As of today, I’ve dyed, painted and typed 55,100 cards. And now my hands are going on strike. About 3 weeks ago, I realized I was having a hard time typing. And putting on my socks. And holding things. My handwriting started to look like I was a drunk 8 year old. When I texted, I couldn’t always get my fingers to type the right letters. The muscles in my hands and arms would spasm for no reason. And also, my hands really, really hurt.

Then on a Sunday, 3 weeks ago, I crawled into bed, and didn’t crawl out until Monday night. When I woke up from my 30 hour catnap, I realized that my hands hurt less.
But still not less enough for me to work. The pain starts in my in forearms, next to the elbow. and radiates down to the tips of my fingers, which sometimes go numb.

Apparently, this sort of thing happens all the time. My doctor says it’s compounded trauma from 5 years of hunching over my painting table; painting for 12-16 hours at a stretch, and 55,100 cards I’ve torn and dyed and painted and typed have taken their toll. I’ve started stretching them, every hour I’m awake and massaging weed cream into them for the pain. I’ve been seeing a physical therapist. And my chiropractor. Now that I’m shoring up these appointment with sleep, and stretching, and not stressing them out with more work, the pain is going down, and they’re numb less and less now.

So, I’m going to have to take a break. And I’m going to have to figure out how to make Snarky Cards without sacrificing any parts of my body.

I raised my prices. Because now any cards I make are going to take me a looooooong time. And I found a few friends who are working on making a Snarky Card App, so the cards will be textable, very, very soon. And I’ve started working on getting the cards printed.

In the meantime, I’m a nervous about money. Snarky Cards has always been a hand-to-mouth endeavor. I don’t have savings. And the last week, my groceries and doctors appointments were all paid for by my friends. If you can donate anything to the Bad Hands! fund, I’d really appreciate it. You can paypal donations to snarkycards at gmail.com. Donations will help me pay my bills for the next month, and print the cards.

I’ve seen some small improvements to my body since I started this new stretch, sleep regime. There are black pits under my eyes, where I used to keep all my despair, which appeared sometime last summer. I know, because the only present I bought myself for my birthday this July was Eye Cream for Old Women. Magically, after 55 extra hours of sleep, those pits of despair have turned vanished. In their place, the smudges of a tired 33 year old have appeared. I’ve lost a little bit of weight. And I’m starting to regain control of my digits. I can now paint for an hour, my handwriting is back up to that of a stoned 6th grader’s. And my text messages now make much more sense.

The worst part of this whole thing is that I have to sit still and relax. I can’t work. I can’t knit. I can’t write. I can’t play tetris or type. I have to figure out how to enjoy just doing nothing.
Which I’ve never really figured out how to do.

If you have any suggestions, or would like to send me any kind of help, I’m open. I know that The Universe has a plan. And I knew I couldn’t keeping being an Art Slave forever. This is a great way to make sure I start printing my cards. And get the App done. I’m sure that this will all lead to a better life in the end. I just need a little help getting there from here.

Love,
Alisa

Dear Internets,

I recently created an OKCupid profile. Mostly because, even though people hit on me when I go out selling my cards in bars from a box that hangs beneath my boobs, I don’t take them very seriously, and they seldom take me very seriously either.

In short nobody really means what they say at the bar.
So, it’s good for one night stands, but I’m not interested in a one night stand anymore.
I liked writing and re-writing my OKCupid Profile. And I enjoy the attention it gets, everyday, on the internet. I like thinking that I have a plethora of men to choose from, online. All I have to do (I tell myself) is message any one of these men, and I’m sure they’ll be sooooooo flattered that they got your attention! This is not always true. But it’s true often enough that I don’t have to talk myself out of this delightful belief. In creating this profile, and talking to strange men online, I am taking a first step in trying to find someone who doesn’t hate hanging out with me. Obsessing over my profile and my man-choices helps me clarify what I want. Talking to guys helps me figure out who I am. And all of it feels new and weird. Not because I haven’t been dating, exactly. I’ve tried. But this year a lot of shit changed in my head. And I feel like a sane person, who has worked through most of her hang-ups, can pay her bills on time, and is kind and competent at loving the people around her, and receiving comfort and kindness from others.

I took this picture of me, selling, in the bathroom at the Unicorn.

