As you know, by now, a few months ago, I broke my leg. You know this because I whine about it all the time. And in this entry, I’m going to whine about it some more.

Breaking your leg means that you are isolated, The only people I saw were my friends/family. Who all had to visit me. And bring me things. And once they got here, I asked them to clean things. So, some of those visits were few and far between.

Yes, when I go out selling I take pictures of myself in the bathroom mirror bar. I think I pose better when I'm by myself.

I was in pain. And I was sweaty. And kinda dirty.  I did not feel sexy.
I couldn’t take care of myself very well: showering, brushing my teeth, changing clothes. Those were are hard things. So, at first, life was so hard I didn’t notice that all the sexy seeped out of my life. Then, when things got a little easier, I had time to look around, and realize just how gross I really was. And then I didn’t mind the fact that the only new men in my life were all doctors/nurses/cab drivers. None of whom were hot. Or hot for me.
So, I gave up on sex AND feeling sexy. For months.
Last month I finally started walking again. With crutches. This didn’t help my quest to be sexy. I worked as hard as I could, as often as I could to get from the crutches to a cane. Once I got pretty good with the cane, I started selling my cards again. I still spend a bunch of time getting ready at night. And I like to think I look good when I leave the house. But being able to walk and wear a skirt didn’t magically bring back my sexual confidence.That kind of things comes back slowly. Over the last few weeks, men have ogled me and motor-boated me, and been delighted by my blatant hitting on them. And every time a guy is not repulsed by me, I find myself feeling a little more sure of myself.

The men who flirt with me are still crappy flirters. And, though clumsy, they seem into me. And despite my annoyance at the lack of game I’m surrounded by; the flirting (largely clumsy as it is)I’m starting to have faith that I will have sex again. Someday. In the future. Because I’m hot. And really good in bed, and people guess that about me. Since I created this business based on what happens in my Vagina.
Right?
There is a hot bartender, named Dougie. He has been starring in my fantasies since I’ve started walking again. I like Doug. He likes me. But I’m pretty sure that the chances that he likes me in a sexy way are, like, super-low.
I give it a 5%-15% chance that he’s ever taken off my clothes in his head.
So, staring at his abs and his arms, and his awesome ass, and trying to gage his penis size while he is absorbed in the task of making drinks for other people makes me feel like a creeper.
But that 5-15% of hope has been keeping me going for the last 2 weeks.

Last night , after I got my eyeful of Doug, I went back out into the world to sell cards. And there was a guy who told me a story about how he got shot by a gangsta in the 90′s, back when he was 1. a gangsta 2. Rich 3. A hard-core coke dealer
He also bought me a drink. All in an attempt to get me back to his place.

When I said “No thank-you! It’s been a long night. I can’t walk anymore. I have to go home and rest.”

He said “We’ve got a car! We’ll drive you!”
That’s how into me he was. He was willing to drive me to his house. Drunk. I mean, he was drunk. And he did start the evening by telling me he’d just got a DUI. So, I’m glad I declined. After he told me he’d gotten that DUI, it took ALL OF MY WILLPOWER not to say “Don’t drink and drive! You could kill your Dad!” Which is my favorite line from the last Cougar Town episode. Which was awesome.
Anyway, while I might have started the evening lusting after Dougie, I ended the evening feeling good about being the rejector. Almost like I’d gotten my sexy back.

I think that Doug’s doing the world a service. Being all sexy all the time. At least, I know that he helped me. Because while I was thinking about helping him take his shirt off (and how grateful he’d be for my help!) I was finally thinking about having sex. With another person. Who found me attractive. Something I’ve had a hard time imagining since since January. And I needed someone to get that started up again for me. So, thanks Dougie! Your sexiness has inspired me! I wrote some sexy Snarky Cards while I was thinking about you! I’m sorry all my thoughts about you are dirty. But you have a huge cock in my fantasies. I don’t know if that helps or make this whole thing weirder and gross.

Love,

Alisa

Here's my broken leg, after the surgery!

Dear Internets,

I spent the first week after I broke my leg at Joy’s house. I had a lot of pain. I was worried about over-stepping. I was worried about exhausting her. I was embarrassed because of all the help I needed. I was hungry, and it was hard for me to get to the kitchen. I was dirty. I was poor. I had to move, and I wasn’t allowed to walk for another 6-8 weeks.

As my doctor explained it, I had blown out the back half of my left ankle. And they had to use screws, plates and wire to put all the tiny chips of bone back together. But it wasn’t just that. My good leg was now my bad leg.

They gave me an open cast, wrapping it in a few ace bandages. That way the foot wouldn't swell bigger than the cast.

My leg had been opened up, and the bones mended. It was in a cast. And the doctor told me under no circumstances was I to walk on it, or even rest it on the ground. He didn’t have to tell me that. After surgery your leg swells up if you lower it beneath your heart. I couldn’t lie flat in bed for more than ten minutes before the pain would start cascading down. I had to keep it elevated at all times.

As a cripple: once you realize you have to go to the bathroom, you lie in bed for 10 minutes, (because sitting up is too exhausting and painful, you will lie down for the first month after surgery) you’re gaging your pain, trying to figure out if you need to take a pain pill before you go, or if you should wait. How long will it take? Will the painkiller make you dizzier? Will it knock you out before you get back to bed? Eventually you decide.

Hopping from your bed to the bathroom takes concentration. You’re using a walker, and one leg, trying to keep your broken leg above the floor, looking out for things that may trip you. In the 5 minutes it takes for you to hop from your bed, to the bathroom, your leg has swollen painfully inside your cast. By the time you’re sitting on the toilet, it’s throbbing. So, it takes more concentration than normal to pee. And if you have to poo? Pushing sends blood flow downwards. So, a good shit will make your broken bone swell even more. The longer your pee takes, the harder it is to hop back to your bed, because your mind is kinda full of pain. But, you’ve been in bed for a while now. And so you always take a few extra minutes to enjoy the bathroom. Because it’s not your bed. And you miss not being in bed.

