Tuesday, July 31, 2012

The Post Where I Chastise Kristen Stewart for Being a Godless Philanderer.

Holy mother of God, tell me it's not true. This horror of all horrors cannot be happening. What kind of times are we living in?

K-Stew and R-Patz are breaking up.

NO! Take me now, Mayan calendar prophecy. I don't want to live in a world where the two leading actors from the Twilight franchise can't make a relationship work.

Because of infidelity, nonetheless.

And it's all that cheating whore Kristen Stewart's fault. Did your vampire wedding vows mean nothing to you, dead eyes?

Don't you know what a good thing you had going. You were in a LTR with Edward mother-fucking Cullen. Or at least the actor, that Hollywood has convinced me is wildly attractive when in all actuality he sorta looks like he's homeless, that plays Edward Cullen.

You're never going to do better than him, KRISTEN!

And to top it all off, the man (Snow White and the Huntsman director Rupert Sanders) you were canoodling with is MARRIED and has CHILDREN!

Stephanie Meyers' mormon ass is losing it right now, probably drinking wine coolers and saying things like "Gosh darn that harlot."

You were supposed to uphold the sanctity of teen vampire marriage. How am I supposed to enjoy the final installment of the Twilight Saga, Breaking Dawn: Part II, knowing that you have been unfaithful to your blood-drinking soulmate.

And Renesmee. Oh God, I just remembered Renesmee.

Thanks a lot, Kristen Stewart. You've ruined my life. All I can say now is keep your slutty paws off of the Fifty Shades of Grey script. I can't have you sullying the semi-abusive relationship between Christian and Ana.

Now I have to go update my voter registration. Do you see what you did, Kristen? You're forcing me to care about something other than the lives of two 20-something celebrities.

And for that, you can go fuck yourself.

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

My Ass Hurts. And I Blame Mark Zuckerberg.

I like to live in denial.

Maybe you figured that out after reading the name of this blog. If so, good job. You obviously have keen observation skills. You probably don't live in denial.

But me--I'm a long-term resident.

I'm not really a barista. I don't really have student loans that I've deferred more times than I care to count. I don't really have a drinking problem.

And my favorite: My ass hasn't grown at all since high school.

Denial was my friend but not anymore.

I blame Facebook. And Mark Zuckerberg by proxy. (You hear that, Zuckerberg? Go fuck yourself!)

Facebook has an abundance of amateur photographers. And these people can tag you in photos. Most of which leaves you questioning when you started to look like Charlize Thereon in Monster. Or who your friends are. Or if that Wiccan shit you tried as a Freshman would actually work.

Basically, I realized I'm horribly vain. And now my gym membership is actually getting used. And my ass hurts, because I guess there's actually muscle in there and not jelly as Beyonce had led me to believe. (She may also be on my list.)

I don't think this post has any real relevance. I mainly just want to drink a bottle of wine and eat one of those tacos made out of Doritos.

But I won't. And that my friends, is called willpower.

Suck on that, Zuckerberg.

Sunday, July 22, 2012

George Costanza Takes us to School.

Tonight I read one of the most thoughtful pieces I've seen about gun control since Friday's shooting in Colorado.

Also, it just so happens to be a tweet penned by George Costanza, or Jason Alexander as he probably prefers to be called. Either way, it's a good read--no matter what your opinion is on the subject.

Jason Alexander on Gun Violence

My thoughts and prayers are with anyone who may have been affected by this senseless act of violence.

I'll be back on Tuesday to blog about things that matter far less than this. 

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

TLC Presents: More Spastic 35-Year-Old Virgins.

TLC's train wreck, better known as The Virgin Diaries, is back and ready for action. Unless that action involves anything past first base, then it will be back and ready for a cold shower and a Harry Potter marathon!

Season 2 of the show that made us all feel a little bit better about ourselves, premieres tonight. But before diving into the new crop of hymenally-sealed misfits, lets take a little trip down memory lane.

Butterfly kiss? Stroke? The world may never know.
To be fair, this is her first kiss that didn't involve
peanut butter and a labrador.

Then he unhinged his jaw and devoured
her whole.
Beautiful, isn't it? You're going to have to do a lot to top that, TLC.

Wait, there's a 34-year-old Mormon who lives in his parents' basement, shaves his chest hair into a heart, and collects belly button lint.

I'm listening...

If that man hasn't killed at least one vagrant, I'll take his virginity. 

Oh TLC, what have you done? You're supposed to be The Learning Channel. The only thing I learned from this is that I wouldn't want to meet Skippy in a dark alley. 

