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.

Get in the Kitchen and Make Me 300 Sandwiches

Have you heard some woman is making 300 sandwiches for her boyfriend so that he'll propose to her?

I'm assuming you have, because I've seen nothing else on social media since this morning. Ted Cruz talked for 21 hours, and this chick is making sammiches upon sammiches upon sammiches.

A lot of folks are pissed. And a part of me gets it, the woman behind 300 Sandwiches, Stephanie Smith, a senior reporter for Page Six, is trying to make herself known for giving breath to every douchebag who thinks "make me a sandwich" jokes are funny. For the record, they're not. And never were.

To them, she's the Patron Saint of Domesticity. A beautiful woman whose boyfriend gets to say the following without the fear of castration:

“Honey, how long you have been awake?” 

“About 15 minutes,” I’d reply. 

“You’ve been up for 15 minutes and you haven’t made me a sandwich?”

For real, sweetheart? I completely understand that some things said in the confines of a relationship may not translate to the outside world, which is why you don't blog about those things. Because now everyone hates your boyfriend. He looks like a mega-tool. And I'm sure he's not, he just really loves sandwiches.

It's the same reason I don't blog about my boyfriend calling me a gutter slut, because people wouldn't understand that it comes from a place of love. (By the way, I'm pretty sure my dad's reading my blog now. So have fun crying that one out, Pops.)

But she put this all out in the open--every slightly disheartening comment.

As he finished that last bite, he made an unexpected declaration of how much he loved me and that sandwich: “Honey, you’re 300 sandwiches away from an engagement ring!” 

I paused. … Maybe I needed to show him I could cook to prove that I am wife material. If he wanted 300 sandwiches, I’d give him 300 sandwiches — and I’d blog about it.

Now don't get me wrong I make my boyfriend sandwiches all the time. I cook. I bake. I clean. I do all kinds of things that would make June Cleaver proud. But none of the aforementioned duties are performed with hopes of proving that I am "wife material". What does that even mean, anyway?

And how long after the 300 sandwiches are made does he have to propose? Is there a window of time or will he dropping to one knee while wiping dijon off his face? What if on sandwich 298 she finds him balls deep in her best friend? Is the agreement then void?

It just seems bizarre to be so attached to a proposal that you're willing to barter like you're buying matrimony on Craigslist.

I don't know Stephanie Smith so I don't want to judge her too harshly, but I do question how it feels to compromise the natural course of a relationship with a deli item? Will she feel a slight pang of regret when he does propose, because it was based on a sandwich quota? Is the thrill still there? Or is it like a modern day dowry? I'll give you 2 goats, an acre of land and 300 sandwiches.

But maybe we're all bartering in relationships. Look how funny I am. How good in bed. How many goats I have.

Maybe Stephanie Smith is on to something. Something really fucking weird.

Now I wonder if she'll make me a sandwich? No mayo, babycakes.

Suck on it MILFS! I'm a BILF!

I've gotten a few awards in the past from wonderful people, who say kind things and make me feel good about myself in a way that my parents never could.

Although, typically I don't do the whole award-ceremony stuff, because, well, usually I talk about politicians screwing hookers or people eager for anal, and the kind of sentimentality I begin to feel when someone gives me an award just doesn't belong on the pages of this blog. I don't want to lose my street cred.

However, all that changed when the lovely gentleman at Thank Q presented me with the BILF Award (Blogger I'd like to Flog... Oh wait, I guess it's actually Fuck. Am I the only one into flogging?) 

This award is perfect for me, because I enjoy being sexually objectified, and I DOUBLE LOVE sexually objectifying others. So let the nominations begin.

Bloggers I'd Like to Fuck or Flog... or Maybe Just Cuddle and Watch "The Notebook" With

• BlackLOG- One of my most loyal and most hilarious commenters. This kind of attention to detail makes him incredibly BILF-y. I would marry him for approximately 72 days.
• When Life Gives You Vodka- Gabs puts the HOT in hot mess, and she may or may not be my internet soulmate. I would spoon the shit out of her.
• In Review: Stuff and Things- Charles and I have a Twitter romance. He is also is really into peace and love, which goes to show that opposites attract. I would hate-fuck him.
• Khaki, Not Cocky- Hello gorgeous. Nhya is beautiful and a great writer. I would make her my famous chocolate-chip cookies and hold her hand like it was going out of style. 
• Oh Noa- I owe over half of my pageviews to her. She's hysterical and a blogging beast. I would be her leather-clad gimp.
• A Beer for the Shower- I possibly love these men more than my boyfriend, mainly because he is not nearly as creative with MS Paint. I would let them "Boy. Boy. Girl." me. Then we'd have a beer in the shower.

So there you go. I'm a BILF. The bloggers above are BILFS. And all of my readers are RILFS. 

You all wanna, like, meet up somewhere, take some Ecstasy, and see what happens? 

No? Okay, I'll just go watch "The Notebook" then.

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.