So the hop back is harder, and you have to concentrate, to make sure you don’t fall, or trip on something. If you have to sit down between the bathroom and the bedroom, your leg swells up even more. You may need the rest, because your unbroken leg is holding all of your weight, and the strain is making that half of your ass twitch in a scary way. But the longer you sit, the more it hurts too. You’re sweating and panting by the time you actually lay down again. Each bathroom trip means 2 hours of laying down, with your foot elevated above your head, in order to get the swelling down to a manageable level.

My beautiful sister, who bathed, fed and watered me back to health

Three bathroom trips a day were about all I could manage. I couldn’t get myself water, or make myself food. So before Joy left in the morning, she would put as much food next to me as she could. Like leaving a food dish next to the sleeping form of an old dog. So he didn’t have to walk across the room.

For the first few days, I cursed myself for not making more friends. I had just moved to Seattle, 3 months before. But I’d been visiting all summer, and before that, for years. Why hadn’t I made more friends? Why hadn’t I put more effort into relationships? I obsessed over being dependent on Joy. And she obsessed over it too.

My friend Carly, who checked on me, brought me video's and cheered me up relentlessly

But by the end of the first week, my fears had dissolved. I may not have made a lot of friends, but the friends I’d made were kind and went out of their way to help me. During the day, enough people would stop by, that I was fed and watered, and almost never bored. Sparkle Pussy, Joy’s boyfriend, Prince Eric, my friends Colin, Carly, Trevor, Timmy and Pia all chipped in to help me get through the day.

Seattle has given me the gift of friends who will hang out with me even when I’m crippled It’s like that Alanis Morisette song “That I would Be Good”.

This is how I felt about my fucking feelings most of the time.

Which is another aspect of this broken leg thing that’s kind of bullshit. I’m so fucking emotional. Between the pain and the painkillers, my complete vulnerability and having to ask people for stuff EVERY DAY. “Can you get me some water? Can you get my pants? Can you help me shower? Can you bring me some food?” And all of my new relationships were tested, and I was so fucking grateful when they came through. All of which left me scared, nervous, embarrassed, grateful, hopeful, sentimental, loving, and a little horrified at my condition, at the same time, all the time. Feeling all of those goddamn feelings has made me do insane things, like finding an Alanis Morisette song which completely describes my relationship. And then saying that. On the Internets. Where everyone can read it and laugh.

Added to all this was me and Joy. Living together. One of us completely dependent on the other. Like a lot of sisters we fight constantly. But even when we’re not fighting, even when we are laughing together, some silent tension keeps us at odds.

Our forced time together helped me untangle some of this. I realized that I wish she were an entirely different person. And she thinks that I do stupid things. The other person I wish she was used to exist. But it was 20 years ago. Back then I liked her, but I wished our lives were different, our parents less abusive, or at least richer, so we could be comforted with money when their damage got to be too much. So I’ve been trying to wish things different all along. Back then, Joy still thought I did stupid things.

I think that living in her house, utterly depending on her made me realize that while she has fundamentally changed since we were small, some of those changes are good. And after meeting my friends, and packing and moving all of my stuff, and making decisions with me for the last month, I think Joy has decided that not EVERYTHING I do is stupid.

I think, for the first time, we started to see ourselves in each other. She fed me, bathed me, started moving all of my stuff out of Homoasis, worked 40 hours a week at her job, spent time with her boyfriend and worked on her side projects (She organizes charity events in her spare time, for spare cash). After two weeks of all of that, she started to fall apart. But falling apart didn’t slow her down. It was the first time I’ve ever seen anyone besides me do that. I found it endearing. And alarming. Because while she charged full speed ahead, I knew she was crashing into a wall of her own limitations. Soon.

I hate medicine. And I have a deep and abiding fear of becoming addicted to opiates. This fear translates into amnesia. I forget about painkillers, because I never really consider them an option. I don’t have any Tylenol in my house because I never remember to take it. When my leg isn’t broken, if I’m in pain, then I ignore it. If the pain gets really bad, I slow down; taking longer and longer to accomplish tasks. Which annoys me. So, I call myself a pussy, and try to make myself speed up. Eventually, my body gives up, and there’s nothing my mind can do to get it going again. This usually results in me crying and yelling at myself. Eventually, I smoke a little weed, which calms me down enough to help me realize “Oh. I’m in pain. That’s why I’m going slow. I think I need to quit for now, and rest.” and then I go to sleep.

Did you notice how at NO POINT, I took any kind of medicine? Yeah. That’s literally my process. While my leg was broken, it went a little differently. Usually Joy or someone else was there by the time I’d get to crying. And they’d say “Take a pain pill, you idiot.” And then I would, and things would get better. For about 15 minutes, until I fell asleep. After a while she would say really annoying things like “Do you know how upset it makes me when you don’t take your pain medication?”

Apparently, Joy pulls that kind of shit too. On her own body. Which is kind of impressive, because she has Fibromyalga. So, it takes a little more than a “Don’t be a pussy” pep-talk to get her moving when she’s in pain. After a while I reminded her of herself so much that she called an old boyfriend. And apologized. “I’m taking care of Alisa. And she’s acting exactly like me. And I’m starting to realize how difficult I was.”

Luckily, when Joy broke, Carly and Trevor and I were all hanging out, talking shit about people we know. We all looked at each other, with wide worried eyes. She had tried to make a joke out of her chiropractor bill; not realizing that it wasn’t even remotely funny. Joy is as charismatic as I am. She can tell a joke. That was when I realized she’d hit the wall.

The lovely and fantastic Trevor, who took me into his home even when he didn't have to.

