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 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! 

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.

Frozen is Indoctrinating Kids in the Most Adorable Way Possible.

Have you seen the movie Frozen yet? If so, there's a good chance you're now gay. Congratulations!

I know you're probably thinking, that's not how human sexuality works--but it is. At least that's what Kevin Swanson, the batshit insane host of the talk show Religious Right, suggested Wednesday.

Let's go over some of his talking points, shall we.

• I think this cute little movie [Frozen] is going to indoctrinate my 5-year-old to be a lesbian or treat homosexuality or bestiality in a light sort of way. Why do these assholes always put homosexuality and bestiality together?
• I would buy Disney. If I was the Devil, I would buy Disney in 1984, that’s what I would have done. Who spends a large portion of their time thinking about what they would do if they were the Devil in the '80s.
• I’m guessing the majority of American parents don’t want their little boys turning into sodomites, at this point. My guess is that 60 to 70 percent of them would say, 'That would be my worst nightmare. Uh Oh, he's breaking out made up statistics. Watch out!

You can listen to the entire conversation here if you have a strong stomach.

I can't say for sure that Frozen isn't indoctrinating children with some type of anti-right gay agenda. I haven't seen it yet, so the jury's still out. However, I did just watch Blue is the Warmest Color, and I was super indoctrinated, if you know what I mean. Ladies, hit me up.

But I can say, that Disney has pulled this shit before.

Who didn't watch The Little Mermaid and immediately want to have sex with a fish? King Triton. Oh my God, I don't know how it would work out anatomically, but I want to be on him.

Aladdin. It totally explains my soft spot for men that lie. And steal.

Pocahontas. Let's just say that I've been banned from going anywhere near several reservations after trying to make a John Smith-Allie-Kocoum fantasy happen.

Cinderella. How many foot fetishists did that movie create? 

The Beast. Let's not even go there.

So obviously the Devil is at work acting as the entire Disney corporation, but now we're on to him.

You hear me, Devil Disney! Stop indoctrinating our young with your sexually-charged, animated movies. They're too adorable and tantalizing.

But seriously, who thinks this Kevin Swanson dude shouldn't ever be allowed in a children's movie again if he's seeing this much sexual metaphor in Frozen? He probably shouldn't be near playgrounds either. 

But who knows, that might just be my indoctrination speaking. 

My Proposal to a Polygamist.

Anyone who has read this blog for any period time knows that I love the channel TLC. Mainly because I love learning. And polygamy. It's my favorite combo.

Anyway, it should be of no surprise that TLC is premiering a new show called My Five Wives. The network originally aired a special by the same name in September, which is when I used my voodoo magic to predict that it would become the network's next original series--but I was hoping it would be titled 'Gangbangin' for Jesus'. You can read that previous post here.

Obviously, this is not the first time I've written about televised polygamy, but I think I've been too hard on the husbands in the past, going as far as to suggest that the only way these dudes landed wives is because of chloroform and Stockholm's syndrome.

But I'm starting to have a change of heart.

Maybe these ladies are on to something. And I'm not just saying this because barista-ing isn't panning out and my reality show pitch about me sitting on my couch, watching Netflix, and eating mac and cheese out of a coffee cup got rejected. (Eat a dick, AMC.)

In fact, I think I would be an excellent addition to this show. So, Brady Williams I'm proposing marriage. Here's why I would make an excellent sixth wife:

1. I'm a freakin' hoot. I have at least seven people who read this blog and probably three or four of those people can vouch that I have a terrific sense of humor. I could really add some color to the show. 

And by color, I mean profanity. Boom, ratings! 

2. I'm kind of a sex expert--sexpert if you will. Now that doesn't mean I'm actually any good at sex. I'm mediocre at best and there's usually a lot of crying, but I will talk those other broads into doing all kinds of weird shit. Seriously, it's a gift. I have this unbelievably trustworthy face. I'll be all like, "hey sisterwives, I read in Mormon Cosmo that it's totally normal for your husband to want to put it in your armpit." They will eat that ish up. 

Sidenote: I will never be intimate with you. I mean, if you've just got to have some Allie action, I'll offer one no eye-contact handjob on a birthday of your choosing. That's non-negotiable. 

3. I'm smart. I graduated college and have read books that don't have any pictures in them. I could probably do your taxes and help your 30 kids with their homework. I just saved you $100,000 in tutoring fees. You're welcome. 

