Bikini Creature Beach Feature Rocks!

Dear Internets,

 

 

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

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I heart Muu-Muu’s

Dear Internets,

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 mostly haunt the bars of Portlandia, but I’ve been known to show up on Capital Hill, in Seattle, and I love The Mission in San Francisco.

Over the years, I’ve haunted a lot of different bars in Portland. I’ve walked into almost every single place that sells liquor in order to pay rent, or spread the good news of Snarky Cards. Muu-Muu’s is in Northwest Portland. I started selling there two years ago. And it became a staple on my route. I make a lot of money there. Almost every night in Muu-Muu’s is a $100 night.

But once I started selling there, Snarky Cards became a group project. And the kids who work there: Choia, Justin, Mark, Loren, Moira, Alonzo, Kevin and Noah, Big Voice Steve, all feel pride in my success. Because they’re part of it. They help me sell. They hype me up. They let me come in, and they like to show off my cards to anybody who’s drinking. They listen to my problems, and they tell me their shit. And we dance, and we work together, and we bitch about the same customers. And we hang out with the same regulars.

The magic of the Muu-Muu’s is that you can walk in not knowing anybody and if you sit at the bar, you make friends with your neighbors and the bartenders and you start to get that “We’re all in this together” feeling. Big parties and couples-in-love inhabit the tables, and you can see people falling for each other, or hear the uproarious laughter from across the room.

Like these two hot people, sitting at the bar, right? You could hook up with one of them next time you pull up a barstool at Muu-Muu's

And, little known fact, if you sit at the bar, there’s a pretty good chance that you’ll find someone you wanna chat up, or you’ll find that someone hot is chatting you up. Not always. Sometimes the frat boys and hoochie mama’s who drink at The Gypsy invade the bar space, but most of the time, there’s some pretty good game getting thrown down at the bar itself. And I love me some good game. It’s fun to watch the hot boys and girls who go there to drink eyeing each other and trying.

A few weeks ago, I walked in and I saw the “Snarklandia” sign and my heart jumped. It was posted up at the bar, on the back of the taps. It was a low night. I’d been telling myself that nobody really likes me. And any second now I’d get kicked out of every bar in town, because they were sick of my tits, and my schtick, and my cards. I was having the “Big Alisa Meeting” fantasy/fear. Sometimes I tell myself that after I’ve left a bar, the staff gets together and has a meeting about how they’re all sick of me.

See why the dudes who fall for me have to move to an island afterwards to recover? Part of that is my hotness. Displayed here.

It’s not based in reality. I mean, bars have gotten sick of me before. But only a few bars. And it was mostly in the beginning, before I could gage where I could/should sell, when I was just blindly trying shit. I wasn’t friends with the people who ran those places. And I didn’t want to be. The Big Alisa Meeting fantasy/fear is loosely related to the “Ex Lover Island”. Which is something I cooked up a long time ago. I’m pretty sure that all the people I’ve ever slept with or dated are all living on an island together, where they have therapy (directly related to the trauma of sexing/liking me) and they form a support group on the island for whatever damage I’ve inflicted. Also, they divide chores fairly. Once an ex of mine has sufficiently recovered from the scars I left on him, he’s allowed a day-pass into the real world. From what I gather, this island has a good wi-fi connection. Because occasionally those fuckers try to friend me on Facebook.

Alisa and Arlette! I would have thrown KT up here too, but she hates to have her image captured by the internet.

So, today, firmly rooted in reality, I know that my bartender friends always seem happy to see me, but the relationships feel fragile. And I sometimes think one wrong interaction, one misstep, and their smiles will turn into looks of resignation at my presence. It’s probably just an extension of my basic insecurity. I am a bad-ass bitch. Who worries sometimes that nobody likes her. I don’t think I even knew that the Big Alisa Meeting fear was happening to me as often as it was, or how ludicrious it sounded, until I went to San Francisco, and I confessed it to Kaytea and Arlette. One of them laughed. And the other one said “That’s fucking bullshit, stop it!”. I don’t remember who did what. It doesn’t matter, because at that point they had become one seamlessly perfect best friend. And I was so grateful to let her handle all of my bullshit. After that, I got that the Big Alisa Meeting is a bullshit fantasy I’d concocted, and not a real possibility.