She left the room and I said “I’m literally breaking her!” Trevor nodded “Yes. We can’t let this continue. Why don’t you come stay with me at my house?” I was really surprised. Who invites a cripple to crash on their couch? It’s crazy. Trevor is a wonderful person, but we were casual friends. Not “I’ll help you shower when you are filthy, smelly and incapable of doing it alone.” or “I will feed you every meal you need, and let you watch tv all day, every day on my couch for as long as you need.” friends. Carly was nodding. “Yeah, I’ll drive you and your stuff over.” She agreed. I was stunned. And hopeful. And excited.

It was the break we needed, in order to survive. I was starting to freak out about Joy breaking down. And Joy was starting to break down. I didn’t even tell her until I needed to start packing, I didn’t think she (or I) would be able to take it if it fell through.

Trevor made me yummy food, and his dog and I fell in love. I slept. And watched awesome television. And took drugs. And had a steady stream of friends come over to keep me company.

Joy spent the next three days sleeping.

And then we started to get ready to move all of my shit, my cats and my crippled ass into a new place.

This is me, selling my Snarky Cards earlier this year, at the Wild Rose. God, I miss walking.

I’m trying to be as honest, while telling you this story, dear Internets, as I can. Which means it takes me a while to craft the story. In between saga’s, I’m trying to make new cards, and post them on my etsy shop. And call my stores, and pay my bills, but I still can’t walk. And I can’t go out and sell. Which I usually do to pay my bills.

Dress sexy! I've been crippled for 2 months. I am sex starved. I want your ass as my eye-candy!

So, this month I need help. My sister is throwing me a fund-raiser on March 30^th, from 8:30 pm at Waid’s on Capital Hill. The theme is doctors and nurses. Sex it up, and be ready to dance. Don’t have a costume? Come as patient. I want to see lots of awesome head wounds! Door prizes for best dressed and most creative costume (or costume posse)
Prizes include: Snarky cards, Snarky Paintings and Fuck You panties! The $10 door fee for the night goes to paying my medical and other bills. It will be a great dance party, and it’ll make a huge difference in my life if you can attend.

Snarky Cards! Which you can find on the website! Or at my fundraiser!

If you can’t, please look at my etsy site, and find something you need. I’ve been updating it like crazy, so there will be something that cracks you the fuck up. And the sales from my site are all I’ve got, besides the fund-raiser, to help feed and clothe me. You can send a paypal donation to snarky cards at gmail dot com.

Thanks for listening to my tale of woe. I hope that you are well,  and that your life is easy and kind.

Love, Alisa

Here's a card for the next time you see an asshole you used to fuck!

Dear Internets,

After a break-up, I almost always regret having anything to do with my lover at all.
I wish a lot of things. Like that they had never been born. Or I had never been stupid enough to fall for their shit.
But, most fervently at all, I hope and dream that they will move the The Island.
The Island is a beautiful, magical place where I believe all of the men I’ve ever regretted fucking go to die. I assume that my

Let your ex know that you think they're a waste of time! Bring closure to your life with hatred!

staggering awesomeness prevents them from living a normal life. And after fucking/falling for me, they eventually waste away, until a friend of theirs tells them “Well, I hear a lot of the dudes who’ve met Alisa have this problem. There’s somewhere for you to go.” It’s a non-profit island, and they have support groups there for all of their horrible feelings about me that they can’t get rid of.
I know The Island has wi-fi because sometimes these embarrassing mistakes email me. Or Facebook me. Which is annoying. But not as annoying as it would be if these fuck-ups were loose on society.
So, I’m glad about The Island.
I’m glad they have each other. And I’m glad that I don’t have to see them anymore.
Maybe you don’t have The Island. Let’s face it, not everyone is awesome enough that they leave that kind of devastation in their Vaginal wake.
So, these cards can express the outrage you feel when you are confronted by your sexual mistakes in the flesh. You can buy them on my etsy site http://snarkycards.etsy.com.
Love,
Alisa
PS:  Remember! Snarky Cards are Post-Cards. They’ve got pretty pictures hand-painted (by me, Alisa) on both sides, and the words are typewritten with my Smith-Carona: Bob.

For those of you who don’t know, my name is Alisa Starr. And I make Snarky Cards: Brutally Honest Greeting Cards. I sell them in bars, from a box that hangs beneath my boobs.

As some of you also know, I’m moving to Seattle in October. Before I go, I’m planning on doing a few shows. One of them is Share the Love; a party on August 5th. Tickets are $15. And the money goes to benefit Basic Rights Oregon, which is an organization fighting to make it safe to be Gay, Transgender, Queer and Bi in Oregon. There’ll be aerial dancing, burlesque, dj’s, food cards, raffles and lots of other fun.

So, if you love your gays. And you wanna hang out in a place where everyone loves your gays, you should totally come. Also: if you think you’re going to miss me, and you want a Custom Snarky Card, you should totally come.

This is me, in my Judy Garland dress. Which I will be wearing so that the gays will know that I belong to them, at Share The Love!

If you don’t come, then clearly you are a homophobe. Or you aren’t that into me. Which actually, might also make you a homophobe, since I’m a HUGE fag-hag. I’m such a fag-hag that when straight boys bore/annoy me, I picture them having gay-sex, in order to get through the conversation. I think nothing is hotter than gay-porn. And I have a dress that I bought at the goodwill because I thought it would make me look more like Judy Garland.

So, put it on your calendar! Get your gay on, and your custom Snarky Cards, and help Oregon become a little more equal, all at the same time!

Love,
Alisa

Here are some cute girls, diggin on Snarky Cards at O'Brien's on NW 21st Ave!

For those of you who don’t know, I’m Alisa Starr. 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.

Tonight I was hawking them at the Bossanova Ballroom, in between acts of the Bikini Creature Beach Feature! Which was awesome!