At least your first bunch of weirdos were likable. That guy is just sad. And terrifying. TLC, please make sure you don't leave any of the little girls from Toddlers and Tiaras unattended with him. 

Oh who am I kidding, those girls would never fuck him. 

If there's any silver lining here, it's that this creepy Mormon definitely botched Mitt Romney's presidential run. So for that, Skippy, I thank you. Not enough to come anywhere near you, but I'm thankful nonetheless.

Anyway, season 2 of The Virgin Diaries is on TLC at 10 p.m. EST. I'll be watching and tweeting.

Sunday, July 15, 2012

The Last 50 Shades of Grey Post I Will Ever Write. Maybe.

I've made it clear that I'm not reading 50 Shades of Grey.

Mainly, because I have a 12-year-old copy of Anna Karenina collecting dust on my bookshelf, and I can't bring myself to read that over-hyped vibrator manual, when I have real books going unread.

But there is another reason.

As an unqualified sexual advisor, it is my job to keep an open mind about human sexuality. Kinks included. Which is why 50 Shades of Grey really pissed me off.

The more I heard about this book, the more I learned that Christian Grey was not some normal 26-year-old billionaire with a penchant for kinky sex.  He was a fucked up guy who liked BDSM, because he was fucked up. And after conquering his demons stopped wanting that type of sex.

This is a problem. Someone unfamiliar with BDSM (which is basically everyone magic-wanding themselves to that book) could naturally assume that fetishes are something that can be fixed. That the person who enjoys non-traditional sex is broken in some way.

Now one could ask why a little bit of kink-negativity matters. It's not something like sexuality that can't be hidden. For the most part, you could know someone your entire life and never learn that they go home and strap on a ball-gag.

But at a time when basically every form of sexuality is under attack, having something like 50 Shades can provide rhetoric for the "sex-for-babies-only" crowd.

For example, I stumbled upon a blog that begins much like mine, with the author, Dannah Gresh, valiantly pronouncing that she will not be reading 50 Shades of Grey. However, her reasoning is a little different than my own.
  • Erotica is sinful.
  • Lust is harmful.
  • Women don't like when guys view porn.
  • BDSM is super-duper yucky. 
The post is full of broad generalizations about female sexuality. Women don't enjoy pornography or men that view pornography. BDSM is something evil that women are being forced to accept. 

The following statement is my personal favorite:

It’s not just that this book misuses sex, it redefines it into something evil as the lead character dominates in a hurtful manner. How woman can enjoy that, I can’t understand!
 But I do have a theory. It seems to me that in our emasculating culture
 there is a hunger so great for strong men that women will stoop to
 bondage, dominance, sadism, and masochism for just a taste. 
Do yourself a favor, don’t!

Well, thanks for that trip back into 1950s America!  

What Gresh fails to acknowledge is that BDSM, or any other kink for that matter, is not a misuse of sex. It is sex. 

Sex does not always look the same in every relationship, but as long as the parties involved are consenting and safe, they should not be shamed for their desires. 

As I read the post, I couldn't help but wonder would Gresh have a problem with BDSM if it took part in the realm of marriage. If a monogamous husband and wife engaged in a little bondage, would that be okay? What if the wife was the one in charge of the leash, is that still icky? 

If so, wouldn't her distaste have nothing to do with the sanctity of marital relations, and more to do with the fact that kinky sex bothers her personally. 

I'm going to assume that it's the latter, especially since her theory that BDSM was spawned from the emasculation of men is ridiculous. The origins of BDSM can be traced back to the ninth century, a time when queering gender was far from anyone's concern. 

Finally, just as rape-play is not actually rape, BDSM is not a form of brutal violence meant to do actual physical harm.

If it is, you're doing it wrong, Dannah.

Thursday, July 12, 2012

Today Class, We Will be Watching an Educational Video.

My friend and former college radio co-host is in town from grand ol' Washington D.C. for the weekend. In celebration of our short-term reunion, we're going to get wasted-face on $1 beers while watching cute boys run around bases and shit.

It's gonna be a blast.

However since I'm not a very professional blogger, I didn't pre-write my Sexytime Thursday advice post. 

[Cue hysterical cries.]

Calm down, kiddos, I have the next best thing. A professional giving qualified sex advice and looking super creepy while doing it!

If you want to bang anything after watching this video, you deserve a fucking medal.


