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

My name is Alisa Starr, and I make Snarky Cards: Brutally Honest Greeting Cards. I sell them from a box that hangs beneath my boobs. I also have them for sale in 35 different stores. And recently I made some undies too. Which say “fuck you and your fucking feelings” in typewriter, on the ass.

In my last post, I whined about being tired. And busy. But mostly just tired. I’m still tired. My cards are selling like hotcakes all over town. A few of my stores have already sold out of Christmas Cards. As I said before, I’m having a hard time keeping up with demand. A few of my stores haven’t gotten Christmas Cards. Some of them  may not get Christmas Cards.

I’m still behind, but I’ve decided not to stress out about it anymore.  I’m trying to deal with what’s real. And what’s real is that I can only work 14 hours a day. And there’s some shit I may not be able to do. Even though I want to. And so, with this new stress-free attitude, I’m trying to float my way through the next few weeks.

It helps that I’m selling more in bars, and I feel like I’ll have a good handle on my finances by January. A good start for the new year! My snazzy new phone has helped me sell lots of cards, thanks to the Square: a handy little device that allows me to slide and process credit cards where ever I am. Square deposits the money into my account the next business day. But all things are not instant, and so the money I make tonight at the bar, will probably land in my account on Thursday. Which is actually kind of awesome, because it allows me to plan for the future.

Since I started Snarky Cards, I’ve dealt almost entirely in cash. For the first year and a half, I didn’t have a bank account. I had a jar I had to fill up with money, in order to pay my bills. In the last year, I’ve had a bank account, but it’s perpetually overdrawn. Squares small deposits have pulled me out of the red, and I have to say I feel a great deal of pride when I see money flowing into my account every day. Even if it’s just twenty or thirty dollars a day.

Eventually, I think I’ll be able to use this little time delay in deposits to create something called savings. Which, I’ve never had before, in my entire adult life. Before I started Snarky Cards I didn’t make that much money. And I was almost completely positive that if I had money I should spend it on something to fill whatever holes I found in my heart. I binged on food and shopping for most of my twenties. And now, in my thirties, I find myself with a weird sense of calm.

Sometimes it’s hard to be me, despite the fact that I’m loved by strangers for my brutal wit, those who have to withstand it every day don’t always want to. In short, I can be too much. And sometimes I think that it must be very hard to love me. But despite that, I’m loved. And while the last few months have been emotionally painful for me, I’ve carved a new sense of purpose out of my pain. I realized, at some point, that I know what I am going to do with my life. I’ve always known what I was going to do with my life. Since I was six, I wanted to be a famous writer, revered for my beauty and admired for my brazen sexual charisma.

I mean, I didn’t know all those big words back then, but I had a general sketch of who I wanted to be. or who I already was. My parents, and teachers, and friends all scoffed at my plans. But nobody’s scoffing now. And Snarky Cards is working. And I feel this deep hum, underneath everything I do, like I’ve got a generator in my gut, and it’s running on the firm belief that I am doing exactly what I’m supposed to be doing with my life. And the more I listen to it, the more I act on instinct. And the more I use my intuition, the better my life gets. It’s been really scary and painful me, stripping away other people’s doubts, and my own common sense, and following who I am, into this new life.

But in the end, I realized that other people don’t have this sense of purpose. Or most of them don’t. That’s why philosophers (and assholes) sit around wondering about the existential dilemma. It’s the sureness that’s been calming me. And realizing that it is unique, and precious, rather than a burden has calmed me even more. Maybe this is what it’s like to get married. Maybe that’s why people get married, because they want to believe they know how their lives will look for the next 50 years. They are committing to a plan. I have a sketch of what I’m going to do with the rest of my life. If it all fell apart, if it looked like I wasn’t going to be able to accomplish everything, I’d be devastated. Maybe that’s why divorce is hard.

I am shit at commitment. Which is why my relationship goals are simply: boyfriend by 40. Which gives me 9 more years to get over my desperate fear of intimacy.