I suck at describing stuff, so I’ll just quote the Portland Mercury on this: “ Bikini Creature Beach Feature is a charming mélange of ’60s beach blanket flicks, ’80s sex gooferies à la Hardbodies, and grindhouse motorcycle gang pictures. Bikini beach bunnies dance, a sea witch vamps, the local motorcycle gang cruises around with their ape, and Guantanamo Baywatch and the Lordy Lords soundtrack the shenanigans.” My friend, Matt Stanger, wrote this musical gem. And it was everything that it sounds like it was, and more. It was so fucking FUNNY! I laughed for, like, two hours straight.

The story is simple, it’s about 2 beach dweebs who have to fight a biker gang, and their rapist gorilla, Randy Bannanas, in order to race against Big Daddy and The Sand Witch. The prize for the race is a trophy and a gift certificate to Planned Parenthood. The Sand Witch is knocked up, and she wants that gift certificate baaaaaad. And Big Daddy races dirty. Will the dweebs prevail? Will they keel over from Big Daddy’s Crazy Dirty Farts? The suspense is awesome!

I think that the best part of the play was when one of the beach dweebs (the one who always got maced) said to one of the beach bunnies “Do you know CPR? Because I know ASS TO MOUTH!” Every 15 seconds there was another line that had you reeling. And then there was a minion! Who crawled around on the ground! He rolled joints for the sea-witch. And she would beat him as a reward. He wasn’t allowed to wear clothes, and he fetched things for her. Sigh. I want one of my very own. The band was live, and there were at least 15 girls, whose roles were pretty much to dance throughout the entire fucking play.

Rogue is my favorite super-hero ever. She's spunky. And she gets to make out with Wolverine. Who is a bad-ass. And, oh look! Her tits are huge! Like all the other chick super-heros. Totally reasonable theory.

Here's a picture of my boobs, so you see why I'm big-boob-biased.

A few of them had HUGE tits, which reminded me that Stanger is awesome. I’m so tired of watching tiny-titted ladies shake their sugar. I feel like if you’re gonna put some girls onstage in tiny outfits, give me a few double D’s or else I’ll be wondering what the fucking point is. This is probably my way of being Alisa-centrist, since I’m sure you’ve seen my huge rack, shaking around town. However, I like to think it’s because of comic books. When I was a little girl, all the girl-super-hero’s had HUGE tits. So, as a child, I assumed that women get all of their power from their boobs. Which, it turns out, in my adult life, is true. So, when I see boobies, I’d like to see them large, please.

More Alisa Starr Boobs!

Anyway, Bikini Creature Beach Feature didn’t disappoint. Hilarious-wise, and Titty-wise. If you didn’t go, that’s OK. I’m sure that Stanger will create another creation. Keep an eye out for Matt Stanger Productions. Anything that says that, is going to make you piss your pants with laughter. And if you did go, you and are both in the cool-kids club, and we will be laughing, and gasping private jokes FOREVER! Ha! Ha! Ha!

Love,
Alisa

This weekend, I took some time off. There was a boy. And some weed. And I am waaaayyy more relaxed now.
And despite the fact that Im a little drunk off of the great sex I had this weekend, I am still a responsible person. For an artist. And I wanted to remind you that Snarky Valentines are in stores now! As well as online!
I hope they help you get laid!
Love,
Alisa Starr

My name is Alisa Starr. 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.

I’ve been remiss in writing to you. I’ve also kind of sucked at keeping to this schedule. It’s become more of a guideline. And even though Christmas is over, I still find myself drowning in work. It seems that Valentines Day is just as Challenging as Christmas. Though, it’s only one day, instead of a monthly marathon of people buying shit, so the pressure doesn’t last as long. But it’s kind of a big card holiday. People expect Valentines Day Cards. It’s the one time in the year that my art has a purpose. It’s the one time of the year that I don’t have to explain myself as much. And I’m having the same old problem: too much work, not enough of me. And I find myself vacillating between frenzied work, and listless inability to do anything remotely work-related.

Totally inspiring, right?

I find myself re-reading Sara Paretsky’s VI Warshawski novels, which is always a sign that I’m feeling sorry for myself. I know that it’s really, really bad when I start re-watching Aliens. And I know that I absolutely want to do give up when I turn to Buffy. That’s how I fight feelings of wanting to give up. I watch Bitches Kick Total Ass Against All Odds. And at some point, I say to myself “Well, if VI can solve the mystery after someone cuts her face up, I can just make another 15,000 cards on my own.” or “If Ripley can kill that fucking alien, and protect that little girl at the same time, I can go without sleep for a night or two this week.”  Or “If Buffy can fight all kinds of evil, even though she clearly only weighs 90 lbs, I can totally figure out how to sell this new thing I made.” So far, we’re only at a VI Warshawski level of being overwhelmed. And I’m trying not to let it get to the Aliens stage. That’s harder to recover from.

So, I’ve decided to try to find an intern. I put up an ad on the Pacific Northwest College of Arts website. And hopefully, some nice art students who want to learn how to sell their shit will email me, and I’ll finally get someone to help me.  I can teach them how to sell their own shit, while they help me build my Snarky Empire. Soon I’ll figure out a way to pay my bills and take a day off, every week.

On the other hand, I’m really enjoying my life. Lately I’ve noticed that I’ve got a plethora of really good friends. And, I’ve been having sex with some nice guys. I’ve even gotten a couple of repeats, which is unusual for me. I’m trying to be OK with the idea that someone would want to have sex with me more than once. And I’m trying to be OK with guys I like liking me back. It’s not full-fledged dating, exactly, but it’s progress. And I’m pretty happy with all of the great penis I’ve been getting lately.

There’s one guy in particular that I think about a lot. I fell into bed with him by accident, but it turned out he had a lot of cool shit going for him. And sleeping with him made me feel like I might be making better sexual decisions. He’s probably more afraid of commitment than I am of intimacy. When you have two people too busy and freaked out to start anything, the chances of living happily ever after are low. So, I’m not having fantasies about making him my new boyfriend. But I do like him. And I think he likes me. And the sex was pretty good. And I’m going to try to figure out what it was about him. And what I liked about me when I was around him. And I’m going to try to replicate the situation with somebody else. I’m kinda stoked. It’s like sleeping with him gave me a big clue as I try to figure out what kind of guy I could date.