I have never felt like all of that shit was true. I feel like this year, I emerged from a janky-ass cocoon, and the new me is not as damaged as the old me. I feel like I’d be a good girlfriend for the first time, like, ever. It’s nice! And exciting! And it was a little shocking when I realized that some of the guys I’m meeting online aren’t good enough for me. Some of them weren’t funny enough. Some of them weren’t interesting enough. And some of them weren’t nice enough. I’ve had such low standards for so long, it never occurred to me that there were some guys who weren’t good enough for me. It’s like my self-esteem has gotten out of control!

Me neighbor, Bridget, took this picture of me this summer. In our hallway.

So, OKCupid, like masturbation, kinda lets me know where my head’s at. I’m hoping to get some nice dates out of it. But it’s largely practice. And while I don’t really expect to find a loving, meaningful relationship there, I am not loving the stupid crap I’m getting from strange men online either.

This guy, last week, thought that I would just have sex with him in his truck. Like, just because he asked. No “Hey! I like Tom Cruise movies! And I think you’re funny! Wanna have sex in my truck?”Nope. He just wanted me to agree to have sex with him in his truck. When he couldn’t be bothered to pretend like he liked anything about me.

Trevor, me and Random Guy at Trevor’s going away party this summer.

And when I was like “I’m not that easy. I need to get to know a person first. And they have to be charismatic.” So he was like “Well, would you be willing to have sex with me in my truck and then see how things go?”
That’s the kind of stupid stupidity that I’m dealing with every day.
I went on this one date with a guy who kept showing me pictures of his penis. Which was better than him just whipping

Me, in the Liberty bathroom.

his shit out right there at the bar. But we weren’t in that kind of a sexy place. We were barely flirting. There was no good reason for him to show me pictures of his penis.
And, I know this is going to surprise you, internets, but I’m not that into dick pics.
I think dick picks are fun to say, but beyond that, I can’t really bring myself to be that interested. Porn just really doesn’t do it for me. And even if it did, all my junk is tied up in this emotional connection bullshit. So, if we’d had a few dates, and he’d said some nice things about my hair, and laughed at some of my jokes, then maybe his penis would have had some appeal. I tried to explain that to him. But he didn’t get it.

He also didn’t get the hint when I kept saying “Yup! That’s a

I have my own clown nose. I thought putting this picture on OKCupid would prove I’m whimsical and interesting.

penis! I’ve seen them before, and I can definitely say that that is a penis. For sure.” Because I can pretty much only acknowledge dick pics. I can identify penis’s. I can’t even bring myself to rate them. I’m THAT not into Porn.

Regardless of the retards, or my porn deficiency, I wrote this card because it seems like, this card is the entire summation of almost every interaction on OKCupid.
Everyone just wants to make a connection and then move everything to real life.
And in order to do any of that, you have to get the other person to acknowledge you. And say they’re interested in you.

This was my on my birthday this year. My sister made up my eyes, gave me a wig and a tuu-tuu and got me drunk this year.
It was a good day.
I look like a fun person here, right?

Which is why I made this card.
So people can get to real life quicker.
I hope you don’t have to suffer through too many dick pics before you find someone you like, who likes you and wants to hang out with you.

Please don’t make fun of me for being a pussy who has feelings and might want a boyfriend. This is fitting in perfectly with my life plan: Boyfriend by 40 is one of my goals. And wanting a boyfriend now, gives me 7 years to comb the globe for a good one, while I become so completely ultra-famous, so that any man I choose will be blinded by my awesome followers and hilarious catch-phrases and they will have to become my loving partner.

Yes, I’m talking to you Seth MacFarlane, Jamie Foxxx, Ben Bass, Marc Blucas, Reed Diamond, Tim Kang, Lawrence Fox, Ian Tracey, Alan Cummings, Shemar Moore, Scott Caan, Daniel Dae Kim, Jake Johnson, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Coby Bell,John Francis Daley, Damon Wayans Jr. (Or, really any Wayans offspring, if he’s the kind of person those Wayans’s are making), Donald Glover, J. August Richards and of course Eric Balfour

Love,
Alisa

Me slingin cards at The Unicorn, thinking sexy thoughts about nice guys

Dear Internets,

I used to like jerks. Well, it wasn’t so much that I liked jerks. It was like I was addicted to jerks.
Mean guys, who liked me and despised me simultaneously.
I found their contempt-crush fascinating!
And I used to go to great lengths to make these mean people happy.

