr. Bachmann goes home and hops in the shower, eager to wash all his problems away. While he's in there, he does what every normal person does, he sings. But he is definitely not singing Abba's "Dancing Queen."

After a shower and some dinner, Mr. Bachmann finds himself back in the embrace of his loving wife, Michele. He looks at her with passion in his eyes and asks if she would mind watching Spartacus while they consummate they're totally real marriage.

Post-coitus, Mr. Bachmann pulls a Marlboro Ultra-Light from a bejeweled cigarette case. He puffs it slowly, drawing the smoke into his throat like Claudio taught him all those years ago. Some may call this display almost homoerotic, but they would be wrong.

Because Marcus Bachmann is a super-straight man.

Vick: I Miss Dogs! Dogs: Go Fuck Yourself!

I was flipping through the September issue of GQ, (mainly because I would like to dry-hump Mark Sanchez's face) when I came across this photo of Michael Vick.

"I miss dogs, man," he says. "I always had a family dog growing up.
I want a dog for the sake of my kids."

The article is basically a four-page jizzfest, where Vick laments, in shirtless, tattooed glory, that he is in fact, a changed man.

As a football fan, I could care less about Vick, but as an animal-lover, I can't help but be slightly appalled that he's being celebrated again. I understand that he served his time, but I can't fully believe that this man who was taking part in dog-fighting (for what? the fun of it? he didn't need money) has been rehabilitated because he spent some time in prison and did some work with The Humane Society. 

But then again, I'm a judgmental, paranoid person, who believes that people change not because of force but because of choice. 

So what do you think? Has Michael Vick changed? Should he be able to be a dog owner? Or should my puppy, Zeusface Killah, be allowed to give him a poor-man's vasectomy.

Help! My Relationship Reminds Me of Dawson's Creek

Allie,

I have a huge problem. I'm in love with my best guy friend. We've been friends since high school, but I've recently started developing feelings for him after he helped me through a rough period in my life. He's all I can think about, and I'm turning down other guys because I can't imagine being with anyone else. Problem is, he has a girlfriend, a bitch who doesn't appreciate him. What I'm asking is, should I tell him I have feelings for him? I'm afraid it will make things between us weird if he doesn't feel the same way, or god forbid, his girlfriend finds out.But I don't think I can live without telling him I love him. Do you think it's worth it? Help! 

Sincerly,

Best Friend Blues

After a couple weeks of answering questions ranging from the kinky (How Can I Get My Boyfriend to Punch Me in the Face?) to the frustrated (Help! My Boyfriend is Trying to Give Me Carpal Tunnel) I'm excited to answer a question that won't make my batshit Southern Baptist relatives want to throw holy water on me. Now on to the advice...

Blues, as I read your letter I couldn't help but think that you may in fact be Taylor Swift. I mean, your predicament screams "I'm a sad girl with an acoustic guitar who has run barefoot through a cornfield multiple times," but don't worry we've all been there. I can't think of one girl I know who has not found herself in the "I'm-in-love-with-my-best-friend" situation, however of all those ladies who have dreamed of playing Joey in their own Dawson's Creek fantasy, I know very few that are actually with their Dawson (they end up with crazy-ass Tom Cruise.)

See, Blues, I put the "male best friend" in the same category as the "bad boy who tries to initiate a three-way with your sister," meaning we all need to like this guy at one point, but it probably isn't going to end well. I believe it fails because when you start banging dating your best friend, you immediately jump straight into serious-relationship land, which you might be a resident of since you have already declared your love for this kid. And dollface, serious-relationship land is not a good place to be three days into dating.

But if you really feel like you can't live without telling him, than I suggest you do just that. Tell him. Don't try to break up his relationship. Don't give him an ultimatum. Don't tell him you have already named your kids. Don't tell him you can suck the cork out of an unopened wine bottle (unless you really can... what a selling point). Just tell him you have developed some feelings and leave it at that. By being honest, but not crazy, you can hopefully avoid any of the post-admittance weirdness.

After you tell him, a few things could happen:

1. He may feel the same.
2. He may feel the same at another time.
3. He may never feel the same.

But at least you will have an answer. And Blues, if he feels the same then he should break up with his girlfriend before anything happens. 

Now go listen to some Taylor Swift and practice uncorking that wine bottle with your mouth. 

XOXO Allie

P.S. If after reading this, you think you're fucked up enough to appear in this blog, write me at notreallyabarista@gmail.com or on Twitter @AllieOopsie. You will remain anonymous!