4. Speaking of kids, I'm great with them! I myself am like an 8-year-old girl with boobs. I love to color. I dig on naps and cookies. I love swings and don't know how to sit properly in a dress. They're going to love me.  

Also, I can take care of all those uncomfortable sex talks. See: number 2. 

5. I'm from Florida. We've got people doing bizarre stuff on lock. Me joining your little clan will not even be a blip on the radar. 

Now that we discussed all my pros, I do need to fill you in on a few minor cons. 

1. I will never have your children, because I'm slightly repulsed by the idea of our genes mixing.  

2. Also I'm not one for rules, so that husband is in charge stuff won't fly. Me and Kelly Clarkson, Miss Independent, ya know. 

3. Once again, no sex. Ever. I would rather Sylvia Plath myself.  

4. Speaking of sex, I'm going to need access to other dudes. Also, I might turn out one of your wives. We'll just see what happens on that front. 

But other than that, I'm totally game. Balls in your court, Brady.

My Five Wives premieres on TLC Sunday at some time during the day, you could probably Google it. I'm too busy waiting on that dreamboat to call!

HELP! It's Valentines Day and I've Got Problems.

A couple of weeks ago, I asked people to send me their questions regarding love/sex/relationships and anything else that you felt comfortable asking someone who is in no way qualified to give advice.

And then some weird stuff happened, which I'm totally into. So in honor of Valentine's Day, I thought I would get your hearts-a-beatin' with some questions about turtle fucking. You read that right.

Take the day off, Cupid, I've got this love shit covered.


What would be the most reasonable, yet bat-shit crazy thing I can introduce into lovemaking with my wife?

Midgets. Wait, I don't think that is politically correct. A little person. I would introduce a little person into lovemaking with your wife. Now, I know what you're thinking, "Allie, I thought I said reasonable." And you did, but I'm not exactly sure what the dictionary definition of that word is, so I'm going with midget-fucking. Listen, your wife is gonna love it, because it's not quite a threeway, it's more like a two-and-a-half-way and that's called taking it slow.

So go now, scour Craiglist, but remember a lot of these super-sexy little people are basically walking tripods, so bring your A-game. If not, that little rascal might be making some height adjustments to your house in the near future, understand?

Scientifically speaking, what are my chances of hooking up with Rihanna?

Here's  a checklist. Have you ever been arrested? Have you ever been arrested for assaulting a woman? Have you ever thrown a chair out of the Today show dressing room window? Do you like throat tattoos? Were you ever on the Canadian soap, Degrassi? Has anyone ever looked at your naked body and compared you to a horse?

If you answered yes to any of the above questions, you have a 97.6 percent chance of being able to hook up with Rihanna. If not, there's always the video where her and Shakira pretend to have lesbian sex.

My wife wants to introduce a turtle into bedroom affairs. What do I say? Why do people want to bang animals anyways?

I've never thought of a turtle as a super sexual animal, maybe a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, but that's mainly because they have masks and I've had a fetish for bank robbers ever since I saw Point Break when I was a kid. (Oh Keanu, you're so dumb and dreamy). Wait, what were we talking about? Oh yeah, fucking turtles. Don't do it. She'll never respect you.

And why do people want to bang animals? Um, I blame that hot werewolf from Twilight.


My wife just stumbled upon my huge selection of '70s pornography. My huge selection (it filled up the trunk of my Honda Civic at one time). She wants to divorce. I want her to grow an amazing bush. What do I do?

I do admire your dedication to '70s pornography, kind sir, but I think you need to let your wife know that you're not some kind of sexual deviant obsessed with powermuffs. Maybe lay off the porn for awhile, donate your collection to the Pornography Historical Society and let her know that you love her for who she is, not her bush.

Then hide all of her razors.


I'm afraid that my boyfriend might be cheating on me. He's always texting but never tells me who it is, keeps his FB annoyingly private, and hasn't had a lot of time for me lately? What should I do?

I don't think you should be so quick to judge, maybe your boyfriend is a spy. Have you ever thought about that? He's out making sure the world is a safer place for the both of us and you're too busy worrying about the privacy settings on his Facebook. Just kidding, he sounds horrible. Unfortunately, there's no way to find out for sure if the scumbag is cheating. I'd say trust your gut in this scenario, because if something doesn't feel right it usually isn't. 