Check out this awesome Valentines Day card!
There are more.
You should check ‘em out.

However, now I’ve had a lot of therapy. And I have garnered quite a lot of self-esteem.
And I find nice guys totally hot now.
If a guy says something nice about feelings, or offers someone else comfort, I find myself thinking about the dirty things I want to do to him in a bathroom.
It’s, like, instant.
You say something kind to someone else, and my Lady-Boner goes up.

I hear a lot about how ladies don’t like nice guys, I mostly hear that from guys with bad boundaries, who thinks that makes them “too nice”. And, I’m sorry dude. Not knowing how to tell someone to fuck off doesn’t make you nice, it makes you helpless. And nobody wants to date a helpless man.

An actual nice guy can tell you’re upset when you call him. An actual nice guy holds your hand when you tell him about your shitty childhood, he helps your drunkest friend stand/not lose her purse at the bar, he talks to your cats and when you tell him about your Tarot Card Readings he doesn’t make fun of you for having beliefs.

And, I thought maybe I could write a card for ACTUAL nice guys, about how hot they are. Hoping that this would make me more attractive to them. This is that card. There are other, awesome Valentines Day Cards on my etsy site. I wrote a really great batch this year. I hope you like ‘em!

And, if you have a nice guy, I hope you enjoy fucking his brains out!
And if you know a single nice guy, please let him know I’d like to fuck his brains out!

Love,
Alisa

This is what I look like when I sell my cards!

Dear Internets,

My name is Alisa Starr. I make Snarky Cards: Brutally Honest Greeting Cards. I sell them online. And in stores. And in bars from a box that hangs beneath my boobs. They say hilarious things about fucking. They will crack you the fuck up.

This Christmas was super-cray. For the first time ever, I got all my stores all their cards in time for Christmas. And I was able to still go out selling once a week. This feat sounds average, but it’s actually super-human. I made 1200 cards in a month. Which I’ve never been able to do before. And it was hard.

Everyone loves a motor-boat

There were a lot of 12-14 hour painting days. I spent the last month and a half eating. sleeping and working. I only took off Thanksgiving and Christmas.

In the past, I’ve never been able to paint with this kind of intensity and focus partly because I didn’t have enough orders from my stores, and partly because my prices were too low. So, I’d get an order, and I’d start working on it, but then my phone bill would be due, or

And motor boats crack everyone up…. If you do them right.

I’d run out of food, and I’d have to take the cards I made for the store and go sell them at the bar in order to fill my fridge or make outgoing calls. I stopped doing consignment, which helps. It leads to actual orders. And bigger orders. And now that my cards are $4 each, I’m making enough on each card that I can afford to just stay home and make them. There’s always food in the fridge.

So, I was able to concentrate on just making shit. And it was mind-numbing at times, but I feel like a better painter. And I know my new line of Christmas Cards was a big hit. As of right now, I’ve made and sold 52,436 cards now.

And the nights I did go out and sell, I enjoyed it a lot. I don’t know if you know this or not, Internets, but when I’m out selling in bars, I offer a free motor-boat with a $20 or more purchase. I encourage your friends to film you, diving into my tits. Which is why there are so many pictures in this post of people motor-boating me.

I’ve accomplished a lot in the last two months. And I think part of it is because I’m finally, for the first time in my adult life, living alone. I don’t have to explain my crazy hours or apologize for taking up too much space. I don’t have to accommodate other people’s guests or feel bad about not doing the dishes. I can organize and re-organize the space until it completely works for me. I never thought I’d be able to live by myself, but now I can’t figure out how I lived any other way. It’s definitely sealed things for me. I’m a spinster. I love my space. I’ll never live with another person again.

And finally! I have started working at the Georgetown Trailer Park Mall, every Saturday and Sunday for the last month and the foreseeable future. The Trailer Park Mall is a collection of Trailer’s, sitting in a parking lot on Airport Way, in Georgetown. Each trailer has it’s

Our little Airstream! She’s beautiful, right?

own different goods to sell. I’m in the sexy silver Airstream, which my friend, Mary has filled with prints, paintings, pottery, Bacon-People, Handmade Hats, and, of course, Snarky Cards.

