Posts Tagged ‘Arlette’

Arlette Rocks!

Friday, October 9th, 2009

kitty AIDSFor 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.

You can check out my cards, online, on my etsy site.

Lot’s of people look at my cards online. And I’m glad, they’re funny, I like that I’m entertaining the masses. But not a lot of people buy them online. I pay my bills selling Snarky Cards, and I have been eeking out a pretty good living at it, but paying my bills is always a close thing. Last month I went to San Francisco, but the few weeks before that, I stopped buying food, because it was hard to afford the ticket to go to SF and food at the same time.

arlette the hilarious

Arlette The Awesome!

“That sucks.” My friend Arlette pointed out. “You should make it easier for people to support you.” I was frustrated. And tired. And hungry. “I’m doing everything I can. I work 12 hours a day. What else can I do?”My voice had that annoying whiny quality it takes on when I’d like to give up.

She sighed. “Hello? People look at your cards online all the time. You should ask them to donate, if they’re not going to buy.”

“I don’t have time to figure out how to install a donation button.” I was petulant. Arlette is a web-goddess and can do this sort of thing in about 5 minutes.  It took me a month of hints, requests, and a few more petulant sulky conversation, before she agreed to do it.  She is sometimes begrudging with her web-goddessry.

And despite the fact that I had to perform a little emotional blackmail to get her to install thing, it is still a magnificently nice thing that she did, in suggesting and then installing it. Right?

And so, I give you The Donation Button! To your right! No, up above that thing, no below that thing. Just between, ok, you’ve almost, oh, shit, no never-mind, It’s a big fucking button in the middle of the stuff to your right. And if you like reading my blog, or reading my cards, and you don’t wanna buy one, kick in a buck or two. It’ll keep me in food, and if I keep eating, I can keep entertaining you!

History Beats The Fuck Out Of Doubt

Monday, January 19th, 2009

Sometimes my life in Portland doesn’t seem real. I spent so much of my life in San Jose, and 5 of the people I’m closest to still live there. I tell them about my life, but they don’t have any point of reference for my stories, and they sound listless to me, hanging in the air without context. Fortunately, breaking my leg spurred a rash of pity visits.

Most of them, of course, somehow couldn’t make it until I was able to walk (OK, limp) around and show them some semblence of a good time. Seeing my history in the face of my friend while she watched me sell my art sewed it all together. Past met present. When I broke my leg, I couldn’t take care of myself. And I’ve always taken care of myself. Depending on other people so completely devastated me in ways that I was surprised by.

As part of my post-broken breakdown, I’ve been trying to figure out why I started selling Snarky Cards in the first place. Thankfully, Arlette is sensible and kind. “Because you’re good at it.” She said in between bites of Ole Dirty Bastard (Voodoo Doughnuts completed her Portland experience). “Are you sure I’m not just trying to make up for a shitty childhood?” I asked. “Nope. You like people. And you’re making your art.” She said. She sounded sure. And she is one of the people who knows me better than I do. So I believed her.

radish-undergroundTrusting her made me feel light, and peaceful. After I shoved her onto the MAX line to the airport, I floated over to Radish Underground, to see if they wanted some of the new cards Arlette and I had made while she was here. They bought them all. (So, newnewnew Snarky Cards at Radish Underground, now! Check it out! Doesn’t it look like a freaking party in there?) Celeste, who co-owns the shop, has her own clothing line, and we talked about a dress I want her to make, so I’ll have something new to wear selling at the bars.

Afterwards, I had a relaxing drink at The Teazone, where the cute bartender chuckled over the new Snarky Cards I restocked them with.

And I just spent 3 hours getting some new cards ready for the internet. Here’s the first one, all ready for you to send it to your best buds who make bad sexual decisions: bad-sexual-decisions

Making my Art, and selling it takes faith. And like all faith, sometimes mine falters. So I need to borrow better faith from my friends.

Thanks to everyone who keeps buying my cards, and telling me stories about how you used them to make your friends laugh, and decorate your fridge, and confront your exes and hit on strangers.

And thanks, Lauren, for telling me that your Mom loved them. I like your Mom. She gave me an Easter basket full of chocolate for Passover last year.

I’m sorry I stole your bike

Friday, December 19th, 2008

Yesterday, Crystal and Clinton both wrote about me in their blogs. They told you to check me out. My name’s Alisa Starr. I make Snarky Cards: Brutally Honest Greeting Cards. I sell them in bars from a box that hangs beneath my boobs. I’ve been selling my cards for a year and half. They pay my rent and keep me in whiskey, and they make other people crack the fuck up. At my job, I get to analyze the way people laugh. And then I get to hear there secrets, when they tell me what they were laughing at.

Until yesterday, I’d been largely ignored by The Internets. I got a few big orders and people looked at my cards online, but mostly, I didn’t get a lot of traffic.

So last night, when I realized that hundreds of people were visiting my site an hour, I freaked out. Arlette, for once, answered her phone. “Is this like when a boy likes you and it scares you?” She asked.

I thought about it. When a cute boy likes me, I tend to freeze up. I can’t figure out how I got him to like me in the first place, and I worry that I won’t be able to do it again, so I stop doing anything, for fear of scaring him away. Unfortunately, statues who tell lame jokes aren’t sexy, and my imitation of one usually scares the cute boy away. And once I notice he’s gone, I heave a sigh of relief and start telling great jokes and being Charming again. “Yes. It’s like that.” I said. “Well, cut it out.” Arlette responded “and tell me about those boots you just bought”.

I spent the rest of the night eating cake batter, smoking and worrying. What if you guys don’t think I’m cool? Ironically, I started all of this. I emailed both Clinton and Crystal and a slew of other bloggers that I think are cool, asking them to check me out, and write about me. Apparently getting what I want scares the shit out of me.

Last night I had errotic dreams about a circus clown.
And when I woke up, I realized I hadn’t even been calling out his name right. While I’d been having sex with this clown in the woods, I’d been calling him “Jerimiah” my sister’s ex-boyfriend. That’s how unnerved I was.

After I decided not to analyze my calling Jerimiah’s name out in a sexy dream, I got up, and baked the cake batter. And then I realized how I could make you keep liking me: new cards! So, here’s the latest and greatest Snarky Card, just for you, Internets. If you’d like me to send you one of your very own, than you can order it on my etsy site. Where a hundred other cards wait to titillate and reassure you.

Because that’s what my cards are for. They reassure you that you aren’t alone. So your boyfriend doesn’t put out, or you like coke more than sex, or maybe you were molested or you’re a stalker and you want a nice card for your victim. Whatever your deal is, I want to reassure you that your life is normal. No matter how screwed up it is.