Posts Tagged ‘New Snarky Cards’

« Older Entries

Swimming

Thursday, July 15th, 2010

Dear Internets,

As some of you 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. Which are huge. So is my ass. We call my ass The Mountain. Well, we call it The Magic Mountain now (Thanks Asa!). I’m looking to get my ass down to normal size. This means we might have to sacrifice some boobs, but I’m willing to go down to a D cup (from my triple D’s) for the cause.

The Magic Mountain: Only the brave will climb it

Creston Pool opened about 3 weeks ago. It’s an outdoor pool, mostly filled with children getting swim lessons, and the 16 year old lifeguards who teach them. I do laps there in the afternoon, and try to swim around the pool on the weekends, while the pool is crowded with people just bobbing and screaming in a recreational attempt to get out of the heat. It’s weird to be the only fat chick at the pool. It’s especially weird to be the only adult swimming who doesn’t have a child taking lessons. Sometimes I eavesdrop on the lessons, trying to improve my strokes. I love swimming. I always have. I think it’s because I’m a cancer, and we’re crabs. But I also took swimming lessons every year from the time I was four until I was ten. My mother kept me in swim lessons for an extra long time, because she liked to flirt with my swim instructors. She was a young mother, younger then than I am now, and the boys who ran the pool liked flirting with her back. By the time I was 11, I actually got on the swim team, in Santa Clara. I competed and won some medals. And then I turned 12, and started to get self-conscious about my body, and the idea of wearing a bathing suit just sounded humiliating.

So, I forgot that the pool is a perfect place, where I’m always the right size, and it’s OK to be athletic, and nothing can hurt me while I’m swimming laps. Usually by the 25th minute of my work-out I have some sort of epiphany about work, or my feelings, or my life, that makes it all easier. And then I get out of the pool (a little wobbly as the leg I broke doesn’t exactly remember how to climb the pool ladder) and I feel muscular and strong.

I like to walk back home, on Powell, wearing my wet suit, letting it dry in the sun. I think of this as an exercise in loving the way I look in it; trying my best to like my body as it is, rather than wishing it was different. And while I swim, the sound of children laughing and learning things reassures me, bringing me back to a time when my life was simpler, and I was sure I was easy to like.

Last night I went out selling in Southeast Portland, and I met a whole lot of people who’ve been buying my cards for years, and are happy to see that I’m still doing it. It was like a nudge from the Universe saying: You’re still OK. You’re doing a good job. You just have to keep going. Between that and the Magic Mountain plan, I think this summer is going to turn out OK.

I just relisted some cards on my etsy site. Kitty AIDS has been one of my favorites. At first I thought it was a card I could send my grandmother, but recently I’ve realized that she’s actually Hella-Religious and she would probably get upset about me making fun of the baby Jesus this way. Then again, she does hate cats….

Love,

Alisa

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in Alisa has feelings, Snarky Cards | 1 Comment »

Bondage and State Snobbery

Friday, July 2nd, 2010

Dear Internets,

As some of you know, my name is Alisa Starr. I make Snarky Cards. I sell them in bars from a box that hangs beneath my boobs. And, I also sell them in stores. In fact, my etsy store seems to work as an online advertising tool, more than a place for commerce. I don’t sell my cards online very often, but I’ve been getting one store a month from all over the country, asking about Snarky Cards because they saw them on etsy.

Noir Leather is not one of those stores. Six months ago, Kim emailed me. She was starting a new business in Portland; Cigarrette Girls. She’d buy candy, and some trays, and the girls would wander in and out of the bars of Portland selling things from their chest that drunk people want, but can’t get for themselves.