I’ll try and explain it some more in my next post. I’m sorry I’m so vague, I think I’m using my Vagina to figure my shit out again, and I’m not quite done yet, so it’s hard to explain the progress I’m making.

No matter what, I think that getting some really awesome cock in the last few months has made me a better card writer. Or at least, it’s put me in a pretty good mood, so I think I can honestly say that your friends and lovers will be happy to get a Snarky Card from you this year. You can see for yourself on my etsy site. I hope you like the new shit. It was a delight to get some inspiration the old-fashioned way: naked.

Sincerely,

Alisa

For those of you who don’t know, my name is Alisa Starr. And 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! I also have Snarky Cards in 35 different stores. So if you don’t feel like finding the nearest bar, and waiting there hopefully for me, you have other options.

This is Arlette. Yes, she wears short skirts and knee high socks. Because Arlette is a sexy bitch, with sexy knees.

I haven’t posted anything in a while because I’ve been having some small website problems. Which I’m pretty sure are resolved now; basically my website was full, so I needed to buy a bigger site. Or something. I’m not super-savvy-web-chick. I use a typewriter regularly. I cried when I had to give up my rotary phone. In 2007. So, I am not in charge of the website stuff. I’m sorta at my friend, Arlette’s mercy for web-stuff. And luckily, Arlette totally came through! All hail to the super-sexy web-goddess! So, now I can tell you all the rad stuff you missed in the last two months!

As you know, I recently created Snarky Underwear: Amazing Ass Wear. There’s a girls pair, which I told you about two months ago, when they came out. But between now and then, I also created a Boys pair of Undies! They also say ‘fuck you and your fucking feelings” on the ass. So you can moon people with a message! So far, I’m the only model for the  Boys Undies.

So, dear Internets, you finally get to see a close up of The Magic Mountain. Here she is in all her glory, showing off the boys undies.Whaddya think?

It was really nerve-wracking to take my pants off, and let my room-mate Claire take pictures of my ass. I know I joke about it’s size a lot, but I’ve never actually considered letting anyone take a picture of it in all of it’s glory. I mean, ever. So, taking these pictures of the magic mountain totally tripped me out. But afterwards I felt kinda triumphant. Like, if I can take pictures of my huge fucking ass wearing only hilarious underwear, I can do anything! So, yet again, Snarky Cards helps me get over my body-image issues. It’s kind of ironic that shaking my tits to sell my art validates me. And taking kinda-naked pictures of my ass also validates me. It’s almost as if becoming a sex-object gives me purpose and self-esteem.

You might be saying to yourself “Amazing Ass Wear is awesome! How do I get a pair?” Which is a totally good question. They’re available online. And they’re also in these fine stores:

• Radish Underground
• Space Monkey Coffee Shop
• Rock’n'Rose
• Twilight Artist Collective
• Cherry Redd
• Buffalo Exchange Hawthorne

Some super-good press things have happened lately too! Like:  I did the cover of Just Out! Isn’t it awesome? It was really fun painting cards for Just Out! And it was really fun coming up wih and typing their headlines. It was like I really worked for a magazine! Which used to be my dream, when I was a little girl. Actually when I was a little girl, I totally wanted to be a paid writer. I really wanted to write books. But as I grew up I realized I might have to settle for a magazine. So, it was more like my second-place-dream. Either way, when they asked me to make this cover, it felt like it was coming true. And I also felt like a successful artist. I’ve sold 33,780 Snarky Cards so far. And I’m proud of that. But somehow when Just Out! Asked me to do this, it validated my work in a totally different way. So, thanks Just Out! I loved working with you!

After Just Out asked me to do their cover, they wrote an article about me! I think this article captures my awesomeness. It’s my favorite piece of press yet! I even get to say Motherfucker in the middle of the interview! Proving that they really did talk to me! Amanda is an amazing writer. The tone of her writing sounds like… me, It’s just so fucking fantastic. And I’m so excited that such a good writer wrote about me!

Also: the picture is of my tits and my typewriter. Which I love.

Last week, I caught a cold. It was kind of awesome. I spent 3 days sleeping, watching Stargate and eating chocolate cake. It took me 3 days to realize that I was enjoying it so much because I haven’t taken a day off in a couple of months. Which made me think maybe I need to figure out how to slow down a little bit.

After 3 days of that awesome combination, I felt better and I had the energy to scan all of my Christmas and Hanukkah cards in. So, they’re now available online! This is the first Christmas I’ve gotten my stock out so early. And some of my not-taking-time-off since August has been me, trying to get ready for Christmas. So, in celebration I’ve created a coupon code! For my first ever Holiday sale! From now until Wednesday, November 30th at 7pm., use the coupon code: Blackfridaysucks to get 20% off at http://snarkycards.etsy.com! How rad is that?

If you live in Portland, or Seattle, or New York,  or Salem, you can just go into a store and buy my cards, you don’t have to order them online! Check out my list of stores!

So, a whole bunch of rad shit has happened to me since the last time I talked to you! Including some awesome sex! I slept with a friend of mine recently, and it was totally good. And since we’re friends, everything was cool the next day, and we’re still friends. The sex was awesome. There was hot naked boy, and lots of huge penis. Over and over again. A lot of good sex with a guy who is nice, who was nice to me after the sex. I think I really, really needed it.

So, I’m thinking I should start exclusively having sex with my friends. No more stranger-bar-sex. Does that mean that I’m turning into a prude, Internets? I’m thinking it’s an age thing. My sister, and KT have all given up on stranger-sex. And they were just as slutty as I was. Maybe Ani was right, maybe we all do turn into fuckin’ AM radio as we get older, and there isn’t anything we can do about it.

