Happy Father's Day. Please Don't Shoot Me.

I live in FL and my AC went out 2 days ago, and I now know what true suffering is. So because it's Father's Day and I can't bring my laptop into the bathtub full of ice I'll be laying in for the rest of the night, here's an old post about my dear old Dad.

***

My dad is an interesting man.

Not interesting like he runs marathons and speaks Latin.

Interesting like he goes in and out of a Cajun accent without ever having spent any real time in Louisiana. He is obsessed with Nazi history, much to the dismay of my half-Jewish mother. He refers to himself solely as Padre de Gato and almost shot me in the face when I was a kid.

Yeah, you read that right.

I was six years old, and my dad almost offed me.

He was teaching my brother and I about gun safety. Being a southern-raised good ol' boy, my dad having an arsenal of weapons was as common as other dads having golf clubs.

"Never touch my guns," he said. "Now this one isn't loaded, but..."

Pop!

A single bullet whizzed by my head and shattered the dining room window.

I screamed.

He screamed.

My mom drew up divorce papers.

It was a pretty traumatic day.

Surprisingly enough, my dad was not kicked out of the house after his safety lesson gone awry, but he did spend the rest of the afternoon boarding up the window and trying to figure out how to spin this story to DCFS.

To this day he swears the my first near-death experience was an intentional lesson in disguise.

"I taught you an important lesson--accidents happen," he'd preach, "You now know to be afraid of guns... And besides if I wanted to shoot you, Allison, you'd be dead."

Good to know, Pops.

However, his "lesson" didn't really teach me to be afraid of guns, but it did make me very suspicious of him.

So Dad, just know, I'm still watching you, you son-of-a-bitch.

 But happy Father's Day, nonetheless.

Sunday Wrap Up: Sh*t That Doesn't Matter Edition

What a crazy week, y'all! I almost set my blog on fire after having to pretend to know how computers work, The Biebs has obviously been watching a shit-ton of Fox News, and there's a show about sexy, extra small ladies on Lifetime.

Let's go over this garbage, mmkay?!

Little Women: LA

Lifetime, the network that brought you every movie about Tori Spelling getting beat up by some guy she met online, has done it again! What you ask? Well, I'm not really sure, but they found some hot little tickets that need pedal extenders and decided to make a whole show about it.

The following clip involves a hot tub soup of these little ladies in little bikinis, talking about whether it's acceptable or not to let people exploit their stature. Someone known as "Midget Lady Gaga" explains that as long as she's getting paid, she doesn't care what she has to do.

Sounds like she needs to change her name to "Midget Kim Kardashian".

Justin Bieber is Pretty Racist

Surprise! Justin Bieber is a total dick. For anyone who hasn't seen the now infamous video where J-Biebs repeatedly uses the N-word and talks about joining the KKK, you can see it here.

Now, I know some people--mainly 13-year-old girls--are saying that he was young and should be cut some slack, but I'm going to pass on that one. Doesn't this little asshole remember that he was discovered by Usher, and that Usher is in fact a black man. I think it's time for ol' Daddy Usher to take him out back and beat him with a bag of soap.

Of course, Justin says he is so sorry and has spent the last week in church asking the Lord to use his Lord magic to destroy any evidence of him being a racist prick. 

Oh, and he was also baptized in a bathtub--which no one explained to him is actually just a bath.

The Fault in YA

The Fault in Our Stars premiered this weekend and I can still hear people weeping hysterically. (I haven't seen it yet, but plan on ugly crying for at least a week afterwards.) 

The Young Adult book has been praised by teens and adults alike, but a recent Slate article by Ruth Graham, suggested that adults who enjoy YA should be ashamed, because these books are ultimately written for children. 

Um, you can take all the seats, Ruth.

Can we all remember that 50 Shades of Grey was written for adults, not to mention a myriad of other lit that is not worth the paper it's printed on. So if I want to sob hysterically about teenagers with cancer who fall in love, I will do so with absolutely no shame. 

Stop book-shamin' me, Ruth.

***

Alright, that's all I've got this week, guys. Anything worthwhile I missed? If so, leave it in the comments! 

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!