My name is Alisa Starr. And 2 weeks ago, I moved from Portland to Seattle. I make Snarky Cards: Brutally Honest Greeting Cards. I sell them in bars from a box that hangs beneath my boobs. I also have them in lots of stores. And I’ve made and sold 45,767 Snarky Cards so far.

I’ve been planning and working on this move for a couple of months. And I’m a little surprised that I pulled it off.

And I’m uncomfortable, finding new places for things I can’t quite decide if I should have kept. My room is too small for all of my shit. Or maybe I should have just burned everything and started over, instead of shlepping all these journals and craft tools and books and dvds from that tiny, shitty town I’ve escaped.

I called Stephen in a panic. “Nothing. Is. Organized.” Anguish made my voice shrill. Stephen remembers the satisfied look on my face when I finally made file folders for all of the love letters I got in high school. And organized them by sender, and year and month. “I know you can do this, Alisa. You can organize anything.” He spoke slowly, so I had to really pay attention to him. He also sounded really sure, so I thought about it. And I remembered that the list of people I’ve slept with has it’s own file folder. I started thinking maybe I just have the wrong furniture.

“But why is it so hard?” I whined to Arlette. “This was so easy when I was young! I used to do it all the time! I thought it was fun!”

“Remember how fucked up we were? Yeah, moving was fun because all we had to concentrate on for a few days, was putting things in a box and hauling them from one place to another. Now we like our lives. We’re comfortable. And moving is exhausting.” I thought about it for a minute. “Oh. Yeah. I was pretty sure I was gonna end up in jail or in a mental ward until I was, like, 27. And moving was a vacation from worrying about that shit.” My voice caught a little bit. I hadn’t realized those fears had passed until right then.

This is me at my landlord Jen's house, for Thanksgiving. That's Seattle behind me. Isn't it pretty? Isn't it nice that Jen invited me to her house for Thanksgiving? Yes. I do look very, very tired. I am really tired.

I love my new house, a thousand times more than I loved that shitty apartment I used to inhabit. The house is old. And, unlike my old apartment, nothing is my fault. If something doesn’t work, I don’t have to fix it, or report it, and then get in trouble, because my land-lord is an asshole, and is pretty sure everything is my fault.

If a bill comes, I don’t have to collect the money to pay it before something gets shut-off. The walls are not permanently stained by my hair-dye, or my Snarky Card paint. I don’t have to fill the house with furniture, and I alone am not responsible for making sure that the walls are covered with inviting art. I just have to keep my space clean, and write checks when the money is due. It’s such a relief. I had no idea how much of a constant worry that apartment was until it wasn’t anymore.

And my new landlord is  awesome, and nice, as opposed to the property management company I’ve been dealing with for the last six years, who used to exude a freakish amount of despair and weirdly displaced anger for a small office operating in a supposedly friendly town.

This is my friend Alice! This is the pillow she made for my ass, when she heard that my new studio has a cement floor. Isn't Alice nice?

My new office/paint studio, is no longer My Living Room. Which means that my room-mates and their guests no longer randomly wander into the middle of my 12 hour painting jag and emotionally vomit all of their problems all over me, both annoying and distracting me.  It’s cold, and the floor is cement. So, I need to get cushions. And maybe a space heater. But the ass-cushion Alice made me before I left, and my paint sweaters seem to be doing the job all right. And the privacy allows me to get lost in my work. Which is something I treasure so much. I need that psycho-paint-a-thon head space. It gives me relief so that I can go out and sell cards.

My cats are happy. And I didn’t lose that much shit in the move. And I have friends. And selling here is pure joy. It’s so easy. People just seem to like my cards. And me. And they enjoy buying them. And they’re so fucking funny! It was fun being the funniest person in the room in Portland, but this last year it’s just gotten lonely. In Seattle I’m one of a bunch of clever people. And perfect strangers tell me the funniest, most surprising stories. And finally being around people who are as charismatic as me is making me up my game.

So: in conclusion, I live in Seattle now, and even though the move made me really fucking tired, I really like it here. You might see me haunting the bars on Capitol Hill. Or, if you miss me, you can get my Snarky Cards from the Internets. And as a prize, because I’m so delighted by Seattle, Go to http://snarkycards.etsy.com and enter the coupon code seattlerocks, to get FREE SHIPPING!