The thing is that lately the bar-sex I’ve gotten has been terrible. And this sex was way better. So, while I may end up getting laid less because I am no longer going to be sleeping with strangers, I will be having better quality sex. So in the end, my Vagina will be much, much happier. I am impressed with my sex-logic. It may seem like a duh-thing to you, but it’s taken me 14 years of sleeping with strangers to figure out that it’s not usually that good.Your no-duh is my aha! moment.

I hope you like the Christmas/Hanukkah Cards! And I hope you like the Amazing Ass Wear! And I hope you enjoy the mountain!

More soon, I promise!

Love,

Alisa

My name is Alisa Starr. And for those of you who don’t know, I make Snarky Cards: Brutally Honest Greeting Cards. I haven’t been writing to you lately, because a lot of crap has happened all at once.

First, the circus came to town. And they were like “Are you coming to Bumbershoot with us?” And I was like “Yeah!” and then I realized that I couldn’t go. Because I had a show to do. And a Bachelorette party. The Bachelorette party was the biggest deal. Ever.

See what I mean? She still looks like a freaking model

First of all, it was my first Bachelorette party since I was 16. When I went to a party for a girl I knew from church: Joy. Not my sister Joy, who is cool. But Gross Joy. Gross Joy was like the polar opposite of my sister, while still being eerily similar to her. They’re both blond and curvy, but Joy is tall, blessed with a model’s body (no shit, she really was a model in college. Which probably explains why standing next to her still makes me feel insecure), and Gross Joy was so short and yet curvy, rendering her doll-like. They both have a high sex drive. And liked male attention. Joy was really good at flirting, and usually had lots of different guys on call at all times. Whereas Gross Joy just tackled Wolf on our living room floor, in a flirtatious way, until they were both rolling around and panting. I think that was her main move.

Gross Joy was also a little cross eyed, and I always assumed she was a little retarded. Because I am a dick to cross-eyed people. They creep me out. If I can’t tell where your eyes are at all times, I am incredibly unnerved. So, maybe she wasn’t actually retarded. However, she was marrying my friend Wolf, which I considered another sign of mental defect. Or maybe I should say she was marrying Wolf, who had wanted to be friends with me when I was 12. He wanted to be my role-model. My safe grown-up friend. This isn’t quite as creepy as it sounds. I grew up in a Christian Church, you might have heard of them, they’re called the Baptists. My parents practiced a different kind of Christianity at home. I may have mentioned to you before, my parents are demon-hunters, and God speaks to my Mother on the phone. Which are both things that Baptists don’t get with. So Jon and Sherri (said parents) were in the closet about their freaky form of Christianity until 4-5 years ago. When they came out of their Crazy Christian Cult Closet, their church promptly kicked them out. I’m pretty sure that they’ve actually been kicked out of a few churches since they came out. But they’re worried I’ll make fun of them, so they don’t keep me that informed these days. They’re probably right.

See my Grams bogarting my picture? I think it's the hottest pic of me from high school

But at that point, they were respected members of a church. i was 16 so I too was a member of the church. And adults in church feel like it’s their duty to mentor teens. I had at least 6 people try to mentor me. .When we got together,  I was my most charming, trying to win them over with my personality, trying out new material on them. These years were the years that I was just figuring out that I wasn’t as ugly as Sherri had been telling me (I have included pics, so you can decide for yourself). Guys were crawling all over me. And I’d just gotten molested, so I had no sexual boundaries, and my taste in men included all of the ones I’d met who were willing to treat me like crap. And who doesn’t want to treat a hot 16 year old girl like crap? So, I was, as I am today, less swears, of course, but with the same deep desire to make-out with everyone I meet. Or tease info out of you, about your deepest, darkest make-outs.

Since I was a very little girl, strangers have been telling me their secrets. When I was 11, I was miserable. I had at least 5 grown-ups confiding in me, as well as several abused children. I thought I was going to die, because every time I looked someone in the face, they told me something horrible that had happened to them. By the time I was 13, I realized that the flood of secrets wasn’t going to stop. And, like any teen super-hero, I figured out that I could control my powers, but I had a hard time doing it consistently.

My boobs were smaller, but still awesome back in the day

For instance: when I got nervous, I would yank secrets out of people in order to gain control of the situation. I think on some level, I knew that these “potential mentors” had chosen me so that they could mute some part of my personality (Could it be that they didn’t like my loud-mouthed bitchiness?). So, these well intentioned Christian Adults would take me out for food, and I would talk about my sex-drive, and make jokes, and when that didn’t impress, or they got too “Well, Jesus really wants you to blah blah blah” I’d get nervous and pull some deep seeded desire, or fear out of them to make them stop. Afterwards they regarded me with suspicion and betrayal. Nobody tried it twice. I was always pleased to find myself a failed project.

By the time Wolf proposed to Gross Joy, he had decided I was a lost cause. He still liked hanging out at our house, though.  He liked playing with my little brother, and talking to my Mom, and making guy noises with my father. And it was our living room, in which he courted Gross Joy, and by courted, I mean, they would wrestle around on our living room floor. Which gave credence to my friend Steve Mix gleefully telling me later that he’d seen Gross Joy giving blow jobs in the parking lot of our local laser tag center.

My sister, Cool Joy, and I at that point regarded Wolf with some disgust. Three years earlier, his best friend, Greg Robbins had gone to jail for molesting us. And he had stuck by Greg, saying that he didn’t want to “pick sides”. Which enraged us. But it was generally agreed amongst our parents and Wolf, that Cool Joy and I were sluts, who were asking for it, and Greg got a raw deal, having to do those 9 months in jail. They all thought we were real bitches for not going to Wolf and Gross Joy’s wedding. Which is how my brother, Stephanie, found himself in a wedding party alongside the man who had assaulted his sisters.