But this is before that. So, I was too nervous to ask right away if the SnarkLandia sign was about me. I hoped it was. But I didn’t want to say anything about on the off-chance that they’d be like “Well, actually, we had a meeting and we decided we don’t like you anymore. I don’t know who put that sign up.” I asked Moira If I could draw some boobs on the sign. And she was delighted to let me. And those three seconds of drawing calmed me down. And I let go of my fears. And I realized that whether the sign was about me or not, that bar is my home. And somehow I just… I started trusting that my friendships there are real. They love me for me. And they love me when I’m not super-on. And they love me when I’m tired. And they love me when I’m a little sad. I fell in love with the bar right then. And I included it in my idea of home.

And then Choia bought some of my Snarky Panties. Which she promptly put on her head. And I danced to the kick-ass music in the aisles, while I sold my cards to everyone in the bar. And the magic of that place infected me. And now, when I’m nervous about selling, or when I’m having a hard night, I tell myself that I’m going to end up at Muu-Muu’s. I promise myself that I can bullshit with my friends at the end of my night, and it gets me through until I can walk through that awesome door one more time.

So, if you’re wondering where I’m at, there’s a good chance I’m headed to Muu-Muu’s.Or maybe I’m already there. You should come by.

Love,

Alisa

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Grant = Rad

Dear Internets,

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.

I’m sorry I haven’t been writing to you regularly. My website filled up. And I had to switch to a larger package. Or buy a bigger package and then move shit from one package to another thing. Clearly, this required tech skills I don’t have, and my friend Arlette, the tech-wiz has finally gotten a little too busy to be at my beck and call, web-work wise. She’s still an ace best friend, but your friends can only give you free professional help for so long. And she lasted longer than everyone else. Three years is a long time of super-help. And I’m happy that finally her career and her personal life are soaring, and so she doesn’t have enough time for a Snarky Cards website hobby.

Since I started Snarky Cards, it’s come first. And nothing has been able to move me from that. Everything else in my life revolves around the cards. And the cards have given me my friends, my bars, my place in Portland, some fame, a tattoo, and a sense of confidence I’ve never had before. And they made me a writer. Which is my biggest point of pride. I’ve always wanted to be a writer. Ever since I was a little girl. This having-a-dream thing might sound amazing to those of you who are aimlessly wandering through life, wondering what they should be doing with themselves. But it’s kind of a pain in the ass. It makes me extraordinarily single-minded.

When I hang out with my friends, 40% of my brain is thinking/worrying/planning more Snarky Card Shit. When I watch tv, I’m making cards, or making plans. When I’m shopping, I’m thinking about what to buy for Snarky Cards. But even with all this thinking, and concentrating, there’s a lot of shit I can’t do. There’s too much work. And only one of me. And I have a limited set of skills.

So, I’ve been needing help for a while. I’ve talked about getting interns, but I hadn’t seriously looked for one yet. I managed people, a long time ago, in my bookseller days. And it was hard. But more importantly, I’m pretty sure that I was terrible at it. And I made life harder for the people I was in charge of. I never could figure out how to be the kind of boss that I wanted to be. I had the best bosses in the world at Brentano’s: Stacy and Glenn. And I could never figure out how to bridge the gap between my behavior and theirs. What I came up with seemed kind of paltry. So, I vowed never to do that again. Which is why I’d been dragging my feet finding this intern.

You’ll recall that I talked about this whole intern idea in one of my earlier posts. After Christmas I admitted to myself, and to you, Dear Internets, that I needed help building my little empire. But I hadn’t gone All Alisa On That Shit yet. See, when I decide to do something, nothing stops me. Which is why I waffle on deciding things. I test ideas out. I plan out things I may not go through with. But once I’m full-on in, I’m relentless. Which might be why I’ve sold 38,715 Snarky Cards since I started.

So, I took snarfed a lot of hot sex, and armed with my ardor, I started talking about getting an intern CONSTANTLY. I put an ad on Craigslist. An ad which I reposted no less than 4 times. Craigslist tore it down. A lot. Because apparently, they hate me. But I POSTED IT. And I posted an ad on the PNCA website. And I talked about looking for interns at the bars, and with my friends, and I started to make a list of things I would need my interns to do.