Love,

Alisa

Me, slingin' my Snarky Cards

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.

This Sunday, Red Light Clothing Exchange is having their annual Naked Shopping Party! I’ll be slinging my cards, with my typewriter, and my boobs. There’ll be a band, and prizes. I mean, prizes that are not just “win all the clothes you can wear” which is, of course the big prize.

People have been asking me what the deal is with this Naked Shopping Party.  The rules are simple: everyone shows up with clothes on. The biggest prize offered is  that you can win all the clothes you can put on at once. Obviously, it’s easier to fit more clothes on, if you start off naked. If you’d like to shop naked, you put your name in a box and the delicious and delightful staff at Red Light draw the names of 2 boys and 2 girls from the box.

And they shop. And everyone else shops too. But they shop naked. And the rest of us get to watch. How rad is that? While we’re watching the naked shoppers, I’ll be typing up new and custom Snarky Cards. I’m excited about partying it up, and writing some new shit for your horrible and hilarious sexual situations. There will also be lots of Snarky Undies for those of you who haven’t gotten a pair yet.

So, if you wanna celebrate Easter the way Weed Jesus would want you to, come on down to Red Light, to get your custom Snarky Cards, your Snarky Undies, and your voyeur on.

See ya then!

Love,

Alisa

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

For those of you who don’t know, I’m Alisa Starr. I make Snarky Cards: Brutally Honest Greeting Cards. I sell them in bars from a box that hangs beneath my boobs. They will crack you the fuck up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More Alisa Starr Boobs!

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

Love,
Alisa

Can you honestly imagine me playing hard to get? Because I can't.

When I was 19, The Rules came out. The Rules were written by two skinny Anne-Coulter-esque women. You know, the kind of chicks who think that they’re hotter than shit because they can wear a pencil skirt and have long hair? Anyway, these bitches wrote The Rules, a book which proclaimed that the only way to “capture” Mr. Right is to be unavailable, and make him chase you. On a Rules first date, you’re not allowed to stay for longer than ten minutes. Whether you have something else to do or not, you have to look at your watch and say “Oh! I have to go!” and jump up and run away after ten minutes. After said date and for the rest of the relationship, you’re not allowed to return his first phone call. You have to wait until his third, or fourth. Or something. Apparently, the recipe for success is a combination of being unavailable, and maintaining mystique.

The book that insults us all.

As we all know, I am super-aggressive; sexually and in every other way. And I couldn’t maintain mystique to save my life. So, I fucking hated this bullshit. Probably because they created a program I have no hope of following, and then called any woman who didn’t follow their program lonely and stupid. But that’s not all of it.  It pissed me off that this philosophy is based on the idea that men need to be manipulated into love. Because for all of the slutting around I do, I like men. I respect men. And I’ve spent the better part of the last 17 years trying to work through all of my shit so that I can figure out how to have healthy relationships with them. The idea that I need to manipulate one into loving me means that I’m not lovable all by myself, and I can’t trust a man to make his own decisions about his feelings. All of which sucks.

The Rules Bitches: Arch-nemesis's of everything awesome

About two years after their books hit really big, both of those bitches found themselves divorced. Which gave me some satisfaction. I don’t usually delight in the misfortunes of other people. But I considered these women the Arch-Nemesis’s of everything awesome. And so, their divorces fed my desire to see them sad. Unfortunately, these divorces didn’t stop them from continuing to offer dating advice. They are continuing to wage their war against honest dating, even now. Their website is stocked with pictures of them smiling next to real celebrities. There’s even a quote from Oprah, saying that they are genius’s.

I understand their popularity. I think everyone wants to create some order out of the chaos of our lives. Especially when it comes to dating. Everyone has lines they won’t cross. I have name rules. Like the other night, I met a Ryan. Isn’t it weird how all Ryan’s are hot? And while he was charismatic, I knew he was Hell-bent on his own destruction. As well as the destruction of anyone else who said that they liked him. So, even though he had Dylan-hair, and was trying to throw some (pretty good) game at me, I passed, because it doesn’t matter how good a Ryan is in bed, the mind-fuck you’re getting afterward makes the whole thing feel like a bad sexual decision.