Sherri roped me into going to the wedding shower (Christian women we knew didn’t have Bachelorette parties) So, I had tea, and watched numbly, as the slightly retarded (and secretly slutty) woman who’d been heavy petting on my living room floor for months with the least attractive man I knew, opened demure night-gowns, and dishes and other lame presents. All the while, trying not to attract the attention of either of her eyes, and not dwell on the fact that this meant that the two grossest people I knew were going to have sex. As the church women cooed, and made sweet comments about how to make a home with a man, with demure references to their “wedding night”. It was hypocritical, and a lie, and worse than all of that, it was really fucking boring.

That was the last Wedding Thing I’ve done. In the last 10 years, I’ve had two friends get married. My friends, it seems don’t believe in marriage. I don’t think Stacy had a bachelorette party. And I couldn’t come down for KT’s. So, while a wedding is rare in my circle, a pre-wedding party is even more rare.  And besides that, I really wanted to get the taste out of my mouth from Gross Joy’s wedding shower. Even 16 years later, it still makes me feel uncomfortable.

Probably more importantly than that, Alicia and I have been friends since high school. I only talk to one other person from high school; The Bexter. And the last two years or so, I’ve realized that there’s something so precious about someone who knew me before I knew how to hide, moderate, control, frame, or spotlight myself. My friendship with Alicia and Bex have became really important to me. And the fact that she invited me at all delights me.

So, I put off Bumbershoot and the circus. But, I reasoned, I can go out with Alicia and the other hot bitches, and go home at around 12, paint, sleep and then take the train the next morning to Seattle. So, I bid them farewell, promising to meet them in Seattle in a few days.

On my way to the bachelorette party, Something Horrible Happened. I’m not going into it right now, but let me just say I lost Something Important. And I freaked out. I realized I had to find what I’d lost before I could leave the city. I was deeply angry with myself. I was deeply disappointed in myself. I was trying stop from having a small mental breakdown, and then I walked up to the bar.

This is the kind of bar I would have never, ever, in a trillion years gone into. No matter where I lived, I would have avoided The Barrel Room. There was a line waiting to get in, and a cover (two strikes). And big, huge bouncers. When I got into the outdoor dance area, I saw a bunch of bitches with spray-on tans and white-blond hair, wearing miniskirts and looking unimpressed and/or unintelligent. There were muscley guys in tight shirts scanning the crowds for prey. As I walked into the bar, I passed two more burly security guys holding a handcuffed drunk between them, throwing him out of the bar like he was a piece of trash. The thunderous noise of a dueling piano bar greeted me. I stood in the entry-way, stunned by noise, trying to figure out if they had cuffed him using wire or actual handcuffs. I wondered what a person had to to do get arrested in a bar. I was so pissed, I couldn’t breathe. “Great, this place is full of airheads, assholes, it’s noisy, and they expect we’ll see a lot of fights.” I surveyed the crowd angrily. I quickly found Alicia, who promptly yelled “Alisa! I Loooove you!”. Which kinda calmed me down. I put my bag at our Bachelorette table and went to the bathrooms.

The girls room was 5 bitches deep. And nobody was coming out of the stalls. “Um, you guys? Can I ask you something? Are my legs too musclely?” The bitch at the front of the line trilled. I looked at her, and started muttering to myself. This girl was wearing a gold lame minidress, and 4 inch heels. Bitch knew she looked good. She just wanted to make sure we were talking about how good she looked. “Oh, you better Shut the fuck up, bitch.” My teeth were clenched while I repeated my mantra. Christina, one of the girls from the bachelorette party was waiting nervously next to me. She tried to explain to me loudly that everyone’s insecure about something! I didn’t believe for a minute that she thought that girl was insecure, I think it was just code for “Please don’t start a fight in here!” It reminded me not to start a fight in there.

I suggested brightly that we use the men’s bathroom, trying to just accept that this was the bar that my friends wanted to go to, and I love Alicia, and I need to calm down. As I tried to soothe myself, I made small talk. “Um, I think I’m just gonna smoke some weed tonight.” I told her, through the stall. Meaning, other people seem to think that liquor can make you agro. I’m already agro, maybe I need to relax, and not drink, which might make me more agro. “Not on my premises, you’re not!” said the woman with the scary tits at the sink. I looked at her surprised and said “Um, no I was going to take a walk around the block.” She continued to stare at me angrily, and as I stuttered through trying to make nice with her “Oh! Is this your bar? It’s so packed! I can’t believe you’ve been open less than a year! Good job!” She pretended to accept my apology, and when I made it out of the bathroom, I went straight for Johnny Walker. I tipped well, and went outside for a cigarette; trying to forgive myself for losing the Something Important, and trying to accept that I was here to have a good time. And so what if every asshole in Portland was hanging out at this bar? Yes, if any of those fuckers had tried to drink at Kelly’s Olympian, or The Aalto, the real drinkers in this town would have talked shit on them until they left. But I wasn’t there to drink and make friends, I was there to celebrate Alicia. I reminded myself through 2 whiskeys and 3 cigarettes. I finally calmed down enough to come back to the Bachelorette table, which was right next to one of the dueling pianos. Alicia and I yelled at each other that we loved each other, and I anally fucked the inflated sheep we had at our table with one of the chocolate penis’s, which amused not only our table, but also the guys behind us.

Fuck yeah, I'm busing out the yearbook pictures. She's hot, isn't she?

Me and my old last name

The reason I loved Alicia in high school was that she was one of those girls who just wasn’t going to take any shit. She always seemed angry. And I liked standing next to her, because she would talk shit out of the side of her mouth about everyone around us, like we were in prison. She hated everyone and everything, and I found it so restful.

