For those of you who don’t know, I make Snarky Cards: Brutally Honest Greeting Cards. I sell them in bars from a box that hangs beneath my boobs. They will crack you the fuck up.
Last week I went out selling at the glorious Kelly’s Olympian, and then, the Matador. On the bus on the way downtown, a blind guy got on. I told him that there was a seat next to me, and he sat down and then I stared at him. It couldn’t be, could it? I mean, how many Hot Blind Guys are there in Portland? Who ride the bus? This guy is gorgeous in my favorite way, He looks like a 90’s pop-star. He’s thin, and in his mid-twenties, and a snappy dresser. He’s got soft looking light brown hair, which falls into his face in that cute 90’s thatch that I just can’t get enough of (think Kirk Cameron without the annoying voice or Christianity).
I leaned over to him, and I said “This is gonna sound weird, but I think we were on the bus together a few weeks ago. My friend Lauren and I were making really loud back-door jokes. Do you remember that?” He smiled and nodded. “Yeah! I do!” I leaned back a little, proud that I’d been memorable. “Well, just so you know, after we got off the bus, Lauren and I had, like, a ten minute arguement about whether or not The Hot Blind Guy laughed at my jokes or hers. It occurs to me that you probably don’t know how hot you are, now that I’m thinking about it. So, I thought I’d tell you.” He smiled. His name is Jim. He gave me his email address, and I gave him a Snarky Card. There was something really intimate about handing him the card, and then describing it. “There’s a sailboat on the back, and a chick with really big boobs on the front.” I started. The guy across the aisle from me said “Yeah, and the chick on the front has triple D boobs.” I thought it was hilarious that this random bus-stranger wanted to make sure Jim knew he had some triple D’s in his hand. I’d handed him the Make-out Card, and he giggled “It really says ‘Maybe, if you go down?'” He asked. I nodded. Until I realized that was pointless. “Yup,” I giggled happily with him.
It was a dreamy begining to a night that felt right. It was the tail-end of Marti Gras. So the bars were full of amateurs. Most of whom hadn’t seen my cards. The economy is still hitting hard, so I didn’t make as much money as I wanted, and I’m starting to worry a little about rent, but this week is devoted to me going out to the bars and selling my ass off. Whether or not were in a bad economy, people in bars still wanna laugh. Hopefully, I can make that happen, and make rent too. As a tribute to Portland Drunks everywhere, I give you: The Filthy Punk Rock House!