After I’ve met 3 different people with the same name, I can make general observations about the name. My name rules have helped guide me through my life.  I try to believe in exceptions to the rules. They exist. I’ve just never met them. Michael’s always try to fuck with my head. David’s kinda hate themselves. Kaytea’s are always a crazy-ass party, that you will never regret attending. But you should rest-up first. Emily’s are steadfast friends. And Becky’s are bitches. Rebecca’s are usually nice, thoughtful and sensitive. Steve’s are good friends, who will always listen, and seldomly put out.

As much as I depend on my name rules, they’re subjective. They’re based on my experience with people who have those names. The Bexter (note, she goes by Rebecca, not Becky, because she knows Becky’s are bitches too, and has therefore never let anyone call her that)  has had different experiences with different names. So, she is open to dating a David, or a Justin (although, she’s dated a lot of Justin’s she might be done with that particular name). So, basically, while I love my name rules, and they are the guiding light of my life, I can’t pass them along for public consumption, except as a party trick.

Recently, I was updating the list of people I’ve slept with. I’ve got 83 people on the list… And I feel like I’m missing some people. So, if we’ve slept together, could you please email me, so that I can double check and make sure I’ve alredy counted you? Please don’t email if we only made-out. You dont’ count. Wait. Unless we made-out and it was good, and you’d like to make the list. In which case, please email me, and I will consider your request. You can send your sexual requests (and tales of our dalliances together) to snarkycardsatgmaildotcom.

I have noticed lately, that I have a collected a lot of wisdom, from all these different boys, and situations I’ve found myself in. I give great dating advice. Which I can’t figure out how to follow myself (much like the evil bitches I despise). But my observations have helped my friends (and strangers I meet at the bar) navigate through their own dating debacles.

So I’ve decided to put together my own list. The Rules by The Snarky Card Chick! I will feed them to you in the form of cards, until we have enough for a book of our own. And then we can give America a choice, The Rules for girls who like men (by Alisa Starr) or The Rules for girls who like to manipulate men(by some heinous bitches).  Rule #13 is the first rule I ‘ve written so far. I wrote it for my friend, Tina. Who is a cougar. Which is kind of exciting, and it makes me very, very proud.

It’s a good rule, I think. But it’s not going to be part of the top ten. I don’t know how long the list will be yet. I’m just writing down things as they happen to me. Or as they happen to my friends. If you have suggestions, I’d love to hear them!

Love,

Alisa

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There are a lot of sexy pictures that I will be slowly supplying you with, internet, which were taken last Thursday night, (by my Dickleganger! Ammon!) while I was at Radish Underground, selling and typing my cards as I usually do on First Thursdays.

Recently, I’ve made a decision about doing Craft Shows. Which is to say, I’m not going to do it anymore. Or, at least, I’m not going to do it as often as I used to, because I don’t make that much money at these shows. And I’m working on getting more shwag together, Snarky Magnets, and Snarky T-Shirts are going to happen in the next couple of months, but until I have some higher priced items (and a credit card machine), I’m not going to make much more than the booth fee at these shows. So, no craft shows for Snarky Cards for a while. Except for First Thursdays at Radish Underground. Which is an event that is largely populated by my friends. And they don’t charge me money to show up.

The Bitches Rock! Celeste and Gina, of Radish were joined by Pam (owner of Frances May), Alyson (owner of Frank James), and the Marjorie (Portland Mercury fashion goddess).

So, every first Thursday you can find me and Bob, making you custom cards that should get you laid, or help you stop sleeping with the wrong person. There’s always sexy liquor and sexy clothes, hot boys and girls with funny things to say and we’re not above showing a little nipple now and again. Although, when I say we, I mean me. So, you would probably only get two nipples maximum. Which is a pretty good deal if you aren’t expecting any nipple, I think.

This last Thursday was awesome. Betsy The Great was there, with her new designs. And they’re getting funkier and bigger, and sexier. As you can see, the great big boob necklace is amazing!

It was really fun to see Betsy again, she’s so busy, and I’m so busy, we never hang out anymore. It was fun catching up. It turns out we’re still hot, hilarious bitches who make cool shit. That was reassuring to find out! Snarky Cards and Betsy and Iya Designs are still at Radish Underground waiting for you to come in and claim them as your awesome reward for getting through the year.

Thanks for letting me tell you my news about Craft Shows! To ease the blow I’ve got a new painting for your veiwing and buying pleasure! Now available on etsy! I hope you dig it!

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