But I am commited to my life-plan. It’s kinda simple.

1. Sell a million Snarky Cards. -34,181 down, and 965,819 to go!

2. Become famous. -Which I’ve kinda done!

2. Create a company that makes other Snarky Shit (like underwear!) where people like to work.

3. Use the money that I make at Snarky Shit to help people.

44. Create a publishing company so I can publish some books I want to write, as well as my brothers books, and my other friends books.

5. Make a television show.

Super fucking hot, right? Can't you just see him throwing you up against a wall?

Sigh. His cheekbones are dreamy, but the lines on his face really make me swoon.

6. Sleep with some of the famous guys on my wish-list. I’m talking about you, Michael Shanks, and Ian Tracey. You sexy fucking Canadians, you.

That’s it. That’s the whole plan. I’ve got 30 or 40 years to do all that stuff. There will be other cool stuff that will probably happen because I do all that stuff, but mostly, that’s it. Once I realized how short my list was, I was so relieved! I know that a lot of that shit looks hard, and it probably will be. But I’m pretty sure I can figure it all out. I’ve gotten this far. I can finish up the list before I bite it. And if I only get most of the way done, I’m OK with that. Someone else will proly finish it up for me. And if they don’t, it won’t matter. I’ll have done my best. And I’ll be a house-cat by then, so I won’t give a shit if there’s a Snarky TV show or whatever.

I think that this renewed sense of purpose is part of the reason why I’m not freaking the fuck out as much as I was. I know that those goals sound lofty. And I probably sound like an asshole, who is full of herself. “Oh, I’m already famous, so it won’t be hard for me to make a tv show.” But that’s OK. I don’t mind being an asshole. And it takes an inflated sense of ego in order to sell your shit to strangers every night. It’s, like, a requirement. So, I need that fucking ego. I might as well use it to fuel my world domination plans.

Anyway, all of that shit has been rattling around in my head lately. I thought I’d let you know that things are looking up. And my undies are going to be in Willamette Weekly’s Gift Guide this year! Which should be out any day now. If you would like to purchase some mooners for yerself, you can find them online, or at these fine retailers!

• Rock’n'Rose
  

  Radish Underground, a comfy place to buy from local designers, who create exquisite clothes, jewelry and Snarky Cards! Across from the pita pit, SW 10th & Alder

• Mottokitty
• Dirty Hands Make and Grow
• Radish Underground
• Buffalo Exchange, Hawthorne
• Space monkey Coffee
• Red Light

And if you’re in Seattle you can find them at the delicious and decadent Twilight Art Collective! If you’re in Salem, you can find them at the sexy and outrageous Cherry Redd!

And if you decide to stay in and order your Snarky Cards and Undies, I am offering a discount to reward your laziness! Just go to http://snarkycards.etsy.com and type in coupon code: sexysanta and you’ll receive 20% off your Snarky Purchase!

Merry Christmas to you, and Merry Christmas to me, and thanks, Internets, for listening to my meanderings.

Love,

Alisa

For those of you who don’t know, my name is Alisa Starr, and I make Snarky Cards: Brutally Honest Greeting Cards. They say horrible things and will crack you the fuck up. I sell them in bars from a box that hangs beneath my boobs. And I have them in 35 different stores.

For the last two weeks, I’ve been working like crazy to get all of my stores my Christmas Cards. It’s been really hard, in the last six months to keep up. Handmaking enough cards to sell to my retailers as well as to sell in bars has become overwhelming. This year I’m going to have to start printing the majority of the cards I sell.

But before I can do that, I have to come up with the money for the printing. Snarky Underwear have been selling, and they have the magical Profit Margin that Snarky Cards lack. And with some of the profits from Snarky Underwear, I’ve been able to buy a Samsung Vibrant! Which will allow me to use the square! Which will allow me to accept credit cards in bars!

All of this means that I should be able to sell more underwear, and sell more cards more quickly, helping me save up for that very expensive next step in my business: Automation!