Since the last time I saw her, she’s gained weight, and it looked fantastic on her. She, like me, just gets juicier when she gains weight. She was wearing this brilliant red dress, and she looked regal. Her tits and her ass were everywhere, and covered in red. Every time she moved, she was surrounded by at least three of us, and she glowed. We formed a rolling court of laughter, like an island of awesome amidst a sea of skanky-beefcake.

Alisa and Alicia singing our hearts out

I relaxed into the party, and the girl-time worked it’s magic on me. I was so fucking happy to be there. By the end of the night we’d hooked one of our girls up with our waiter (who was the only normal dude in the place), gotten two retarded beefcakes to drink beer out of our inflated sheep’s ass, and our party of hot bitches had been spotlighted. One of the piano guys sang her a song, and we all danced our asses off. As a group, we had some kick-ass moves.

Wasn't Anna adorable?

Anna, who went to high school with Alicia and I has literally grown two more inches, and now looks like a model. “FUCK!” I shrieked when I saw her, “You HAVE to come to our 20 year! You’re the hottest girl in our class now! April Lujan will eat your shit!” Anna just shook her head embarrassed. “Hey! What about me?” Alicia asked. “You and I are hot, but Anna’s hotter.” I informed her.

Anna rolled her eyes. Which, she did a lot to me in high school. I love seeing Anna. She used to shoot me these looks like I was fucking up her life by talking whenever we hung out. “I think I was just scared.” She said when I teased her about hating me in high school. “I didn’t hit puberty until I was in college, so I didn’t get kissing and boys.” Which, of course, was all I talked about. I never got  upset by her apparent dislike of me. I thought it was funny. In my old age, I feel sorry for people who don’t like me. But in high school, I thought it was hilarious. And Anna was so cute and weird, I liked being close to her in the alphabet, regardless of how little she liked me. Every once in a while, she’ll bust out her prim, disapproving voice -like when we got our 2nd phone noise complaint from the hotel manager- and I get nostalgic for the good old days when I used to scare the shit out of her. We hung out until 3am, and I realized that I wanted to follow this party to it’s inevitable conclusion. So, I crashed in Christina’s room, and in the morning, we kept bonding and talking, and I was designated to find a breakfast place close-ish to the airport.

The morning after

We found ourselves eating some kick-ass food at The Slingshot. When we walked in, some of the girls looked confused. “Um, are we eating at a bar?” Cindy asked. I just nodded at them, confused. “Um, you guys wanted to go to the Cheerful Tortoise. What did you think that was?” I asked. “Well, we didn’t know. None of us live here.” Cindy pointed out. I smirked a little. The Slingshot lived up to it’s reputation, and after Jen finished she pushed her plate away “That was the best breakfast I’ve ever had.” she sighed. I made everyone try some of my aebleskivers, and we floated through the morning trading stories, making plans, laughter propelling us through until it was time for them to catch their planes back to all the little towns everyone had come from.  We agreed that we were awesome at Bachelorette parties, and took another dozen pictures, and made plans for the wedding weekend to be even better than this.

Sometime later that day, I realized that if I hadn’t lost Something Important, I would have missed it. I mean, I would have gone to the party, but I wouldn’t have drunk and danced my ass off, and gotten to know all the people who love Alicia as much as I do. I would have been nice, and polite, and had a drink, and then gone home and painted and packed and taken the train to Seattle to spend the next few days with the circus. And I haven’t been surrounded by bad-ass bitches in so long, it was so good for my soul, to get some girl-to-girl time. And to remember what we were like as little girls. And to marvel at how far we’ve come. And to tell Alicia I’m proud of her for being brave enough to marry someone. Losing Something Important left me no choice but to stay in town and dance and laugh and remember how much I’ve loved my life and my friends so far. So, I think the Universe reached into my back pocket, and pulled out Claire’s money-order for rent, sprinkling it on the streets of Portland, to make me stay.

But that’s another story.

Love,

Alisa

I love Tour De Fat! It was so much fun! The beer was yummy, and the drunk bike addicts were really nice! The circus folks were entertaining and the band rocked! They were really happy to see my cards! And I made enough money to pay my rent this month! I’m gonna see if I can go to another Tour De Fat event in a few weeks, and I’m gonna see if I can go to other beer festivals too. So if you have a beer festival that you plan or participate in send me an email, and let me know when and where. I’ll show up with my cards, and my typewriter (Bob) and m

 I thought I’d be able to go out and sell after my day, but I was hoarse last night. And I had a hard time moving my legs. And my head. And talking out loud. And then I thought I’d be able to go to the Folsom Street Fair today. But I was too tired. And then I thought “OK, well, go sell at Zeitgeist at least”.  But it turns out, when I have to be charismatic and loud, and write custom cards about people’s deepest darkest secrets for 6 hours, it takes something out of me.

So today I slept in, and finished my book, and talked to my friend Emily, and ate some pizza, and watched Grey’s Anatomy, and smoked some weed and drank some beer. And then the cute boy picked me up, and took me to his house.

We stopped to make-out on the way. And I got to look at the sun setting behind some sort of Marsh, halfway between Oakland and San Mateo.  It was beautiful. It’s a weird trip so far. It’s like Oregon has somehow set into my bones. And I’m not seeing the landscape the way I used to. It’s haunting me like I’ve never seen it before. And the way the air expands in the fading warmth of September is so reassuring to me, like it was in the summertime, when I was a teenager, and summer was heavy with possiblities. But there’s something more than just the reassurance. It surprises me, this expansive, heavy air. Like my childhood memories were a story I read, and I’m just realizing it might have been a biography.

 My respite felt more like melloncholly than solace. So, when the cute boy picked me up, I tried to be peppy. And so far we’ve had some sex and television and chocolate. Also: he made me a chicken salad. Which, it turns out, I love.

Tomorrow, I’ll be back at the Zeitgeist, being the bad-ass Art Prostitute everyone loves.  So if you’re in the Mission tomorrow night, come get your drink on, and check out some Snarky Cards!