Enter Grant. Grant is a fucking godsend. He is friends with Claire. And he said “I have a lot of free time on my hands. I could help you out for a while. And it would give me something to do every day.” So, he started coming over to help me with Snarky Cards. And he is, like, psychotically talented. He found me an accounting system, taught me to use it, and then he typed up my master list of cards. He figured out how to set up wi-fi in the apartment. He helped me create records for my retailers in the accounting system. He has gone to pick up money, and drop off new cards, he helped me fix my website, and now he’s helping me revamp it. He came up with this rack that I can use to dry cards, so that they’re not littering every surface of the apartment. He listens when I talk.

He is kind, and serious and funny and he has come over to help me work on Snarky Cards for 40 hours a week, every week for the last month. He helped me reorganize my living room so that we can find shit in it. And I find that the more I explain things to Grant, the better I am at figuring out what parts of my business I need to change.

Like in most things, I find out more about myself when I explain me to someone else. It’s part of what makes me such an earnest and confessional writer. It’s why I like to do things not just for me, but for the good of other people I know. Because then I have to explain shit to them, and in explaining shit to them, I explain it to me.

It still amazes me that someone so talented would be helping me without pay. But I do my best to admire gift-horses from a distance. Not wanting to see flaws before I get my free ride.

And so far, I think I’m the kind of boss that I want. I bring him coffee. We tell each other about our lives. I respect his time. And I try to make sure that he knows I’m in awe of his talent. And I try to believe that while I might have been a shitty boss in the past, all of the good things I saw Stacy and Glenn do are still in my head. And I may not have been good at imitating them in the past. But maybe I’ve grown enough that I can be good at those things now.

So, I’m writing to you now, because Grant is a genius. And he made my website bigger. And he’s doing  a lot of other amazing stuff that is making it easier for me to bring you more Snarky Cards and underwear, and posters. Do not fear, Dear Internets. The Snarky Empire is being built. Soon, I will be able to offer you all kinds of Snarky Shit. Thanks to Grant The Amazing. And to celebrate Grants awesomeness, I’m offering 20% off your Snarky Cards! Go to http://snarkycards.etsy.com and enter coupon code: alisaheartsinterns to get your discount!

Love,

Alisa

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Snarky Valentines!

Dear Internets,
For those of you who don’t know, my name is Alisa Starr. I make Snarky Cards. I sell them from a box that hangs beneath my boobs. They will crack you the fuck up.

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

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My Baby is prettier than all of the other babies

Dear Internets,

Isn't Awesome Beautiful?

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. And on Sunday my brother and his gorgeous girlfriend Christina finally had their baby (which I will now refer to as my baby) Emilene! Here she is. Isn’t she fucking gorgeous? I wanted to name her Awesome. So, that’s what we’re calling her from now on.

I’m super-excited about being an Auntie! Joy and I (my sister) have all kinds of plans for her. We’re going to make her do sports, so she has really big self-esteem. And I’m thinking I’ll make a Snarky Kids Clothing Line for her. “All those boys are screwed!” Joy crowed into the phone, as I smoked a joint and she raised her wineglass to our niece. “They can try as hard as they want to, but from now on, our hearts belong to Emilene!” We sang together in unison. It was a wonderful moment, putting a final end to a decade long war between us. Apparently babies can smooth away all kinds of shit.

I’m an Auntie now. And I feel a wider range of feelings because of my newfound love. I’m not shitting you. Last night I was watching V, which now stars a baby. And I found that baby more adorable than I would have normally.Well, normally I would have been like “God, when are they going to stop using that baby as a prop?” But last night I was like “Wow! Babies are the best props in the world!”

She's beautfiul, right?

I don’t think I’m a coo-er. Or, I wasn’t, until Stephenie called to tell me that he and Christina were pregnant with Awesome. Ever since then, all babies have inspired me to make horrible baby coo noises. And I find all babies, even crying ones, adorable. I’ve been obsessed. I call once a week to find out what’s going on. After the first month of me calling all the time and suggesting names and shit, Stephenie  was like “Is this your version of baby fever?” And I think it might be. Niece-obsession.

Stephenie and Awesome

So, as a result of my newfound love, the Valentines Day cards don’t have as much bite to them as they may have in years past. Because I’m a nicer person. OK, that’s probably not true. I’m still a horrible person. But I have discovered love. Usually it’s hate that makes me strong, but I think this baby-love thing might actually be making me more Awesome too. You can check out the new V-D cards on my etsy site. And you can find more pictures of Emilene, and me on Facebook.