I brought my back-up typewriter: Gertie and left her there. So, I spend every Saturday and Sunday from 11-5 typing up custom cards for people, and showing off other artists work. I had no idea what having a space

The Georgetown Trailer Park Mall. Looks like fun, doesn’t it?

away from my studio/home would do for me. But, the trailer has been a godsend. Not only do I get to hob-nob with other artists and show off my typing skills, I also get a clean space to think.

There are some days when it’s busy, but we get a lot of downtime at the Trailer Park

This is Margaux. She’s, like, my landlord. She’s in charge of Mary, who’s in charge of the shop. Isn’t the trailer gorgeous? It’s full of awesome art!

Mall. And that thinking time has become invaluable. Every weekend, I get to think through the next week’s work. And make a little money. And crack strangers up. Since I started making Snarky Cards, it’s felt like I’ve spent a lot of my life reacting. Living off my cards means that I am always feeling the pull of money and work. There was never enough money. All I had to do was work a little harder and then

I’d be OK. The Trailer Park Mall gives me a space to plan. And I’m starting to feel like I’m in more control of my life. And my professional life seems more like it’s something I can direct, and less like a handsy monster I have to wrestle to the ground.

It’s a wonderful day at the Trailer Park!

And the other people with trailers are delightful. We drink beer and make jokes. And celebrate good days together, complain about bad days. Since I’ve been working for myself, I’ve desperately missed co-workers. And the Trailer Park has finally given me some.

It’s awesome. You should stop by sometime!

Love,

Alisa

Me, in my pretty party dress, slingin Snarky Cards at The Unicorn

Dear Internets,

This year I’ve outdone myself. I learned how to paint new Christmas things! And I re-wrote my entire Christmas line. AND I’ve been so organized, that all of my stores will have a full set of Christmas Cards before December 1st! That was, like, 600 cards that I’ve spent the last month art slaving away to complete. I spent at least 100 hours, hunched over my painting desk, learning new shapes and tricks, I painted so much that the smell of paint started to gross me out.

I painted so much I got sick of watching tv. -Which I do, while I paint, in order to keep myself schnelling faster and faster. It helps me figure out time. Like I’ll say to myself  “OK, by the end of this episode of Revenge, you need to have 12 ducks outlined, and you need to fill in all of the Unicorns manes and tails..” It’s a pretty good system. Especially for someone like me, who has a tendency to lag. I can literally spend hours staring into space, planning my day. The arc of a 42 minutes episode helps me keep myself in check “OK, Detective Benson just discovered the real rapist. Have you finished all of those Christmas trees yet?” It took me a long time to figure out this system. I time everything with media. Before I started taking my phone with me into the bathroom, I’d take 45 minute showers. Now, I have a 3 song maximum rule. And I’m out of the shower, completely clean in 12-15 minutes, dancing and singing the whole time.

Anyway, enough about my weird OCD. Hopefully,  the new shit is funny, and you will want to buy it. You can check it out on my etsy site.

I tried to make this year’s Christmas Cards about the grey area’s people find most of their relationships fall into. Like, my friend Colin. He has some solid guy friends, who he does stuff with. They talk about some stuff, but for the most part, they hang out and play guitar. Or they hang out and play video games. He likes them, but their friendship isn’t deep and they’re not the kinds of friends who say “I love you” or “I miss you”. Like I do, with all of the girlfriends I have whom I spend any time with, at all.

So, I made him this card. Because I figure, Colin’s pretty normal.  He’s, like, the normalest person I know. So there are probably lots of other people who have video-game-only friends.

Note that I have started to paint candy canes. They weren’t harder than, say, unicorns, but they were still a little tricky. And I’m really happy with how I’ve fleshed out the paintings as well as the cards.

I hope you like the new in-between cards, for your in-between intimacies.

Love,

Alisa

Arlette’s Mom has been sick for the last 9 months. And I wanted to spend some time with her. So, after my brother’s wedding, in August, I went to see her. It was a hot car ride from LA to Oakland and a tense wedding. I spent a day crashed out on Arlette’s couch before I started going back and forth between Oakland and Campbell. We spent 3 days together. Well, a few hours a day together for 3 days.

The first day I got to see her, she was stuck in her bed. Arlette had warned me that she was thin, and that she legs were swollen. But she still looked so beautiful. Radiant, even. She spent a little while badgering her husband Roger, before we got to talking. She listened to me talk about the wedding, and my own problems for a little while, and then she launched into the tale of how she came to America, some 50 years ago. Lillian is swiss. And has this muddled French accent that makes everything she says sound glamorous and hilarious all at once.