Kim wanted my advice, since at present the two people selling things in the bars of Portland are me and The Rose Guy. Who is pushy, and annoying, and harbors secret homosexul feelings, and has a tendency of groping straight guys, while trying to bully them into buying a rose for their straight-guy friends. At least once a night a customer tells me “Thank God you’re not The Rose Guy! That guy’s a dick!” He’s been banned (for being a dick) from a lot of the bars that I sell in. So I didn’t start seeing him in action until the last six months or so, and within 15 minutes of me watching him in action for the first time, he totally was trying to give an innapropriate massage to one of my favorite regulars. I almost died laughing. The thing is, The Rose Guy is married. He sometimes makes his wife go out selling with him. And I’m pretty sure that I’ve heard that he has kids too. Which is why his homosexual feelings are secret and they leak out of him at innapropriate times, and in ways that make other people uncomfortable. I think of him as a walking lesson in accepting yourself. Either dig yourself the way you are or become an angry troll who annoys and enrages strangers, and whose sexual advances are both unwanted and abhorred.

If you live in PDX, and you'd like a job selling candy and cigarettes in bars, essentially being this hot girl, leave me a message. I can totally hook you up!

Anyway, so Kim asked me for help. I made her a list of all the bars I like going to, with a little write up of what to expect from each bar. I loved giving her the downlow on my job. I don’t have co-workers, and so I don’t really get to chat about the more mundane parts of my job with anyone. It was fun. “But this isn’t going to be the hardest part.” I warned her. “You’re going to have a hard time finding people who want to do ‘work’ in Portland. I mean, money isn’t really a huge motivator here.” Kim is from Detroit, and works for Target. She has kind of a regular job, and she just got here. So, she didn’t really beleive me.Two months later, she sent me an email saying something like “You’re right. What’s with people in this town? Why aren’t they into working?” I just laughed.

I moved to Portland, initially, because I wanted to go back to school. I grew up in the Silicon Valley. And I started working there at the height of the dot com boom. Most of my working career I’ve spent in the Silicon Valley, where everyone is trying to shape their good idea into a brilliant business. Everyone is trying to get ahead- you have to to survive there. I’ve worked 90 hours a week for most of my adult life. Part of the reason I wanted to live in Portland in the first place is because my friend Cara promised me the life was slower here. I had just gone back to school, and I wanted to go to school full-time without having to also work full-time. I was tired. And hungry. And frustrated. “People can live while only working 30 hours a week.” she told me. I was sold.

After competing in the San Jose rat-race for 10 years, I was burned out. And the idea of a place where people work in order to finance their life, and stop working in order to go out and have that life. And so I moved to Portland, ostensibly to continue to work on my Bachelors Degree in Psychology.

But, it turns out that I don’t want to be a psychologist. They don’t always get to tell their patients the brutally honest truth. Which is kinda my thing. And shrinks are usually crazy. That’s why they become shrinks, to fix their inner crazy-person. And you’re not always allowed to call your co-workers out on the crazy shit they haven’t fixed. So, I’d be surrounded by crazy people all the time, and I wouldn’t be able to confront them about their shit.

Who could torture these adorable monkeys? Harlow you dick.

And also: when I took Intro to Psychology it turns out that psychologists use a lot of animal torture to help us understand understandable pheonomon’s. Like the time that this Asshole named Harlow wanted to know if babies need comfort. So he deprived baby monkey’s of comfort. What kind of fuck-witt wonders about the necesity of comfort? That guy was just a dick, who liked taking out his personal problems on baby monkeys. And I don’t think I can justify being part of a profession whose basic ideals are based on information they got from monkey torture. Also: I don’t want to be part of a group of people who have had to ask themselves “Do people need comfort?” in seriousness.

I made this card for me. My birthday is coming up, and I'd like some make-out.

So, instead of becoming a psychologist, I started Snarky Cards. I know that recently I’ve done a lot of bitching about Portland. I think in my mind, I always felt bad about leaving the Silicon Valley. I left it in part, because I couldn’t keep taking jobs I hated to barely survive; I wanted to pursue my dreams in a less pressurized environment. And, at that point, I had lost two of my best friends to an ill-thought out love affair they embarked on with each other, my sister had abandoned me and I hadn’t had a boyfriend in 5 years. It felt like I was ejected from the Bay Area. I was never convinced that it was all my choice.