Love,

Alisa

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Valentines Day, Interns and Some Good Hard Fucking

Dear Internets,

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

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The Schedule

Dear Internets,

My name is Alisa Starr. I make Snarky Cards: Brutally Honest Greeting Cards. They will crack you the fuck up. I sell them in bars, from a box that hangs around my boobs. And I have them in 35 different stores around Portland, OR and in other fine cities.

I think I feel like I’m on an even keel, for the first time since I started Snarky Cards, 3 years ago. This Christmas was slammin. It seemed like everyday I got a call from a store or a person who was wondering where

This is how I felt for the last 2 months. I'm the lady being stretched out.

their cards were. I couldn’t get enough cards to my stores. I couldn’t make enough cards to make sure that every store got Christmas Cards. And while I loooove having my cards in stores, my wholesale pricing means that I don’t make enough money just selling them to stores to get by. I need to go out and sell them in bars also. So, I spent about 6 weeks, from Thanksgiving to Christmas painting my ass off, trying to sell my ass off. And every time I turned around, there was more to do, and not enough of me to get it done. It was exciting to have everybody want my shit. And overwhelming. It was kind of like being stretched out on the rack. I was sick for the entire month of December, and most of November. And I didn’t know how I would make it through.

But I did. January, so far, has been kind of awesome. I’m still collecting money for my Christmas sales, and this month my bills have all been paid on time. And I’ve got time to breathe, and plan. My most awesome thing (besides the nifty bills-paid thing, which is shiny and new) that I’m doing this year is called a schedule. Since I started the cards, I’ve mostly been reacting. People asked for Christmas cards, so I thought some up. My stores needed display boxes, so I created them, People asked me to make displays, or do craft shows, so I figured that out. People wanted me to be able to take credit cards, so I got a machine. This year, I feel like I know how to do every kind of thing I need to know how to do in order to sell Snarky Cards well. I feel like I can start planning, and preparing for the next thing, instead of just reacting when it comes up. Therefore, the schedule.

I think I can make enough money, and cards if I spend Monday through Wednesday painting and typing, and handling my office work. And then I can spend Thursday through Sunday selling my cards in bars. I have never been able to do that in part because selling my cards in bars takes a lot out of me, and I haven’t been able to make myself do it 2 days in a row. Say nothing of 3 days in a row. But I think if I ease off the booze (less whiskey, more weed and water while I’m working), and start having a little faith, rather than making myself crazy  believing that I’ll fail, and then trying to build myself back up into The Super Awesome Snarky Card Chick so I can go out and sell, I’ll be able to do it.

That’s the other thing, from now on I’m just going to believe that my system works. Which it does- but it’s insane. I mean, what kind of asshole tries to make a living selling their own art? My parents didn’t raise me to believe that I could do whatever I wanted with my life. They raised me to believe that I could maybe look forward to a life as an executive’s assistant, if I worked very, very hard. And if I was very, very lucky, a nice man would pity me, and marry me despite my mouth, and I wouldn’t starve, or get into too much trouble. Because the man would save me from my own personality. And looks.

So the idea that I can make my living off of my art flies in the face of my childhood beliefs. The idea that I could use my sexuality, or my looks to help sell that art also defies everything my Mother ever taught me too. And I think while I’ve been building Snarky Cards, I’ve still subjected myself to those beliefs in my head.

So, I’m banishing yet another piece of my childhood from my head because it makes my life harder. And I’m just going to try the schedule, and I’m just going to believe that I can make it work. Because so far, I have made it work.

Soon, I’ll have a new pair of undies to grace you with, and I’m cooking up some Snarky Posters for you too.

Thanks for listening to my boring list of chores, Internets. I promise, news about my Vagina is on it’s way!

Love,
Alisa

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Doctors Who Have Sex in LA

Dear Internets,

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. And I have them in 35 different stores. And while I make Snarky Cards, I watch television. I watch a lot of fucking television. I’m fond of saying that television is my favorite boyfriend. And every once in a while, I write about television. This is going to be one of those times.

I probably watch about 60 hours of tv a week. Some of it is really good, and some of it is mediocre. I like to say that I watch a lot of tv, so you don’t have to, but the truth is, the characters on tv are my friends. And I think of tv writers as my colleagues. I’ve watched every major drama that’s been on tv in the last 20 years. Even Canadian ones. I’ve seen every cop show that’s been on in the last 40 years, and I watch a lot of Science Fiction. I love action, adventure and sex, and occasionally magic.

