A Marital Disagreement

For those of you that don't know, I work in a little town known as Bumfuck Eygpt. Now I know it may seem strange that BFE would have a $4 latte-selling coffee shop, and it is. But for the most part, the small-town folk who inhabit this place have grown accustomed to us. They come in, mispronounce drink names, bitch about the price of coffee, and ultimately come back again the next day to repeat the process.

However, this acceptance came with a price. When the shop opened nearly five years, residents were outraged.

“You mean to tell me that these pinko, commie, tree-hugging, atheist sons-a-bitches, are gonna come into my town and gay up all our kids with their fancy-pants drinks. Well, fuck you.”

That was basically the headline of the local paper the day our store opened.

Most of these people didn't want anything to do with a company (that shall not be named) known for yuppie servitude and leftish leanings, but over time people forgot and considered us to be one of their own.

That was until last Saturday.

A young man stood at the entrance of our store with a sign that read “This Company Supports Gay Marriage. Do You?”

The answer, was a resounding NO.

Luckily I was not there, because I would probably really not be a barista if I had been.

But the next day I was met with this.

This man forfeited his rewards card that had $20 on it. He explained not so subtly that he did not agree with the company's stance on gay marriage and for that reason he would no longer be a patron. He felt that this was something worth standing up for.

Now, normally, this wouldn't be an issue. But I knew this man. He came in every day. He met me with a smile and kindness. I cared how his day was. I asked about his family. I watched his baby turn into a toddler. I watched that toddler turn into a rambunctious boy. I handed him his coffee and his child a luke-warm hot chocolate that I pinky-promised was coffee just like his daddy's.

I liked him. I liked him as more than just a customer. I liked him as a person.

And I felt like I had been tricked into thinking that this person believed the same things as me. That because he came into our store every day and shared conversation with me, he wasn't like so many others.

“Fuck him,” I said to my manager.

She frowned and said that we didn't know the situation.

“It doesn't matter,” I said. “No situation would make his behavior acceptable.”

“It's just how some people are around here,” she countered.

And she was right. I had overlooked this town's initial distaste for us. I had assumed that their presence in our store meant that they were on our side.

My manager made sure I knew that I was not allowed to say anything on the matter to customers if this situation were to happen again.

I'm not sure if the young man with the controversial sign will come back, but if he does I will not say anything.

 I will stand next to him with a sign that says, “YES”.

Because our dissatisfied customer was right, some things are worth standing up for.

Super Tuesday. Super Sick. Dammit.

It's Super Tuesday, which for a blogger than mainly talks about politics and blowjobs is like the Superbowl.

But I'm sick.

I'm assuming I caught a bit of the sniffles this weekend while I was down on the farm capturing a little man-on-goat love to send to my good pal Rush Limbaugh. Anything for puffy-faced, drug-addicted friend.

However, I do wish I wasn't about to fall into a Nyquil-induced coma so I could watch the results come in, but I have a feeling it's going to go a little something like this tonight.

Ron Paul: 0 wins. Counts the collective gold coins he keeps under his mattress.

Newt Gingrich: 1 win. Congratulates himself on an incredible victory, then prays to Reagan.

Rick Santorum: 3 wins. Googles himself repeatedly and ultimately masturbates to the definition.

Mitt Romney: 6 wins: Launders his magic underoos, then practices his "I don't hate poor people" smile in the mirror.

Happy Super Tuesday!

An Open Letter to Rush Limbaugh

Dear Mr. Limbaugh,

I want to start this off by letting you know that I'm a huge fan. Huge. I mean, any guy who can shove that much Oxycontin down his throat without accidentally killing himself is obviously a man of mental and physical fortitude.

Bravo, good friend, bravo.

But moving on, the main reason I'm writing to you is because I have heard that you have gotten yourself into a little bit of hot water with the left. Yesterday on your radio show you elaborated on your opinion about Sandra Fluke, the young Georgetown law student who testified to the House about contraception. You know, the one you called a slut.

You said: "So Miss Fluke, and the rest of you Feminazis, here's the deal! If we are going to pay for your contraceptives, and thus pay for you to have sex. We want something for it. We want you to post videos online so we can all watch."

Zing!!! You really showed the soon-to-be lawyer/penis-gobbler who's boss, Rushy! It's about time these contraceptive-using whores start paying to play. I've never been more on your side than now!

I mean, employers covering contraception is exactly the same thing as having taxpayers paying a woman for sex. Why don't these sex-addicted broads who don't want kids just have multiple abortions.

No, silly goose, not legal abortions, back-alley abortions, which is basically just a metal hanger and some alcohol swabs. That will show those skanks that their vaginas are strictly for spitting out babies--nine months after their husbands deflower them on their wedding night, of course.

But you and I both know that there will still be women who have nothing better to do than throw their tantalizing axe-wounds around on the government dime, and the only way they will learn that nothing is for free, is to take part in your "Porn for the Pill" program. (Hope you don't mind, but I decided to give your initiative a spiffy name.)

Using yesterday's outline, any woman who has ever thought about using contraception --ever-- will have to upload video of any sexual act they take part in to the internet in order to earn her birth control. But I was thinking, what if these women of loose morals send their videos DIRECTLY TO YOU?!