Since then, I’ve mended some of my friendships. And some of my other relationships with Californians have gotten stronger. I’ve maintained a casual fling with a boy in Santa Cruz for the last couple of years. And I’ve been feeling like maybe I should just give up and move back. But the last time I went back (as you might have read) it sucked. Reminding me that there are lots of reasons that I don’t want to move back. Money isn’t the only one. Ruling it out as my fantasey-alternative home made me start looking at Portland differently. I live here. And I choose to live here. So, I need to accept the good and the bad of the city. So, instead of being like “Fucking lazy ass hipsters! What the fuck?!? I have no idea why they’re like that. But, really, how much can you blame on the fucking weather?” I’ve been thinking “Isn’t it interesting that I moved here because I wanted to live in a place where people like living their life poor and working less, and now that drives me crazy?”

Anyway, so Kim gave up on her business idea, or at least put it on the back-burner because she couldn’t find the labor. But, she and I are still friends. And she still loves Snarky Cards. So when she went back to Detroit, a few months ago, she asked me if she could sell Snarky Cards, from a box that hangs beneath her boobs, in The City Of Champions. (No shit, that’s a legitimate nickname for the city. Wickipedia said so). So, armed with 100 Snarky Cards, Kim spread the good news through-out the city, while she drank her way through a weeklong friend-fest.

This is an event The Ritz threw, the bondage gear was provided by Noir. See what I mean about them being hard-core?

While she was there, she sold Snarky Cards to Noir Leather; one of Detroit’s oldest sex-positive toy stores. They’ve been around for 26 years. And they specialize in Leather gear for S&M play. They have a leather crafter on staff, for custom peices. They’re probably the most hard-core store to carry my cards. It’s been 2 months, and they seem to have sold all of the dirty cards that Kim sold them. And I just sent them a new stack of the dirtiest cards I could find.

Our Madge: Around the time she declared that she would rule the world

I decided I wanted to be a writer when I was 6 years old. When I was 19 years old, I saw a video of Madonna, as a 24 year old, on Dick Clark. She had been declared a one-hit wonder.And Dick Clark seemed like he was humoring her more than anything else when he asked what she was going to do next, now that her song “Holiday” had peaked on the charts.You might remember that she grabbed the mike and shouted “I’m going to rule the world!”. Everyone around her cheered. She seemed so delighted with herself. I was mesmerized. It occurred to me then that 1. Ruling the world is possible. and 2. Madonna had a plan. And she executed that plan well. I could create a plan, like Madonna, and then execute it well. Since then, I’ve been wondering exactly how I’m going to be famous and a writer, watching the small businesses I’ve worked in, trying to figure out how they worked, and why they sometimes didn’t. When I started Snarky Cards, I came up with a 3 pronged approach to expanding sales, and as I’ve gone along, I’ve explored several different plans for taking it farther. But so far it’s been pretty simple in that: people seem to like Snarky Cards. And people keep buying Snarky Cards.

I’ve never thought about Detroit before, except when I notice that people with Michigan accents are cute. People who live in Campbell, Santa Clara, San Jose, San Francisco, and all the little cities in between tend to think that they are living in the center of the world. And in the 80′s and 90′s, while I was growing up there, we were the center of the world. Google was founded in Mountain View, which is the first place I’ve ever had sex. When I was 20 I had an interview with Napster; the company that invented music file-sharing. Yahoo, Apple, The Internets, they all grew up with me. I assumed that California was the center of the Universe too. I thought that if I was famous in California that that would be enough. I was shocked, last month to discover that I didn’t want to live there anymore.

And even more than that, I feel a rush of pride, when I add another store from another state to my Snarky Card list. (Which also intonates that California is no longer the center of the Universe in my head) Adding Noir Leather makes me feel like my Rule The World plan is working. And it also helped me shed some of my state-snobbery. After all, I like anybody who likes me. And if Detroit likes me, it must be pretty swell itself. So, thanks Noir Leather, for being hard-core and liking bondage, genital mutilation, golden showers, vibrators, dildo’s, anal plugs, whips, chains, rubber hoods, leather imprint paddles, extreme ass spreaders, milking sticks, anal scopes, urethra dilators and Snarky Cards!

Love,

Alisa

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in New Cards, Snarky Cards | 1 Comment »

Vagina Feelings

Saturday, March 27th, 2010

Dear Internets,

See? They're huge! And they help me pay my rent.

