Seriously, Serial.

I am completely in love with the podcast Serial. Partly, because I like things that everyone else likes, and also because I really, really love cereal. #fruitypebbles

I think it's safe to assume this how our grandparents felt about Matlock? Because every Thursday I need my fix of that sweet-talkin' inmate, who may or may not have killed his ex-girlfriend in a parking lot.

For those of you that have no idea what I'm talking about, Serial is a podcast from the creators of This American Life. It is essentially the story of Adnan Syed and his ex-girlfriend Hae Min Lee, both high school seniors. Hae disappeared on January 13, 1999 and one month later was found dead. Adnan was arrested and has served 15 years of a life sentence for a crime that he insists he did not commit. Each episode of the podcast follows journalist Sarah Koenig, as she tries to get the real story. Read a better and more in-depth description here.

Now of course I like this show. I am a liberal with Weezer glasses who loves farmer's markets. I am NPR's core demographic. But just to clarify, my husband, who would rather chew off his arm than listen to 15 seconds of All Things Considered, loves this shit.

It's like Law and Order but instead of Ice T screaming at me with his crimped ponytail, Sarah Koenig is lulling me into a calm daze while detailing the tragic, life-altering events of a group of popular high schoolers.

I was lame as fuck in high school, so this nonsense would have never happened to me. You can't really get arrested for a crime while you spend all day alternating between masturbating to Dawson's Creek and changing your AOL away message. wHy U gOt 2 go ~N~ mAkE tHingZ sooo comPLicaTeD?

In fact, all I wanted in high school was for some beautiful, exotic boy to love me so much he might try to kill me in a Best Buy parking lot. I mean, fucking swoonville, amirite?

So here I am every Thursday listening to Serial, pants off, eating Lucky Charms, and asking Matt how bad he wants to bang Adnan. The answer is always: super bad and please don't blog about this. whoops.

But here's the problem: this coming Thursday is the last episode of the season--which means the last episode featuring the Adnan/Hae case. And unless the episode begins with, "He's innocent and we're driving him back to his family right now." Or "He's guilty, we found a picture of him wearing his "I Did It" t-shirt." I'm going to lose my whole fucking mind.

I have become too emotionally invested in this. I spend at least 30 minutes after every episode turning into Nancy Drew and googling random legal information, wondering if I could crack this case open my damn self. You mean they never read him his Miranda Rights? Case Closed. Ice T let this man go free.

But seriously, what am I going to do? I'm worried that soon, the smart, funny Sarah Koenig, whose voice is a lovely mix of honey and cigarette smoke, is going to shoot to #2 of my Enemy List (right after that one customer who said I reminded him of Sarah Palin). I'm just going to be on every one of her social media accounts like, "why did you let me love you if you knew it wasn't going to be forever?"

Basically the only thing that will console me if I don't get the answers I need, is NPR literally sending me hundreds of boxes of real cereal.

Then your girl will be like "Adnan, who?" yumyumyumyumyum

Anyone else completely obsessed with this podcast? What will you do Thursday?

It's Like Rain on Your Wedding Day.

This is the post I've been meaning to write, but absolutely, positively do not want to write. I'd rather do anything else than begin the emotional train wreck that will become this blog post.

Now, I know what at least a couple of people are thinking.

OHHH, THAT BITCH GOT LEFT AT THE ALTAR.

No! That is not what happened. Fuck you, guys. He went through with marrying me. sucker. 

It was beautiful. Small and intimate. My brother married us and we were able to completely surprise his grandparents with our nuptials. We laughed and cried and then laughed at our crying. We were the couple on top of the cake. We were giddy. However shortly after the ceremony, our beloved English Bulldog, Zeus, passed away. It was completely unexpected. The emergency vet told Matt it seemed like Zeus had some sort of underlying respiratory condition that went unnoticed, and the mix warmth and excitement, labored his breathing. It stopped his heart. She assured us it could have happened at any time.

We were devastated. Zeus had been our homie for over five years and we were ridiculously obsessed with him. He was our partner-in-crime and, as silly as it may sound, our furry little kid. 

Despite the horrible circumstances, our friends and family helped us make the best of the remainder of the day--well, them and a little panacea known as alcohol. But as soon as everyone went home, Matt and I were left with the task of dealing with an empty apartment. 

The next couple weeks were taxing, we tried to come to terms with this loss, and the fact that it happened on what was supposed to be one of the happiest days of our relationship. Eleven years we waited to get married, and within 20 minutes of saying "I do", our squishy dog-child was gone. That fucked with me pretty bad, I'm not going to lie.

I wish I could have come back after being away for such a long time and say that everything was perfect, but that just ain't life, baby. As I get older, I'm learning that life will fuck with you sometimes. It will tear you apart, just to prove you're capable of putting yourself back together. And even though I miss Zeus every single day, I can't help but feel lucky that I didn't lose any family. Or friends. Or my husband.

Recently, I saw a picture of someone I know on Facebook. She was sitting on her fiance's grave in her wedding dress. Someone always has it worse.

It's been almost two months since our wedding and Zeusie's passing. Sometimes I'll come home and still expect him to greet me at the door, before being reminded of his absence by the silence in my house. But then again, sometimes I still forget that I'm someone's wife now.

I guess these things just take time.

Updates and Lifemates.

Yo! It has been forever since I've posted anything and while I wish I had a good excuse (superhero duties?) I've mainly just been busy with life away from the internet. But because I didn't want you guys to think that I jumped off a roof after serving one too many frappuccinos, I thought I'd give you all some updates/excuses as to why I've been MIA.

Without further ado ...

1.) I moved. There is a certain kind of hell that can only be experienced by putting all of your shit in boxes, moving those boxes one city block away, and then unpacking those boxes. It makes you reevaluate all of your choices as a consumer. Why do I have this many scarves when I live in Florida? Why do I own 3 crockpots? I could have sent several children to college with the amount of shit I've purchased at Sephora! And if you're anything like me, it makes you realize that no one told you that you need to dust more than once every 5 years. My bare apartment looked like the Wild West with dog-hair tumbleweeds rolling all about. I'm disgusting.

However, the new apartment looks great, and I'm currently best friends with my duster--which should last about another week or so.

2.) I'm getting married. I've spouted ever so eloquently on this very blog that I would rather share a needle with Kesha than tie myself to someone for eternity. I'm currently holding the record for longest engagement ever (9 years. Suck it, Brangelina.) But the dude I share a bathroom with (aka my fiancé, Matt) finally wore me down and we set a date. October 18, 2014. Which is soon as fuck, so I've been busy pissing off family members (we're having the smallest wedding ever) and stress eating Little Debbies like it's my job.

And finally.

3.) New Blog. I'm planning on completely rebranding I'm Not Really a Barista very soon (once I figure out how the internet works). I've mentioned before that I've felt myself growing beyond this little barista niche I've carved for myself, and I feel like it's finally time to create a new space that can grow with me as a writer and an asshole. My time as an actual barista is coming to an end sooner than later, and I'm starting to feel a little too old to bitch about lattes and talk about dicks on the internet. I'm ready to solely talk about dicks with no mention of lattes. But seriously, this blog has been my home for so long, but I think it's time for a revamp. As soon as I have more information, I promise to update all of you via this blog and every social media outlet I have. I know the 3 people who read this regularly are waiting with breath that is bated.

So that's it. I moved. I'm getting hitched. And going to quit bitching about being a barista.

Shit's about to get real, y'all!

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!