I love Craigslist and Adult-Baby Fetishists

I think Tuesday is becoming a tribute to weird shit I love and want to share with you guys. Last week, I talked about how much I love religious nutjobs. This week while perusing the miscellaneous romance section on Craigslist, (looking for a little work now that I'm a graduate) I came across a catch. The Adult-Baby Fetishist.

Click on me. I'm awesome.

Now for those not familiar with the adult-baby fetish, first, I question what you are doing on this blog, and second, I think you should watch this video.

All caught up and feeling pretty good about your life decisions now, right? 

So basically I kind of want to respond to this ad. I mean, I love naps and would be in no way opposed to hanging out in my pajamas and coloring all day. 

But then I remember that this 55-year-old Craigslist dreamboat was pretty specific about one thing while looking for his grown-up "baby."

Please be 18-30.

And while I fit into that age bracket, I refuse to be crib-candy for some ageist creep. No matter how many naps David Vitter offers me. 

I'm Not Really a Meth Dealer... Yet

I've learned something since becoming a post-grad a little over a week ago. People have too many goddamn opinions. An example? Why of course.

“So what are you going to do with your life now that you're out of college?”

Well, I was thinking about selling crystal meth, but I just don't think I have that trustworthy drug-dealer face.

Unfortunately, my responses are never as witty as my imagined-blog responses. The real ones usually sound like this.

Umm, well, I don't know. I think I'm going to keep making coffee for awhile, and I've been writing this blog.

It seems people don't want to hear that you have no idea what you want to do with your life. You've had four years, what in the fuck have you been doing? Any uncertainty immediately takes you out of the "responsible student" category and fast-tracks you into the "soon to be posing seductively on cars" category. 

Seriously people, I didn't just tell you that I got finger-banged by a vagrant in an alleyway again. I told you that I don't know what I want to do with the majority of my time for the next 40 or so years. Give me a break.

So I guess I might really be a barista for a little while, and a blogger and kinda into homeless people, but so is Ke$ha, and she seems to be doing alright for herself.

Life Goals are Bullshit!

You tell 'em K-Money.

Help! My Boyfriend is Trying to Give Me Carpal Tunnel

Dear Advice Barista,

I need your advice on a matter that is close to my heart...or rather, close to my hand. I have been with my bf for almost a year now, and all he wants are hand jobs. No bjs, no sex, no lap dances, just hand jobs. I want to tell him how fucking boring hand jobs are, but that's probably a bad idea. I just don't see the point in handjobs. Blow jobs, I understand. So simple! No need to worry about lubrication (nature provides!), awkward mid-sex-act nervous talking (my mouth is full!), or cleaning up the aftermath (my mouth is VERY full). Lastly, the internet is FULL of people willing to tell you how to give a proper blowie. For a hand job, the main advice is to "...uh...well, you just do it...", and my problem is that I...uh...just...don't. I have no problem with taking it in the mouth, but I get shy about my abilities to give a proper hand job because I just don't understand them, to the point where I have never actually given one because I've never had to before. So I'm too shy to jerk him off and he's too shy (or something) to let me blow him, and I fear we are at an impasse.

So...um...help?

-Handy Virgin

Today marks the second week of my "Thursday SexyTime Advice Corner," (hey, I'm working on the name) and I just want to thank everyone who has written in, eager to hear my unqualified advice.

Wait, do you hear that? Yep, that's the sound of my father crying, because his baby is about to talk at length about hand jobs. Now on to the advice...

Handy, I feel your pain. Not a lot of attention is paid to the art of the HJ. I think many of us ladies assume after that awkward bus ride home from the planetarium in middle school, the hand job would be behind us. We immediately moved on to the Cosmo quiz, “How Far Can You Shove This Cucumber Down Your Throat?” and began to work on our gag reflexes. (BTW, Fuck you Cosmo. I'm down a tonsil because of that shit) We do this because we're told no guy would want a hand job, when he could have a blow job. 

But that's not necessarily true. People like different types of stimulation. And your bf might be into a type of grip that your mouth just can't give. So maybe you should try to give the hand job another shot.

Now, you mentioned earlier that there is not a lot of learning resources regarding the HJ, but you really don't need one, because Handy love, you have the owner's manual. Meaning you will learn more from him, than any article I suggest to you. 

Start a dialogue, ask him how he likes it, watch him perform a solo, and then experiment. Remember you don't have to be an expert, you just have to be open. Communication is possibly the best sexual aide you can give yourself, besides the liberator (that little ramp thingy is the shit!)