See? Look at all the sexy not-white people Shonda hires.

Grey’s Anatomy -or as my friend KT calls it “Doctors Who Cry in Seattle”- and I broke up a long time ago, when the characters on it started repeating every line 3 times, almost as if their repetition was an incantation that would get them out of each conversation they stumbled into. They were repeating their lines because Shonda Rhimes, who produces and writes that show, was producing and writing another show, Private Practice, or “Doctors Who Have Sex in LA”.

Doctors who Have Sex In LA is just as silly a show as you would expect it to be. It takes place in a private clinic in LA, full of rich doctors, within which entertaining drama happens. Sexual partners are traded, patients have life threatening diseases, or sometimes just  want the doctors to do weird medical things to their bodies. Occasionally the system is fought, but with money, and so, the system is often thwarted. There is a sexy office boy, who shows up wet and beautiful to the office after lunch. Some of the lady doctors are old, but want babies. It’sa silly show about people with money and education whose problems are almost negligible. Shonda has a flair for writing insane plot twists so once a season, there’s a real trauma, and someone dies, or almost dies, or is assaulted, or something. But even the actual drama is a little silly, so I have a hard time taking it seriously.

Sexy fuckin Taye Diggs.

Oh, Judging Amy. How we love you.

But the writing is good, and the actors are excellent. In fact, I started watching it because Amy Brenneman (Judging Amy)  is one of my favorite actresses of all time and Tim Daly (Wings) was a huge star in my teenage sex fantasies. In fact, I think that Shonda learned an important lesson from the McSteamy and McDreamy phenomenon. Most of the cast is man-candy. Taye Diggs keeps giving everyone steamy looks, and wearing sensitive sweaters (which somehow get me creamin’ every time, despite the fact that sweaters are clothes), Chris Lowell (who stole my heart as Veronica Mars’ last bf) is the wet, after-lunch show. And Paul Adelstein is frustrated, and often shirtless. Doctors who Have Sex in LA is entertaining, but not compelling.

See? Wet, hot, man.

The show itself is not Important to the world. No-one is going to learn a life lesson while watching it, it’s just as silly as Doctors Who Cry In Seattle. Except that it is sorta important. Mostly because Shonda Rhimes is important. She’s the only visible, black female producer and writer. And that’s important because white people, when left to their own devices, are boring. I know. I’m white. I’ve been around a lot of white people in my time. And a show about white people who only hang out with other white people is boring. And I hate boring tv. Shonda is eliminating boring tv.

Shonda: she's funny, smart and totally hot

Because she’s a woman of color, she remembers that people of color and women are important, and considers them for roles, and hires them. And in the last decade, black actors have found themselves getting edged out of television. I don’t know if you have noticed it, but the black friend of the 90′s has been eliminated. And until Grey’s Anatomy started up, we had not found a black main character to replace him/her. More often than not, we’ve just found more white people as main characters. White people who don’t have close black friends, or friends of color. In the early 2000′s, there were very few main characters of any show that were black, brown or any color in between. She has created two shows, which have main characters of color, who are not simply there as foils to white characters. She may create/write overwrought monologues for said charcters, but she has also put them front and center back into the mainstream of tv, once again. For a few years, Grey’s Anatomy was the only show where you saw a diverse cast, being the same kind of spazzes regardless of race and gender. I personally believe that if Shonda hadn’t showed up we’d still be backtracking as far as race goes.  Because when we eliminated the black friend, and didn’t replace him with a main character of color, we lost ground.

The usually-naked Paul Adelstein. He may have no neck, but the rest of him is hairy. And muscley. Which is kinda my bag.

And that is my justification for watching Doctors Who Have Sex in LA. Also, I like the sex. And people having sex in their offices. Because I’ve never been able to maintain any kind of job where I had an office, and I like the idea that people really just create white collar careers so that they can have sex in their offices. And Shonda definitely reinforces that false belief that I so enjoy.And she brings the man-candy.

Anyway. So, this year marks the fourth season of the show. In the beginning of the season, Dell (Veronica Mars’ boyfriend) is in a car accident, while taking his daughter, and Taye Diggs’ daughter home. He dies. Since they killed off his junkie ex-wife in the previous season, this leaves his child an orphan. She’s nine years old, and the people that her Dad has worked with for her whole life are faced with a decision. Can any of them take her in?