Genius, I know.

So, I am going to encourage all of the sexually-active women who read this to send their amateur porn to Mr. Limbaugh's email address, which you can find HERE!

If you don't have any of your own porn, feel free to send whatever porn you can find.

And remember, Mr. Limbaugh has spent a little time in jail, so don't be afraid to send him the weird stuff.

Watersports. Chicks with Dicks. Bestiality. Scat. Anything you've ever seen while on a trip to Tijuana, send to our man Rush.

Oh, and Mr. Limbaugh, don't worry, I won't rest until you are elbow deep in porn featuring people shitting on glass tables.

It's the only way us sluts will ever learn.


Love you bunches,

Allie

Santorum: A Frothy Failure in Michigan

Anyone ever give themselves a concussion?

No? Just me. Alright, well I feel like a real asshole right now.

So I've been MIA lately after my night stand went all Chris Brown on me. I wanted to figure out a way to literally blame it on Chris Brown, but I hear he's fist deep in his own problems.

Speaking of problems, I'm back just in time to watch Mitt "magic underoos" Romney fuck up Rick "frothy mix" Santorum's life, and while nothing is official at this time, it seems like Romney will take Michigan.

Now, I don't like Romney, but my hatred for Santorum is so deep it cannot be fully expressed without a machete and some type of interpretive dance. So basically, any loss for him is a direct win for me.

I'm hoping the string of disappointments will send him spiraling into the arms of some man he met on Craigslist.

One can only hope that man has an exhibitionist streak, a videocamera and is Chris Brown.

Facebook Fan Page

Just wanted to let everyone know that this blog has a new Facebook page. If you like me here, than you will LOVE me on Facebook.

It will be chock full of all the ridiculous shit that's not quite blogworthy. 

Want to be best friends forever?! Click HERE

Help! Self Love is Complicated

Dear Allie,


Recently, I have found myself alone for the first time in over 10 years. My sisters' husbands have bragged about how much we girls in my family enjoy sex. My problem is now that I miss the fact that I miss sex. It used to be something that I really enjoyed and now I feel, well, mehh about it. To alleviates this situation, I went back to my beginnings and tried to masturbate. I found out though, that I HAD to fantasize about someone in order to make it work. Sometimes men, sometimes women, but I wonder, is there any other way to finish successfully? Suggestions?


Andi from Kansas


Happy Valentines Day all!

I hope everyone has enjoyed their Hallmark holiday. I know I did! Some Taco Bell and one heart-shaped chocolate box down, and I'm ready to ingest a whole bottle of Tums and watch the Daily Show in bed with my sweetheart.

But not before I give you all your V-Day present: My horrible sex advice to a stranger from the internet.

So Andi from Kansas, first, I must applaude you for using your real name and for admitting that you masturbate in the state of Kansas. Both admirable!

Now I read over your question a couple times, and aside from you feeling lackluster about sex, I can't really find a problem. I mean, you have to fantasize about someone during masturbation to reach orgasm?

I think that's the point.

Aside from fantasizing about a person or a scenario, I'm not exactly sure what would be an appropriate masturbation mind-reel. Besides maybe that taco/chocolate combo I mentioned earlier.

Basically, I don't think there's anything wrong with you having to fantasize about someone to get yourself off. I think it's healthy, normal and amazing to think about Ryan Reynolds, shirtless, and wearing a Reagan mask (or maybe that's just Mr. Rick Santorum's fantasy).

I even have an inkling that if you continue to stretch your sexual imagination, you may be able to hunt down your lost libido.

Listen Kansas, after 10 years in a relationship you are probably a much different person sexually than the last time you were single. Give yourself time to explore this side of you. The side that does not have a sexual partner. The side that can indulge in whatever fantasy you choose. Don't be afraid of your sexual fantasies. If anything, use them as a tool to guide you into the next chapter of your sexual life.

Unless that life involves Newt Gingrich in a Reagan mask, then it's time to find the nearest convent.

XOXO

                                              Allie

P.S. If after reading this you think, "I fantasize about Ryan Reynolds in a Reagan mask!" Write me at notreallyabarista@gmail.com or on Twitter @AllieOopsie. You will remain anonymous.

Babies and Constitutionality

Hey guys!

Sorry for the spotty posts lately, but I've been rather busy with preparations for the arrival of my new nephew. Basically, baby showers and buying an obscene amount of diapers. It's been fun, you know, as much fun as watching a room full of women ogle receiving blankets can be.

But I am insanely excited to meet my nephew. I'm becoming an aunt for the first time, and I can't help but think of all the things I want to teach him.

How to swear with gusto, of course.

To never trust someone named Santorum.

That a barista is not an acceptable career path.

And most importantly, that some people in this world are douchenozzles, but for the most part they are outnumbered by remarkable people. I want to make sure he knows that these remarkable people will come in a variety of packages.

I was thinking about this a lot today. During this time of introspection, I heard that Prop 8 was deemed unconstitutional.

It's not often that a news story gives me hope for the future, but I couldn't help but think that maybe this sweet little boy won't need me to tell him that remarkable people come in all different packages.

Maybe no one will tell him differently.

Maybe he'll just know.