Finally, this kid seems to be turning down a lot of sex acts, so I can't help but wonder, are you satisfied? If the answer is no, you might want to think about why you are trying so hard to please someone who is not returning the favor.

Good luck, Handy. Let us know how it goes.

I have to go and console my dad now.

XOXO Allie

P.S. If after reading this, you think you're fucked up enough to appear in this blog, write me at notreallyabarista@gmail.com or on Twitter @AllieOopsie. You will remain anonymous!

Lolita: 2011 Edition

Not creepy. Nope, not at all.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

This is what I want to ask to the mom of 10-year-old girl, Thylane Blondeau, who posed like this in French Vogue.

"Are you high off your ass? Seriously, have you been licking a cactus, you crazy bitch?"

This is what I wanted to ask her when I read statements like this, which basically states that she doesn't see what the big deal is.

"I'm going to have a back-alley tubal ligation."

Which is what I'm going to do to make sure I don't have a little girl. Between this and "Toddlers and Tiaras" my ovaries are going to explode.

"Glad Warren Jeffs is in prison."

Well, that one is pretty self explanatory.

I Love Religious Nutjobs

Warren Jeffs, the polygamist leader of the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, was sentenced to life in prison today. Jeffs had like 100 child-brides and gave them specific instructions on what to do with his wrinkly, old-man junk. If I had to blow him, I would have killed myself, so life in prison is pretty lax.

Like many of my posts, this has no real relevance, except for the fact that I love religious nutjobs, and want Mr. Jeffs to do an "And I'm a Mormon" commercial so bad I think my brain might bleed. Anyone up for a parody?!?

P.S. I know Mr. Jeffs does not represent all Mormons, and is a Fundy, but we've all heard Mitt Romney speak. Come on, even the sane ones are a little crazy.

Gradapalooza and My Blog is All Fiery and Junk

I graduated from college Friday. As I had previously assumed, they did give me a cardboard box to live in along with my fake diploma. But the ceremony was lovely, and I talked my dad out  of wearing a wifebeater. So all-in-all, it was a pretty great day. Then came the night...

I have no idea how much money I spent on alcohol, and the only clear memory I have is doing the cupid shuffle with my graduation cap on. But I didn't vomit, and I successfully managed to get a friend laid (If you're looking for a wing"lady" get in touch with me on Twitter).

I had plans on taking pictures and sharing it with you guys, but unfortunately I forgot how to operate a camera. Plus the few pictures I  do have, I'm looking full-on Anna Nicole, and I just don't need that on the internet. But I did have an Adios Motherfucker, as suggested by one of my wonderful Blogger ladies, which I'm pretty sure tipped me into "licking a urinal" inebriation.

So blah blah blah, graduation was super, and I might have chlamydia. Now onto the good stuff.

The amazing Carrymel, at Khaki, not Cocky, presented me with The Blog on Fire award, which is great, because normally I associate fire with the burning sensation from my possible chlamydia. So a happy burn is always appreciated. Thank you so much Carrymel... and I'm very sorry to be mentioning your name in this STD-ridden post.

I'm pretty new to blogging and just started putting some effort into I'm Not Really a Barista so it makes me so happy to have someone whose blog I love to read, acknowledge mine. Now onto the rules that come with the acceptance of this award.

1. Thank the award giver:  Thank you Carrymel!!!!

2. Reveal FIVE facts about yourself.

• I am the worst driver on the planet. Seriously, I like to attack inanimate objects with my car.
• I have an English bulldog named Zeus, but I only call him Squishy Bastard or Zeusface Killah.
• I have dated the same guy since high school, but I am not one of those true love/soulmate people. I'm pretty sure it's just coincidence. 
• I can quote Pulp Fiction line by line.
• I am absolutely terrified of Chucky from Child's Play, and have been since I was a kid.

3. Pass this award on to SEVEN other bloggers.

• My Life as Liz - Liz is so sweet, and her blog is really positive and fun.
• My Daily Diatribes - She was one of my first commenters, and that comment made me decide to keep up with my blog. Plus, she is so funny.
• When Life Gives You Vodka - Another coffee girl with hilariously random posts.
• Musings of a Notorious Daydreamer - A fellow journalism grad. A must if you love thoughtful, honest writing.
• Badass Geek - A sarcastic, self-proclaimed geek. Count me in.
• Fresh Out of Gold Stars -  A ridiculously funny teacher, whose blog makes me think my job might not be so bad.
• A Beer for the Shower - I can't even explain this in words. These two writers are genius-level funny.