P.S. If after watching this you're all like, "Oh, that was horrible. I'd rather take my sex advice from that chick who makes my latte." Write to me at notreallyabarista@gmail.com. You will remain anonymous.

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Welcome to Funkytown

I try not to write when I don't have anything to say.

Don't get me wrong I could tell you all about my insomnia or my back letting me know I'm no longer a spring chicken by going out on me, but those things aren't really interesting.

Are they?

Yeah, I didn't think so either.

Basically I'm in a funk. A working too much. Sleeping too little. What in the fuck am I doing with my life. FUNK. Which means that all of my ideas for posting revolve around the following:

1. Dramatically quitting my job. And telling some Escalade-driving cunt that I would rather live in a cardboard box than make her another Nonfat Latte.

2. Dramatically quitting my job. And telling my boss that I would rather give an unwashed Newt Gingrich an enthusiastic rimjob than listen to her talk about how much she hates her husband and children.

Don't get me wrong, my funk was not born out of a dissatisfaction with my job. This funk was born from monotony.

I feel like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day. Same shit. Different day.

So, dear reader, help me out. How do you break out of a rut?

In the spirit of full disclosure, a box of wine did nothing.

Anything else?

Sunday, July 8, 2012

Magic Mike and the Case of the Sexually-Dissatisfied Soccer Mom

I did something. Something I'm not particularly proud of.

No, I didn't finally follow through with my Marco Rubio/Mitt Romney roleplay fantasy.

It's worse than that. I went and saw Magic Mike.

Now I know you're probably thinking, "Yeah, you and every other red-blooded female. What's the big deal?"

And to that I would say, "Valid point, reader. But how about you keep reading anyway."

I pride myself on not being a fan of romantic comedies. I'd rather chew off my own arm than read 50 Shades of Grey. And Twilight, well, let's just not talk about Twilight. But there was something about the premise of watching a bunch of oiled-up men shake their junk at a camera for two hours that made me eager to jump on a bandwagon.

So I jumped.

My friends and I pushed ourselves into the sold-out theater, managing to acquire seats that were exactly three rows from the screen. This was partly to ensure that we would feel like the werewolf from True Blood was teabagging us. And partly because we lost track of time while we were trying to get hammered before seeing this ridiculous movie.

A low hum buzzed through the packed room. (I'm almost certain it was from nervous excitement, not because anyone had snuck in a pocket rocket.) It seemed everyone was eager for the lights to dim and the action to start. I can only assume this is what an organized orgy would feel like. A room full of people all waiting for something to happen, but trying to play it cool.

"Oh man, I can't wait for this silly ol' movie to start. I'm just going put 
my phone on vibrate and place it directly between my legs."

"That sounds like a great idea. By the way, if I ask you to call me your
 dirty little whore at any time during the movie, just overlook it."

After what seemed like a really awkward eternity, the movie began. And it was just as horrible as anyone could imagine.

Two hours of loose plot about a stripper/furniture designer. A broke kid who starts doing a lot of ecstasy. And Matthew McConaughey doing exactly what he would be doing in real life, if the whole acting thing hadn't panned out.

It was a mess. 

A hot mess. 

One that made me want to make a baby with the first man I saw after leaving the theater.

Holy mother of God, does Channing Tatum have no bones?

And I would literally quit my life and lay around naked, smoking marijuana, and playing the bongos with Matthew McConaughey if he just said the word.

When the movie ended and I exited the theater, I was left with a lot of unanswered questions.

Why was there no full-frontal in that movie? Where is the nearest male strip club? Would they do full-frontal? Why is that woman not wearing any pants? Did someone really bring their 4-year-old daughter to see Magic Mike?

None of my questions were answered, of course. 

However, I can say without a doubt, that paying money to see men--albeit gorgeous, genetically-gifted men--dry hump a stage is shameful.

But it could definitely be worse, I could be masturbating to 50 Shades of Grey.

Thursday, July 5, 2012

Help! I Might Be Sleeping with a Douchebag.


I'm seeing (and by seeing, I mean banging) a guy I actually like. I'm pretty sure he's a douchebag though. He tells all my friends that he's not looking for anything serious, but some online stalking revealed that he claims to be "looking for that special someone."

If he were like most guys I've slept with, I would just stop talking to him, but this bitch knows what he's doing. He is also the best looking dude I've ever slept with (ugly dudes are my curse).

Do I keep banging him and take it for what it is? Do I say something? I'm all jumbled. What's your perspective on this? 