Look at this adorable orphan, and her now-dead (but still hot) father. Can you imagine turning her away? No. You cannot. Because you're not a dick.

The answer is, yes, of course they can take her in. They’re all doctors, who work 40 hours a week in a private practice, which performs expensive procedures, for people with money. They can all take care of their friend’s orphaned child. These people have professed to be this guy’s best friend since the show started. And yet, none of them want to take care of his orphaned daughter. They have the means, they have the time, they just kinda don’t give a shit. I mean, literally, at some point in the episode, every single main character -save Judging Amy- says that they don’t want to take this adorable, nice, little girl. And they say it like they’re annoyed. And, they are annoyed. They’re annoyed that Judging Amy is asking them to consider inconveniencing themselves. They’re annoyed that this adorable little orphan girl hasn’t just disappeared into the system. A system which gives adorable orphan Betsy, whom they all profess to love, a chance of getting raped, beaten, bullied and guarantees that she will grow up feeling alone and unloved.And each character has a moment with Judging Amy, who is pleading with them to adopt their dead friend’s child, where they’re like “Is this because that crazy lady cut the baby out of your belly and left you for dead last year? Because this can’t be about the fact that I just don’t give a shit about this orphan.” And they all treated Judging Amy like she was mentally deficient because she wanted to adopt Betsy.

Aren't they a lovely couple?

In the end, she couldn’t adopt the little girl, because she was stupid enough to marry one of the people in the Practice with her. And he was also a selfish dick, like everyone else on the show, who didn’t care about his dead friend’s kid. And she had to do what her husband said. because racial equality or not, America is still very sure that a girl who goes against her husband/boyfriend/love interest’s wishes will end up alone. And being alone is the worst thing that can happen to a woman.

It’s the first time, in my love affair with television. that I have ever been so horrified by the morality of a show that I have abandoned it. I have abstained from shows because they were morally icky; like The Shield, which was basically about this murdering, drug-dealing, bully, whom everyone hated, and who performed shoddy police work for years, with no consequence. It was gross. So I didn’t watch it. But I’ve never gotten involved with a show, liked the characters, and then have them all magically turn into raging assholes. I mean, ever. But I was so horrified by their indifference, that I have not been able to bring myself to watch it since.

This is one of my elephants. They're kinda hard to paint. It takes me forever. Sometimes I have to slave-drive myself to finish them.

The break-up has been hard on me. I know it makes my job sound even more cushy, I paint and watch tv. However, the tv serves a very real function; it helps me with a realistic sense of time. The 45 minutes of each show help me parcel out my tasks. I give myself 4 episodes to paint 50 elephants, or to write one blog entry. If I’ve watched 5 episodes, and still haven’t finished the fucking elephants, than I’m not going fast enough. Maybe it’s the elephants, maybe I need to throw some balloons in between sets of ten elephants. Without this little system, I’m kind of screwed. Mostly because my internal clock no longer works. I will literally look around in the middle of the day and try to figure out what day of the week it is. The date is even more elusive. Sometimes it’s ten minutes after I’ve been conscious of time, but sometimes it’s ten days. Time speeds up and slows down for me, not in direct relation to the amount of fun I’m having, but just sort of randomly.  And tv helps me regulate time, and keeps me on task. Also, I think I have ADD. Because it’s really hard for me to do one thing at a time.

OK, so actually, I just re-read that bit about time. And while that’s true, eliminating one show from my repatoire of 20, probably is as silly a problem as most of the things that Doctors Who Have Sex in LA have had to deal with. It’s not actually that big of a hardship. My problem is more like this: I used to hang out with these people, and I forgave them for being silly and a little overwrought, because I still thought they were funny and hot and kinda harmless. But then it turned out that they are actually horrible people, and I want to tell everyone what dicks they are.