I knew why she was telling me the story. She’d obviously told it before. With the same flourish as the story about how she didn’t know the English word for joint, so when Sammy Davis Jr. asked her to get him one, she had no idea what he was talking about. Or the 3 day old baby that she’d  wanted to keep, out of the 70 some odd foster kids that she and her husband, Roger took in. “But if we kept one, we’d have to keep them all.” she said with a furrowed brow and a wave of her hand. Arlette explained it later “You get the foster kids, you socialize them, you teach them how to behave around other people, and then you send them on their way.” She grew up around these foster kids. And she still tries to socialize strays.

I listened, but I wish I’d listened harder. I think, the whole time, I was thinking “Get better. Get Better. Get better.”

The second day I couldn’t stay long. Roger met me at the door. “She can’t take any excitement.” He warned. I nodded. “I just want to look at her.”

She’d had a heart biopsy, and any excitement could have given her a heart attack. She looked so worn, and much smaller than the day before. And suddenly, so old. “I”m so sorry, you know, I tell you the truth! She declared. “I would ask you to stay, if I could, but I don’t have the energy.” I expected her to scold me for crying, but I couldn’t help it. It was scary to see her so fragile. “I just wanted to see your shining face. I love you very much. I just wanted to look at you.” I reassured her.  The tears didn’t make me stutter. And to my surprise, they started her crying too. “I love you too. Is good to see you.” she reached her hand out, and we held hands, nodding and crying at each other for a minute. I said I love you a few more times, and she said it back, and then I promised to come back the next day. I’d expected her to be gruff. I’d expected her to get mad at me for crying. I think her crying too, her letting me cry, scared me more than her not being able to move because of her heart. That’s when I thought “Oh. Oh, shit. She might die. She’s going to die.”

That day was hard. That day I dawdled before the train. Stopping at Recycle Books, where I used to work. Recycle Books was the reason I met Arlette. Recycle was the reason I loved Lillian in the first place.

The Hunger Games consumed me. It was a 3.5 hour commute each way, from Oakland to Campbell. And I spent the time on the train there, and back, living inside of District 12. And the rebels. And Catness’s brain. Catnesses fear of the future; her grief echoed my own feelings.

The third day, she was so bright. And Chipper. She was dressed  up in a black and red blouse, with a skirt. She showed off the blanket Arlette had crocheted her “so taleneted!” she cooed. As well as the socks. She flashed me her boobs. Like cows ears! She’d been complaining. I laughed so hard at that, I was sure I’d get in trouble with someone, somewhere.

I tried to get her to eat. That should have been my clue. I mean, I knew. I would cry, in the moments between the bart and Arlette’s apartment, the moments I couldn’t submerge myself into a book, I would cry. I knew she didn’t have a lot of time. But I thought there’d be more.

She called me a few months before all this. “I got your paintings ! They are soooo beautiful! I keep them in my room, so I can see them all the time! I love them! We love you and we are proud of you!” And the first thing she showed me, that first afternoon were the plans for the dream house she and Roger were building. And how from her sick bed, she could see them, and the paintings I’d made her.

After my niece was born, I went to go see my brother, my sister-in-law and The Baby. They were all living at my parents house. In my old room. I did OK, for a little while. I held the baby, and made small talk. And I even stayed through dinner. The thing is, I never wanted to go back to That House. I wasn’t planning on going back until my parents were dead. “You know they’ll be murdered by one of the crazy homeless people they move into their spare rooms.” Joy explained to me once, airily. It’s true. I like to think, that since I stopped speaking to them, they’ve tried to fill the void I left in their lives with a steady supply of schizophrenics and manic-depressives. Moving them into their house, and giving them food and teaching them about the Crazy Jesus that my parents believe in. This is the part that is actually true. I like to think that they always just misunderstood me. That they fill my void with crazy people because they never understood that I am kind and creative and charismatic and awesome. And they missed me. And the closest thing in homeless that they could find to Alisa was Unmedicated Crazy.

But I think it’s just that those are the only kinds of people who will believe in the little cult my parent started. And crazy attracts crazy.