Anyway, that’s the plan. Using new technology makes me incredibly nervous. I have a little breakdown every time I have to get a new computer, or a new phone, or a new television. I know in my head that the new thing will ultimately make my life easier. However, there is some superstitious part of me that believes that my brain is almost at capacity right now. And in order to learn something new, I’ll have to erase something old. And I like all of the shit I’ve got in my head already. I don’t want to erase anything. I know that according to science we only use 10% of our brains. I mean, I know that Science says that. But Science and I are not best friends, and I don’t always believe everything that smarmy son-of-a-bitch says. I know that I lose things over time. I used to know the names of hundreds of authors, when I worked in bookstores. And I could tell you the nuances of each one’s writing. Or what kind of person likes to read each one. And now when I try to remember someone from the best seller list to make fun of them, my brain stutters, and stops.

So, I’m just saying, I lose things. And I don’t want to lose anything else. Which means I don’t want to change. And this is the little temper-tantrum I have when I have to get something new. This week was especially traumatic, because not only did I have to get the Vibrant, but I also had to replace Bob, my beloved typewriter.

Me and Bob

Bob and I have been together for almost 3 years. I love him very much. But his keys started sticking and skipping, and his case wouldn’t close, and I just couldn’t use him anymore. As I said, some of my stores are still waiting for their Christmas Cards. So, I couldn’t afford to go without a typewriter. So, I went down to Smut, and found Louie Fatass. -Pronounces Fa-tass. It was Fat Ass, but when Louie came over on Ellis Island they smooshed it together. Because the jerks at Ellis Island fuck everyone’s name up.

Smut is my go-to place for typewriters. I got Bob at Smut. Smut is a gorgeous store, just off of East Burnside and 20th Ave. Right next to Holman’s. It’s well lit, and full of not-so-old things. They have records, and typewriters, and Garbage Pail Kids. It’s kind of a wonderland of the awesome and the comforting.

They clean their typewriters carefully, and all of the typwriters they have there (for a pretty reasonable $50-$70 each) work perfectly. Most of them have cases as well. The cute girl working that night was reassuring, which was nice, because I was distraught.  I didn’t want a new typewriter. It felt like cheating. Buying a new one was a hard thing to do. And I couldn’t moon about it, and put it off, like I do with most hard things, because I needed a typwriter. Right away.

Louie

Louie’s type is different: cleaner. And his keys feel a little closer together than Bob’s. But overall, he works, and so I’m trying to catch up with all of my responsiblities with him.

And don’t worry, I’m going to fix Bob. I already emailed Blue Moon: The big typewriter-fixers in town. They said that they can fix him, for only $55. So, in the next month I’ll have Bob back, and Louie Fatass can be my back-up.  Everything worked out perfectly fine, right? Not quite.

Yesterday, was my upset day. I woke up and my back was covered in blisters, hot to the touch and bright red. Some idiotic woman I met at a Craft Show the day before had told me that bed-bugs are coming to Portland. So I spent the entire morning alternately trying to look at my back in the mirror, crying and trying to remember if I’d picked up anything off the street and brought it home to wear in the last few days.  I had not. And Claire had not. I looked up bed-bugs online. It didn’t itch, and so I’m happy to say that we’re bed-bug free. I did have a chemical burn on my back. One of the ice-packs I’d used the night before to calm my poor battered back had leaked . And I hadn’t noticed it. Apparently it takes a highly toxic chemical to create a re-usable ice pack. And so my back is raw and blistered. I spent the day worrying about my freakish wound, trying to make the new fucking phone work, and trying to learn how to use Louie. When I finally got to my Chiropractor, I was sure that life was not worth living.

Doesn't Cyndi look nice? Isn't it sad that I spread my misery to her?

Cyndi is a genius. She assured me that I definitely had a chemical burn, and that I would be all right in a week. She also didn’t think that my despair was cute. In fact, I think I brought her mood down a few notches. I left her office feeling physically better, but totally coginzant that my little temper-tantrum needs a time-limit. So I went home, and knitted with Claire and her friend Cocoa and we watched SVU. And somewhere in the middle of the third rape/murder trial, I figured out how to use the phone, and I realized my back would heal, and Claire said it was OK for me to just give up and go to bed early. I didn’t need her permission, but sometimes when I’m sulking, or overwhelmed, I like to have other people tell me what to do.