Nikita's fuckin' hot, right? Maggie Q, is also a bad-ass action star trained by Jackie Chan

Yummy Coby Bell

So, that is the story of why I had to break-up with Doctors Who Have Sex in LA. And how it was totally traumatizing. In other news, Grey’s Anatomy has stopped making it’s characters repeat every sentence 3 times, like they have OCD. They’re back to having interesting problems, and the show is watchable again. And Nikita is a Vietnamese Chick, who is also a bad-ass action star, and Coby Bell has joined the cast of Burn Notice (maybe that was my problem, I just missed Coby Bell all these years), Blair Underwood is the president on The Event, Undercovers mentions that their main characters are cooks more than that they’re black spies, and the interracial relationship on Parenthood is probably the sweetest relationship I’ve seen on tv in a long time. So, I don’t mind if one of Shonda’s shows goes to shit. Since I think we have to credit her with reminding America that people of color are important in our television dramas.

Jasmine, Crosby and Jabbar. a sweet, happy family on Parenthood; one of my favorite shows about family. Ever.

But I’m still pissed that those dick doctors in LA haven’t been karmically punished for their inability to care for their dead friend’s orphaned daughter. Fucking assholes.

There’s more stuff that has happened to me than this travesty in mediocre but racially relevant television. But I will tell you about it in my next posting.

Love,

Alisa

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Christmas Ass

Dear Internets,

For those of you who don’t know, 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’m in a weird place right now. My bras are all broken, and my ample bosom feels like it sags more than it impresses. My only pair of shoes has holes that duct-tape isn’t repairing. My rent is late, again. I feel guilty for spending money on food. My socks are thin.  Basically, I’m still poor. But my business is thriving. This is because I’m an idiot. And Snarky Cards bottom line was never going to work: it’s based on Bad Math. I’m never going to make enough money handmaking cards and selling them at $3 each. I’m never going to break even, selling them at wholesale price $1.50 to my stores.

But I keep trying. Which means I keep trying to step up production. And that makes me feel like an Art Slave. For the past 3 years, I’ve been building an empire. And people from all over the country (and other countries) enjoy reading and buying Snarky Cards. I’ve got a fan-base. And I’ve got a product people want. The only real way for me to make money is to start printing my cards. Which I should be able to do, in the next year, as the Underwear sell. And people are loving and buying the underwear. So, while I am sad, and poor and my boobs droop and my feet are wet and cold, I know that it’s temporary. However, I’m kinda at the end of my rope. I’ve been pushing myself for a really long time, promising myself that it’ll get better. And now I can see the Horizon of better, but I’m not sure if I can keep going long enough to get there. It’s like I’ve dug myself into this hole, and now I have to make myself a ladder, to pull myself out. And I know that Snarky Cards is awesome. Snarky Cards has made my life so much better, in so many ways. I’m finally revered and respected for my inability to bullshit. People respect my salesmanship. I get to make money off my art. I get to hang out in bars. I’m famous. But I’m so tired, and so poor, that all of that awesomeness gets lost. And even though I love my life, I wish it wasn’t mine right now.

On the other hand, wonderful things are happening. Just Out wrote about me AGAIN! How awesome is that? I keep re-reading their article about how everybody should buy Snarky Cards, beautifully written by the delectable Daniel Borgen. Snarky Cards made Daniel’s Christmas list. Which I’m totally grateful for. It’s a nice couple of paragraphs. about how Snarky Cards are an easy Christmas present you can buy from your computer. And it even features a pic of my Christmas Cards!

And Magical Michael, a friend of mine from San Francisco bought a pair of the manties, for his amazingly hot Tranny Boyfriend. And then he took pictures. And sent them to me. God, do you see the glory of this boys ass? It makes me feel like my work might be worthwhile after all, if it means that this hot boy takes his pants off more. And I’m glad that I’m finally not the only model for Snarky Undies. It may not have made a great, big, huge internet splash.

But I was self-conscious about the crappy pictures. And I was self-conscious about my huge ass being everywhere. Although, last night at The Matador, I did get to bond with this gorgeous black gay man about the power of a large booty. White guys seldom get into an ass my size. And I treasure that my ass is a siren song to the black man. But this town is pretty white. So, I forget that there are some places where my ass rocks.

So, good things are happening. And I’m trying to hold on. And I’m trying to see that I’m successful, even though that success isn’t translating into comfort, or security. Thanks, so, so much to Just Out, for giving me some hope and some reassurance that my efforts are not going unnoticed. And thankyou thankyou thankyou to Magical Michael, for buying manties, and then sending me these gorgeous pictures. And a special thanks to Michael’s gorgeous boyfriend. Whose ass is helping me pull myself out of the depths of despair.

Love,

Alisa

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