So, I never expected to go back to their house. And there I was, spending time with the baby. And then bonus! Eating dinner with my parents. In the dining room I grew up in. And I was doing OK. Until I put my dishes in the sink. And then I had a flashback, to my Dad, strangling me in that kitchen. And I couldn’t breathe. And I don’t drive, so I ran outside. And I called Arlette. “Go to my Mom’s house!” She scolded. “She’s good at this kind of stuff, and she has a guest bedroom.” My Aunt Judi drove me over to Lillian’s. And Lillian nodded as I haltingly explained why I was there. “You stay here. And you never go to that asshole’s house again.” Her eyes narrowed and she pointed at me like she was annoyed that I had gone back to my parents house in the first place. So, I spent the next 3 days talking to Lillian about all the childhood stuff that started coming back. And she let me cry and watch their tv. And she and Roger told me stories about Arlette when she was a kid. And it was the first time I felt like I had real parents. Who believed me. Who unconditionally loved me.

“You have a fear of abandonment, because of your childhood. And you are insecure because of your childhood. And you have to figure out how to make yourself feel safe.” She explained once, at the end of one of my crying jags. It was really good advice.

This trip, the 3 days of visiting,  I realized how much she loved me. “People usually take ten years to get as close as you two got in a year.” Arlette told me, when she called to explain just what had happened.”It’s like, I think about how unconditional her love was. And I… feel more secure. Is that weird?” I asked her. “Nope. You know, I was looking at a picture of me as a baby, and I realized that I’ve never spent a moment of my life unloved?” Arlette sounded a little wonderous. “I had 30 years of that love. It changes you. It steadies you.”

Lillian died 3 days after the last time I saw her. Her heart gave out. The got her test results back the day after she went. She had a genetic blood disorder that attacked her heart. She died in her own bed, tucked in by her husband of 40 years, and her favorite sister.

I think, part of me is just so surprised that I found her. That I got to spend time with someone who so obviously loved me. And that it seems to be knitted together holes that I’ve had inside of me for as long as I remember.

Sometimes when I cry about Lilian, it’s because I can’t believe she’s gone. And I just really, really want to call her, and tell her a joke. Or complain to her. Or brag about the the sex I just had.

And sometimes I’m just overwhelmed at her kindness. Because it still feels like she’s shining a light inside of me, and looking at all of my bad feelings. And all of my scary thoughts, and all of the peices in me that my own family declared unloveable oh-so-long ago, and clapping her hands and luaghing. Just the way she did when I showed her my Snarky Card Speech. Motorboat and all. Actually, I had to explain what a motorboat was to her. Which made her laugh harder. And then make a joke about her own boobs.

I miss her a lot. But her love keeps working inside of me. Cleaning me up. Making me feel strong, and loveable. And good. In a way I’ve never felt like I was good before.

But grief is a part-time job. I’ve had to figure out how to take care of myself, since she died. Which means giving myself an hour a day to cry and miss her if I need it. And if it turns into a whole day of bursting into tears and re-running conversations I had with her in my head, letting myself take the day. And being more careful about what I say to myself, and what I let other people say to me. Letting myself off the hook for things I don’t have the energy to do. And just generally treating my feelings like they were very recently broken. And are still very, very fragile.

So, that’s what’s been going on with me. Next time I’ll tell you a funny story.
I promise.

Love,

Alisa

My little sister, Shannon, is a lesbian.
I went through a dating girls period in my early 20′s. I always felt guilty for not choosing women. They’re the obvious choice. They’re better than men. They’re smarter than men. They’re sexier. And being with women means that you don’t have to explain obvious stuff, like your period hurting, or why you want to know what someone else is thinking.
But after a brief period of dating women, I decided that I shouldn’t date girls just because I was afraid of men. And that I should figure out my shit. And if I could figure out how to deal with men in a way that didn’t scare/intimidate/traumatize me, then I could make a choice, a real choice to choose to be with women. But until then, I took it off the table for myself.
And by the time I’d worked through all of my shit with men, I wasn’t as attracted to women anymore.
Shannon and I are close. She’s seen me deal with all of my shit.

When I confessed my guilt to her about my belated straightness, she scoffed at me. “You were the first person I’ve ever met who was bi-sexual and completely comfortable with it. Because of you, I knew it was OK to be gay.” She reassured me.
So, even though I didn’t ultimately become a lesbian. I gave the gays one of the funniest, smartest people I know.
Which, when you look at my dating history, is probably a better gift than the gift of my actual Vagina.