I’ve going out to bars selling a lot lately. For those of you who don’t know, I make Snarky Cards: Brutally Honest Greeting Cards. I sell them in bars from a box that hangs beneath my boobs. And lately, the bars have been seeing a lot of me. And I’ve been seeing a lot of them. And there have been some cute boys, and flirting, and I’ve made a bunch of money, helping me pay my electric bill and keeping my cats in food. So, thanks Portland!

Oh yeah. And guess what, internets? I’ve decided to stop having sex! Forever. Just kidding! I’m going to try to go a month. A month that will feel like forever. I know, I’ve said this before. And some cute boy (or my period) would usually come along and screw up my resolution. But I figure if I keep trying to quit having sex with strangers, over and over again, eventually I’ll get it. At least, that’s how my business manager quit smoking. She just kept quitting. I figure if it worked for cigarrettes, it can work for anonymous sex, right?

See? I'd like to give this to someone. Someday. Maybe soon. Ish. I'm embarassed about this. But I'm glad that I can come out to you, internets. Thanks for understanding about my Vag having feelings.

OK, so here are the rules: flirting and making-out is ok. But making-out is a maximum. You might be asking yourself “What the fuck is Alisa’s problem? Why is she putting herself through this?” You might also be asking yourself “Why do I care what happens in Alisa’s Vagina?” I don’t know why you care what happens in my Vagina. I just know that I’m compelled to tell you what’s happening in my Vagina. But I can tell you why I’m going to turn perfectly awesome hook-up potentials into high school make-out sessions.

See, when I wasn’t looking, some monster jerry-rigged my feelings to my Vag. So now, while I can still have awesome sex with boys I meet at bars, I find myself wishing it was more than a one night stand when I get home in the morning. I keep finding myself wallowing in regret. So, I’ve decided to try not to have any more one night stands for a while. This is going to be hard, since random hook-ups have been my primary dating experience for the last couple of years. But it looks like I don’t have a choice. And I promise you this, internets,  if I find the fucker that hooked up my feelings to my Hoo-Haa, I’m going to beat the living shit out of them.

Or Hell, I'd even like to deserve this card again. I kinda just wanna take a chance on somebody, you know? Even if they might suck.

I feel really validated by the fact that Dr. Mc Steamy from “Doctors who cry in Seattle” (also known as Grey’s Anatomy) is having this very same epiphany right now about his penis. It’s like our genitals are acting in concert. Although, these are his fake genitals, and they’re my real genitals. So, not really. But his fake-epiphany still validates my real one. Which is yet another example of television working to make my life better.

I think I’m headed back to San Francisco sometime next week, for Passover. Until then, I’ve been loading up the internet with new Snarky Cards, for your pleasure. Some of which, are displayed above. I hope you like the new cards. And thanks for understanding about my new Vaginal status.

Love,

Alisa

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in Alisa has feelings, It Happened In My Vagina | 8 Comments »

Drinkin’ Rules

Friday, March 19th, 2010

Dear Internets,

I had an awesome night Wednesday night, dancing my ass off, serenaded by cute boys playing awesome music. I didn’t even mind the fratboy nature of the Dublin Pub on St. Paddy’s Day. Or the annoying drunk girls, sloshing their drinks next to me. Although the sorority chicks that populate The Dublin Pub on St. Paddy’s Day (They might be there every other day too, but I just go there for Fenbi shows, and Fenbi only plays there for St. Paddy’s Day) kinda freaked me out. Because honestly, it seems like the older I get, the more bizarre college girls are.

I mean, when I was their age, I’m pretty sure I didn’t wear all that make-up. Or say stupid things all the time. Or act annoying when I wanted to make-out with a boy. And there’s that other thing. That thing where they all look alike? It’s like all of the girls born from 1984-1988 all look, and talk and dress the same. I’m worried that they all have a hive-mind too. And if I show one how much she creeps me out, than they’ll all know, like in Science Fiction movies, where suddenly all the pod people jerk their heads and can see you? And then you get followed by an angry mob of sorrority girls, who think, talk and act the same all the time. The fear of their hive mind competed strongly with the  fear that one of them would throw up on my prostitute dress, and I was relieved when I heard Fenbi starting to rock out, so I could leave the sorority chicks drunkenly swaying into the open arms of the hopeful frat boys, and just dance.