Now for what to do, I've got one question ... how's your pubic hair, because I think I might have the perfect rebound guy for you.


I've always dreamed about experiencing erotica in a public establishment, preferably an airplane, train, or some other mode of public transportation. Maybe even a tricycle. How and where do I go to find someone who would be interested?

I don't know, maybe the Internet.

***

And that's it, ladies and gents! I hope each and every one of you have a special Valentine's Day or at least a special day after Valentine's Day once candy is 75% off. 

I love you all and would totally put a hand-written valentine in each one of your lockers if this was 7th grade, but it's not, so you wanna take whatever Miley Cyrus is on and watch that Shakira video on repeat?

No? Okay, worth a shot.

P.S. If after reading this you think, I'd like to get some horrible advice from the girl who makes my coffee, then write to me at notreallyabarista@gmail.com. And as always, you will remain anonymous.

Top 12 Ways for the Internet to STFU.

I'm a failure at life.

I feel like we all know this by now and just to set the record straight, I'm in no way looking for encouragement or someone to negate the aforementioned statement. I'm cool with it. I have plenty of time to stop being a failure, and if not there's always cake, so either way I'll be good.

Now that we've gotten that out of the way and you know that you can take this post with a grain of salt, let me begin my rant.

If I see one more article titled "100 Ways to Live Your Best Life Before 100," I'm going to burn some shit down.

At first, it wasn't such a big deal, it was kinda endearing. I'd open the link thinking, "I'd like to know the 25 things you wish you knew before 25," maybe it will help me figure out what I should do with my life, aside from making latte art.

But then the article was just filled with haughty bullshit. "Go on adventures.""Travel the World." "Take a salsa class." "Buy a vibrator." Really? That's the life lessons you felt you had to offer the younger generation? Take that shit elsewhere.

And despite the fact that this fluffy garbage isn't really helpful, it is everywhere. In fact, I'm pretty sure I just saw a New York Times headline read, "How to out-Beyonce Beyonce before 35 in 5 easy steps."

Is this the kind of content they think millenials are craving? How stupid do they think we are?

"Top 17 Things to do B4 You're 29."

"8 Ways to Not Suck at Life."

"30 Lessons You Must Learn by 30."

"65 Thing You Have to do or You Should Put a Gun in Your Mouth."

I have a problem with these types of articles for a few reasons. Firstly, it's not a real piece of writing--it's a list. I make one of those when I go grocery shopping. Furthermore, it's fucking bullshit.

Bullshit in my opinion, at least.

I don't dig blanket statements. I don't like to ever assume that because something was right for me, it is right for everyone. We all come from different places, different backgrounds. My story may not resonate with someone and vice versa. And that is okay, that doesn't make my truth any less valuable.

And while yes, I do believe somethings are universally true--people are equal, don't be an asshole for no reason--the faux wisdom of these "articles" make me insane. Mainly, because I don't think any of us really know anything for sure. Aren't most of the ideas about life fluid and easily altered? And isn't life about experience and making mistakes and learning our own lessons, instead of living by numbers based on someone else's advice.

I mean, sure some things are a give-in. Don't date Chris Brown. Don't give yourself at-home highlights. Don't do meth. But I think everything else is pretty fair game.

But then again, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe these lists contain advice that some people are desperate to hear. I've been there, reaching out, hoping for some type of clarity in this crazy fucking world--but I can say that my longing was never satiated by some thoughtful piece written by a performance artist/mime on HuffPo.

However, if I was going to give advice for people before whatever age is the new freak out age, it would be this. Be kind to yourself and to other people. Don't be afraid of failure or uncertainty, because we can pretty much survive anything. Learn empathy. And listen to your gut, because I honestly believe that everything you need to know is already inside of you.

But what do I know, I'm just a barista.

P.S. I want to end this post giving a big Thank You to all of the people who reached out to me when I mentioned I was having a bit of writer's block lately, i.e. being super lazy and binge-watching Netflix. It really means a lot to have people take time out of their day to encourage some girl who makes coffee and writes about dicks on the internet.

And I want to give a special thanks to Greg writing over at 28 Days at the Bar. Greg was one of my recent cheerleaders, who wrote me a short novel giving me all the encouragement my parents never did. So thanks, Greg, we're now in love, just so you know. But seriously, go check out his sports and entertainment blog or follow him on Twitter! Who knows, some newfound sports knowledge might get your laid. You're welcome.