These cards are  for her and all the other lovely ladies out there that are lucky enough to love each other. I’m glad I can witness your love and help you express how you feel to each other.

Love,

Alisa

Two weeks ago, my brother got married, in LA. After I went to the wedding, I stopped by Arlette’s. Her Mom’s been sick. I love her Mom. So, I spent a few days hanging out with the two of them.

It was hard seeing Lillian so sick. And it was wonderful to sleep on my best friend’s couch for a couple of days. Everything about her apartment: from the way she swaths everything in red, to the booze she keeps in the medicine cabinet next to the kitchen sink, makes me feel like I’m home.

Which I kinda needed. This summer has kind of kicked my ass. It’s been hard for me to push myself to walk again, after my broken leg. It’s been 7 months since my surgery. It takes a year to heal. And so I still can’t drink and smoke and party like I used to, before my leg was broken. I also can’t walk without the cane yet. And it still hurts when I push it. All of this leaves me feeling like 1. A pussy and 2. Like I must be doing it wrong. I’m over being a cripple. And so are my friends. Arlette is one of the voices of reason in my life “You’re knitting yourself a new leg.” She gets annoyed that I’m so impatient with myself. “That takes time, and energy.”

I’ve been able to start going out selling Snarky Cards once or twice a week. And I’ve even found a lovely fag to sell cards for me in gay bars all over Capitol Hill. His name is Big Gay Sean. And he decorated his Snarky Card Box with glitter and gay porn.

This has shifted my job a little bit. Because now I have to paint enough cards to fill his box, and mine, all the while keeping up with my internet orders, and my stores needs.

Speaking of which, Homebody Boutique in Brooklyn, New York just started carrying Snarky Cards! I’m pleased to add them to my Roster of Awesome Shops! Kate Silver, who owns the shop has been a longtime fan of Snarky Cards. She recently ordered a few off of my etsy site, while I was filling her order, I took a look at her website, and I thought “Homebody and Snarky Cards should totally make-out!” She sold her first Snarky Card while she was unpacking the box. I look forward to flooding Brooklyn with Snarky Cards thanks to Homebody and, of course, Shag

I also added Neuro Float to my Roster of Awesome Stores! Neuro Float is a yoga studio/relaxation center. They work with

This is the pod that you float in! “Uniting an inversion session with brainwave synchronization and theta-state floating help you approach life’s most important goals with new found balance.”

theta waves. And they have these crazy pods, that you float in, which help you completely relax and reset yourself. Neuro Float found me, and asked if they could sell Snarky Cards. I wouldn’t have expected this kind of pairing to work. But I think they’re operating under the idea that laughter is the best kind of relaxation. They’re located in Bend, Oregon. And they’re the only store in Bend that’s carrying Snarky Cards. I’m glad to have them!

All of this means that for the last two months, I’ve been painting more than I’ve been selling. It’s been good for my painting. I’ve been getting bored and experimenting with new animals, with a lot less trepidation than I usually feel. I am really nervous the first 200-500 times I paint something new. Which means I’m pretty much nervous until I’m bored.This year, I’m trying to root out all of these little neurotic tics I’ve got. I’m starting to realize that being nervous and worrying are the kinds of actions which sap my energy. And make everything harder than it actually is.

I always paint more than I sell. But this has tipped the scale more. It’s changed my routine a LOT. And left me feeling a little isolated. I usually paint, by myself, for about 40 hours a week. And then I try to sell for 20 hours a week. The long hours alone, with my cats and my tv, and my paints help me center myself. This centering helps me be comfortably and completely outrageously myself when I go out to sell.

This is my in my birthday tuu-tuu. I look like somebody you could be friends with, right?

But the last two months, it’s been more like 60 hours a week painting. And 5-10 hours a week selling. This lopsidedness has left me a little starved for human contact. And it’s made me realize that I need to create some new relationships which are not completely based on my life as The Snarky Card Chick. Which initially sounded hard. But I think that was just a little Portland PTSD. In Seattle, making friends isn’t Mission Impossible. It’s more a matter of me saying “OK. When?” When people ask if I wanna hang out with them.

So, I’m trying to make an effort. And say yes. And take care of myself. And, it’s working. It’s weird, because I’ve lived in Seattle for almost a year now. But I’m starting to feel like my life is finally starting here.