So that's it. I'm a graduate. My blog is on fire. Chlamydia is treatable. What a good weekend.

How Can I Get My Boyfriend to Punch Me in the Face?

Dear Allie,

I have a problem. I have been with my current boyfriend for a little over two years and everything has been great. We get along, he is sweet, and treats me good... Only thing is the sex is getting boring! He won't try anything new. He likes to "make love" slow and sexy, which is wonderful on valentines day! I want it rough and unpredictable. I want role play or foreplay, I'll take any kind of play at this point! He always says, "I love you" while we are having sex, I tell him not to say that. I want to be bossed around and yelled at, but he is uncomfortable doing this because he thinks of it as disrespecting me. He is a great guy and I love him but I can't have boring, predictable sex for the rest of my life! Please help me! How do I get him to toughen up in the bedroom?

Thanks,

**Desperate to be bitten**

First and foremost, Bitten, I want to thank you for believing enough in my gift of giving unqualified advice, that you would consent to letting me exploit you for the entertainment of the world... or my 20-ish followers. Good looking out. Now, on to the advice...

Bitten, it seems that you and your boyfriend have different sex styles. He's all, Boyz II Men circa “I'll Make Love to You,” and your like, Chris Brown circa beating the fuck out of Rihanna for adding too many syllables to the word umbrella.

Now, while there is something wrong with Mr. Brown punching a Barbadian songstress, there is nothing wrong with your desire for a little no-pants roughhousing. In my unprofessional opinion, you're probably looking for a little light BDSM.

Now, Bitten, have you tried talking your fella about your desire for unconventional sex. I mean, clothes-on talking, where you explain to him that not getting this type of sex is leaving you feeling unfulfilled. That while you love him, you two are not meshing sexually.

After this calm, level-headed, fully-clothed talk, you guys should try and come to some sort of compromise. He can throw you around and give you some bruises, that you will have to lie to your parents about, and then you throw down some rose petals, light some candles (that you will not burn him with, Bitten!) and make da luv.

In a perfect world, this compromise will open a new door for both of you. But if after a talk and some effort, he's still not coming around, it may be time for you to ask yourself how much this type of sex means to you. I'm assuming a lot since you wrote in to a stranger on the internet. Maybe you and this making-lovesick fella aren't sexually compatible.

But before you make any rash decisions, I suggest the talk and possibly buying an intro book, such as this one.

Good luck, Bitten. I hope it all works out, but if it doesn't, I hear Mr. Brown is single and ready to throw chairs at bitches.


XOXO Allie


P.S.If after reading this, you think you're fucked up enough to appear in this blog, write me at notreallyabarista@gmail.com or on Twitter @AllieOopsie. You will remain anonymous!

I Love Mugshots and Lesbians

Samantha Ronson, the kinda pissed-off "DJ" who turned Lindsay Lohan out, got arrested for a DUI. There is absolutely no point to this post, except I love adorable little lesbians and ridiculous mugshots, so here you go. You can thank me later.

Fuck you, pig! I banged a Lohan.

P.S. Still trying to get my own ridiculous mugshot, so comment on this post.

Help Me Permanently Damage My Liver

No more co-pay for birth control. A deal regarding the debt ceiling. THS: Snooki is on E! right now. Today is a good day.

To-Do: Clean Toilet Before Friday

With all this great news floating around, I decided not to screw it up by blogging about lattes. Instead, I decided to screw it up by blogging about booze.

I graduate from college Friday. I'm elated. I mean, this is a monumental event, and I will never get to experience it again. For that reason, I have decided to drink so much that night that I forget how to use a pencil. Already making good post-college decisions, I know.

Now, I need your help. What should I drink? I'm not much of a binge drinker, so I'm looking to you guys for advice on what to wet my whistle with.

I promise to order every drink suggested to me and will be taking photographic proof of my boozing, which I will proudly post to this blog once I regain motor skills.

So, if you were a recent college-graduate with a degree in journalism and political science, what would you drink? Besides a bottle of NyQuil chased with a handful of pills.

Now, back to Snooki, because I've got a lot to learn before I can keep up with that little, orange bitch.

P.S. I've received a few emails from people eager to hear my unqualified advice, but there is still time if you have yet to figure out how to put your adult-baby fetish into words. Email me at notreallyabarista@gmail.com or on Twitter @AllieOopsie. I will answer one question every Thursday until I give up on my dreams and go to law school.