More Christmas Cards to come! Thanks to Louie Fatass!

So, now that I’ve had my day of sulk, I can get on with the hard things, and figure out how to make do with all of the awesome shit I had to buy myself in order to bring my business to a better place. Most of the pictures you see here are brought to you by the Vibrant! And my rent will be brought to us by Louie Fatass. And in the end, these crisis’s were not even a little bit scary. I had to borrow money to buy Bob, from Kay 3 years ago. And I was sure that not having a working typewriter meant my career was ending. This was an inconvenience that was hard on me emotionally. I think that my life has gotten a lot better over the last few years. So thanks for listening to me whine about my medium-sized crisis’s.

Love,

Alisa

Yesterday, I made my rounds, dropping off more Snarky Cards and collecting money from some of the stores that have been neglected while my leg was broken.

I’ve never been in snow before. I was really excited. The buses were slow, but everyone who braved the cold was in a good mood. There was a sense of us against the weather. And while we were losing, we were good sports about it.

I stopped by Bertie Lou’s, which, if you were wondering is still open and will be depsite snow. I left some new Snow Cards and a few Christmas Cards too.

As the day wore on, my limp got more pronounced.

A regular at Bertie Lou’s helped me cross the street -is there anything that can make you feel more infirm than being helped across the street? It’s usually very old women and very young children that need that kind of help, right? But the truth was, I did need help. If it were 70 degrees outside I still wouldn’t be very steady on my feet. Sinking into 4 foot snow drifts didn’t help me any. He was tall and he helped me not fall in the middle of the road. I was annoyed at feeling helpless but oddly touched as well. I mean, it was so kind of him to see my gimpiness and then just start helping me, before I had the chance to tell him to stop. Once I was safely at the bus stop he gave me a beautiful wooden cane he had carved himself. “I make them all the time.” he shrugged when I tried to refuse.

“Oh! Wait! I called as he walked away. He turned around and I started rabidly digging through my backpack. “I have these cards….” I pulled out a rubber-banded pile of old Snarky Cards. “These didn’t sell. I was going to give them away. Here.” I thrust half the stack at him. “Are you the one who makes those cards?” He gestured towards Bertie Lou’s, where they sit in a box, by the window, waiting for you to go in and buy them.

I smiled and nodded. He grinned. “Those are great! You’re lucky to have them in Bertie Lou’s! You have people from all over the world reading them in there.”

“Really?” I didn’t know that. Bertie Lou’s closes at 2pm. That’s usually when I get up. I’ve eaten there once, but our hours aren’t conducive for a lot of hang-out time. The kids who work there are funny and kind. And so is Robert, the owner. But it’s nice to know that they get a lot of travelers. And the travelers think I’m funny.

“Yeah! Thank you for coming up with new stuff all the time.” He sounded sincere. My surprise at how heart-felt his appreciation was kept me warm for the first 20 minutes of my wait for the bus.

I saw a girl carrying her baby through the snow, all bundled up, with nothing but the strip of her eyes showing. “You look Islamic!” I told her. She laughed. “I feel like a robber!” Later on, I wondered if I was a racist.

One bus driver stopped at the Powell stop to tell us the 70 wasn’t running anymore. I decided to wait for the 17 which comes to the same stop. People wandered away from the bus stop and ten minutes later, the 70 showed up. “Maybe he was just an asshole.” said the Trimet guy who was waiting with me. I laughed when he said it. Some part of me was tingling. Meeting the guy who puts the chains on the buses was like meeting a celebrity. He’s the reason I got to go outside yesterday. Sigh. I love my town.