You're my hero,
Not in a position to pass up great sex  

I'm always a little surprised when I receive an email asking for my advice--elated--but surprised, nonetheless.

Then I read NIAPTPUGS email and saw that this lovely reader has referred to me as her hero. And while I appreciate the kind words, I think I might know your problem, dollface.

I'm your hero.

That's a real bad life decision. I make lattes and write about blowjobs on the Internet, I'm in absolutely no position to be anyone's hero.

Well, unless it involves a cape, then I'm totally game! Super Allie to the fucking rescue!

Moving on. NIAPTPUGS, you're in a pretty common predicament. The "I'm almost certain the guy I'm sleeping with is a huge toolbox, but he's hot and sexually gifted, so I'm willing to overlook it" predicament. This has become a common issue with women due to the sheer lack of absolutely gorgeous men who are like Stephen Hawking with their tongues, but that doesn't mean that we should tolerate bullshit.

From your email, I can't quite tell if you really want to be with this guy or not. You say you like him, but then chalk up your continued contact to his sexual prowess. My guess is that the potential for catching a bad case of the feelings is there, and who can blame you. He seems pretty dreamy, except for the whole using the term "that special someone" thing. He's gotta knock that shit off.

If I'm right and you do like him, you might want to get that out in the open. Talk to him. I know it's not a fun conversation to have, but it's necessary. If he doesn't see you in that way, you should know. He should tell you, not your friends.

Finally should you keep sleeping with him?

It usually gets ugly when fuck buddies have unmatched feelings, but ultimately that's your decision. I will never tell someone to give up amazing sex, but I will tell you that you can't fuck someone into wanting a relationship--no matter what Pretty Woman tried to tell us.

So talk to him, NIAPTPUGS. Hopefully, it all works out with your Lothario. But if it doesn't, at least you don't have to be with a guy who says things like "looking for that special someone".

Now, where's my fucking cape?

P.S. If after reading this you think, "I think I might be sleeping with a super-hot douchebag." Email me at notreallyabarista@gmail.com. You will remain anonymous.

Wednesday, July 4, 2012

Seen in the South

In case you didn't have enough reasons to be proud of your country this Independence Day, take a look at this deal on wheels.

Photo Credit: @lisadirtymoney (Feel free to harass her. She likes it!)

Suck our dicks, England!

Sunday, July 1, 2012

Did You Hear Mitt Romney is ...

It's been a pretty crazy week in politics, what with the Supreme Court upholding President Obama's health care overhaul.

Did you know that under Obamacare it's totally legal to shoot anyone over the age of 65 who has the sniffles for more than 2 days? 

Me either! But Twitter told me. And my relatives on Facebook. 

If you live under a rock, or in a blue state, people are pissed about the SCOTUS ruling. I think Dave Rubin said it best on Twitter.


Seems crazy, huh? 

But if you ask anyone against healthcare reform they will give you a laundry list of reasons (many which are batshit crazy) why Obamacare roughly equals Armageddon.

But that's where the Right has always had the Left beat. The crazy coalition.

Righties get together and the crazy spreads like wildfire. Then the crazy gets a bullhorn and screams at the top of its lungs. And then the crazy starts rubbing off on normal people, and I have to hear people say things like.

"Did you hear Obama is going to take away our guns?"

"Did you hear Obama said he's a Muslim."

"Did you hear Obama is a socialist. He's also a fascist.
 No, I don't know what either of those mean, necessarily."

And then I start to cry. Because I realize that the Right is on to something. They out-crazy the Left EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. 

And the president has to do things like show his birth certificate. Because the bullshit grows legs and wanders out of the trailer parks and into the real world.

Well, I think it's time Democrats step up the crazy. And what a perfect time, because I've heard some pretty messed-up stuff about Mitt Romney lately, and I think I should share it with you guys!

Did you hear that Mitt Romney plans on
 selling the U.S. to China

Did you hear Mitt Romney is going to outlaw lingerie, 
and we're all going to have to wear Mormon underwear?

Did you hear Mitt Romney doesn't own a gun and 
drives a Prius?

Did you hear Mitt Romney was born in Mexico? He's going
to open the borders to his drug cartel friends!

Did you hear that Mitt Romney thinks Godfather 3 was
the best of the saga?

Did you hear Mitt Romney is going to outlaw Nascar 
and college football?

Did you hear Mitt Romney is from Detroit, and Kid Rock is a supporter?(Oh wait, that one's real. I guess some shit you just can't make up.)

Is there anything YOU'VE HEARD about Mitt Romney?