Love,

Alisa

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. But regardless of their skill, their continued efforts prove that they are still into me. Every time a man looks at me, smiling, and says something stupid, I hear this hum. The song of my Vagina. She’s been pretty quiet for the last few months. But with each clumsy pass, the hum grows louder. And soon I’m sure the hum will get even louder, and the boy in front of me will say something funny, and not stupid. And after that he’ll make her sing.

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.

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

The relationship between you and your Mom is usually really complicated. I mean, serial killers and rapists usually have crazy Mom issues, right? So, it’s complicated. And if you get it wrong, it goes really wrong.

I am no different. My mother was a terrible, abusive person. She treated strangers with more kindness than she treated me. And she let other people abuse me. She told me I was unlovable. She’s never admitted to any of that fucked-upness. Or apologized for it. She was a bad mother. In a lot of ways, she’s still a bad mother to my brother and sister.

So, I had to find other mothers to rely on. I think, in my relationships with other women, I wanted nurturing. But being vulnerable in those relationships was hard. My mother needed me to take care of her. She tore me down, until I didn’t like myself anymore. And I felt that being myself was a betrayal. And then she demanded that I take care of her.

And I think, I’m learning as I get older, that I need to be taken care of too. And that I need to accept help. And nurturing. Even in my relationships with my mother-substitutes, I find myself assuming role of the therapist. In order to feel secure, I listen and I am supportive. And I’m strong. And even though I sought out those Fake-Mom’s, I was too afraid to use them. Because even though I knew I needed another Mother, to fill in the gaps that my mother had left; I believed her. I was sure that at the core of me, I was unlovable, and ugly and mean and a bad person. Just like she said. Undoing the damage she did has been my adult life’s work. And it’s been hard. And the kindness that I experienced from other people’s mothers always seemed so bright. I couldn’t have that much kindness in my life all the time. It was like looking at the sun. So I stole moments of kindness from other people’s mothers, and stored it away, and re-lived it in my mind, trying to figure out what it meant about me. trying to figure out what these tiny kindnesses were giving me.  Because I think in the back of my mind, I had this cruel mother. And I believed that I deserved her. That I was greedy to want someone to love me unconditionally.  Or love me at all.

Most of my trust issues come out of my relationship with her. My self-doubt, and a lot of my fear of intimacy. For a decade I didn’t speak to either of my parents. And I used the time to reclaim my Holidays. Mother’s Day became about me. Since I raised myself, and then I fixed myself after my mother had done her damage, I used Mothers Day to buy myself presents. Jewelry, flowers and movies. But eventually that fell away. Eventually I stopped being angry at what my mother had taken from me and I realized that more than loving her and more than hating her, I wanted to just not care about her at all. And I did. I stopped craving a different history. And I stopped wanting her to get over her shit and be on my side. It worked. I reached a plateau of happiness. And I just tried to pretend that I’d always been that happy.

The first two years of Snarky Cards, I ignored Mother’s Day. I forgot about it until the last minute, I didn’t know what to say. I felt like my broken, fucked-up relationship with my mother disqualified me from writing about it. I felt like nobody would like what I had to say. It took me a little while to realize that the Snarky Card niche is saying shit no-one else will. And writing what I really wanted to say to my mother became cathartic. And everytime someone laughed at it, or related to it, I felt less alone. And more powerful. It made me feel better about who I am. And my fucked-up childhood. To write my experience. And offer it to the world.

I hope that whatever relationship you have with your Mother, you find a card that helps you feel like your experience is normal. Because no matter how nice or how fucked up your Mom is, you’re a good person. And there are thousands of people who have the same kind of nice/normal/kind/loving/tortured/abusive/scary/crazy/mean relationship with their Moms.

We’ve all got Moms. And no matter what kind you ended up with, I promise you’re not alone. So, if you have a fucked up Mom, reclaim Mothers Day. Make it a day to celebrate YOU. Tell a friend some fucked up shit your Mom did. Buy yourself something nice. Tell yourself you’re a good person, even if your Mom wasn’t. And if you have a good Mom, share her with a friend. You know you’re lucky. Listen to someone who isn’t. Because you have a lifetime of good Mom memories. You can ease someone else’s fucked up memories. You have room in your life for that kind of kindness.

I hope whatever you do for Mother’s Day that you feel good about yourself. And you should. Because you’re worthwhile.

Love,

Alisa