When I got to Grendel’s I was starving. I love that place. They were closed, but this cute barrista girl let me come in, and leave some new cards. She even made me a bagel. It tasted like love. I usually only say that about whiskey, but Grendel’s does sandwiches just the way I like them: lots of fresh vegetables, a little cheese and meat and then slathered with hummus or mayo or cream cheese -my choice. When I eat them, it’s one of those moments where my food is so satisfying that you think to myself: “This food is nourishment. Nourishment is love. I am loving myself by feeding myself right now.”

Once done, I dashed across the street to Rock ‘n’ Rose. Well, by then it was more of a shuffle than a dash. Sheila was there, looking fucking hot, as usual.

She and her husband Jeff own the store. They’re both totally gorgeous, fashionable and tattooed. Usually that would be enough to intimidate me, but they like me. So, instead of feeling threatened by their hotness, I choose to feel honored that sexy people who dress better than me want to be my friends.

Their fashion sense is Portland’s gain, though and while Sheila looked through the new stock of Snarky Cards, I shopped. Rock ‘n’ Rose is mostly Vintage clothes. It’s the kind of stuff I would love to wear, but Vintage clothing doesn’t offer Big Girl sizes. -These double D’s come with some hefty back, ya know. But my room-mate is a size 8 and I found her a sweater and a nice zippo, with some saint chick on the side of it. Sheila wrapped them prettily, and we exchanged money for goods. I love that store. And for anyone else who needs any last minute presents, they’re probably open right now, and I think they’re offering a “It’s f8%^! cold outside!” discount.

I met Michael Rockstar, and paid him $10 for a ride from Belmont to my house. “Those are you?” He exclaimed when I told him I make Snarky Cards. “You’re famous!” He’s pretty fuckin’ famous himself. He’s on all these local commercials for Portland. I always think it’s weird when cities make advertisements to themselves, for themselves. I mean, I already live here, you don’t have to sell it to me. I’m not going anywhere.

He asked if I’ve ever written songs before. “Um, I wrote one.” I said. I’m still not sure if I like Triple P. See, last summer, my friend Kay and I were coming home from a Ladies Night, listening to Loveline (because we old school). We lost our shit when Dr. Drew told a caller that Pearly Penile Papules were normal. “I want to suck your Pearly Penile Papules” we howled in between cackles. She probably doesn’t remember, but I kept it in mind, as I was making my bar rounds. And a few weeks later, I met a guy who writes songs, and he and I got together and wrote Pearly Penile Papules, and sang it. Best lyric ever? “By Sunday they were gone from your nads. And by Monday I had packed my bags.” See, the boy gets rid of them, and the girl doesn’t want him anymore. She’s a sucker for the Triple P. Michael seemed intrigued. I promised him I’d send it to him, but honestly, I think my Snarky Cards are better than Pearly Penile Papules.

Tonight I’ll be going out on my own, in the horrible, horrible cold. Limping hard to bring the good people of The Bonfire Snarky Cards. If we’re lucky, and my leg holds out, maybe I’ll sell some cards at Hawthorne Hideaway too. So if you’re in South East Portland, and you want some Snarky Cards, that’s where you can buy ‘em tonight.

Now you can reject your family, embrace a better one, and make your friends feel anti-semitic for not remembering your religion.

You can now order them online, or send them to your friends, who can order them online.

Hip Hip Hooray for Christmas!

Grendel's: Soup and Yummy Sandwich's and now New Snarky Cards!

They are now the 2nd place in Portland where you can get your Snarky Christmas Cards. They also have amazingly good Sandwich’s and soup.

So, if you’re on Burnside, across from the Jupiter Hotel, and you want a sandwich and a Snarky Christmas Card, you can get them at the same spot: http://www.yelp.com/biz/grendels-coffee-house-portland.

Isn’t that terrif?

The Amazing and Serendipitous Ivy Ross!

I don’t mean to make you jealous, but when she stopped by my house, she also sang a little bit for me. Ivy’s voice makes you feel like the everything is right with the world. If you don’t believe me, that’s ok, myspace has proof: www.myspace.com/thedoorwaydwellers.