I was cranky way before I got to the Dublin Pub. It’s the fucking holiday. “Oh you must make so much money on St. Patrick’s Day!” people say to me. But the truth is, I don’t. I actually kinda hate it. It’s not that I hate the Irish. I lived in Ireland for a while. (OK, and also all that fake Irish shit. I mean, seriously? We are such a wannabe country sometimes) I hate amateur drinkers. I sell my cards in bars because I love bar-sluts. I love regulars. I love bartenders. I love the weird family and friendships that come out of people deciding that they have to be mashed up next to each other for an hour or a night, while they drink.

I made this card for my people. I hope you like it!

And most of the people who go out drinking for St. Patrick’s Day, are not those people. Most of them don’t drink the rest of the year. Which would be ok. Except that it means that those fuckers don’t know the rules. And so they make the rest of us nervous or angry when they violate them. The rules for the bar are simple. But they still seem to elude some people. So I’ve written them out for everyone, to ensure that next St. Paddy’s Day, you’ll have some guidelines for your annual trip to the bar.

DRINKIN’ Rules:

1a. The bartender is the giver of goodness and light. The bartender is the one who decides how much alcohol you get. And how long you stay in The Happy Place (the bar). Always be nice to the bartender, and the bartender will be nice to you. If you are a dick to her/him, you will suffer. And your fellow drinkers will suffer. So smile, and be polite, dickhead.

1b. If your bartender is in a foul mood, or not having a good day, you still need to be nice to them. You still need to be polite. Because they still hold all the power in the situation. They still allow you to stay in The Happy Place and are your access to liquor. If you don’t like them, or their attitude, go somewhere else. But short of said bartender fucking your girlfriend/boyfriend, there’s no good reason for you to provoke them or try to adjust their dickliness by being a dick yourself. It will make it harder for you to get alcohol. And it will make it harder for the people around you to get a good pour. So either smile and be nice or go home and drink by yourself.

2. If you are puking, swaying, sleeping or having sex in the bar, you’ll get cut off. They’re not being a dick. You’re already not acting right. Why would they want your behavior to get worse? The bar is their responsibility. What if you fall asleep and pee your pants? Do you know who has to clean that up? Yeah, them. Maybe you have sex in a booth. They’re the ones who have to wipe up your love-juice. Or maybe you fall and cut your head on the floor. They’re going to have to mop up your blood. So, no, you’re not getting another drink. In fact, what’s your problem, anyway? Don’t you want to go home by now ? At home you can fall asleep, have sex and piss all over yourself, and no-one will get mad at you.

3. Every drink, you tip a dollar. More if you can, but a dollar is the least you can tip per drink. If you don’t have money to pay for tip, you don’t have money to buy the drink. Remember rule #1, and tip, motherfucker. Like your access to liquor depends on it.

Hitting on someone is way better than picking a fight!

4. Fights suck. Yes, liquor makes people crazy, but we’re all adults here. And if you get into a fight, you’re going to have to leave. If you get into a fight, you’re going to be lucky if all you are is 86′d out of The Happy Place. Because you could hurt someone. And then you could go to jail. I just watched a Homicide episode where a guy got into a barfight (in Munch’s bar!) and he accidentally killed a guy. And now he’s going to jail. Don’t be the dead guy, or the guy in jail. Just drink, and hit on people. Like a regular person who likes drinking in public, and wants to keep drinking in public.

Hopefully this helps anyone who wants to know what the fuck they did wrong in the bar. And to ease the pain of my lecturing blog, I have made some new Snarky Cards. Which are now available online! I hope you like them.

Love,

Alisa

PS Sorry I’m so ranty.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in It Happened In My Vagina | No Comments »

Fenbi for St. Patricks Day!

Wednesday, March 17th, 2010

Dear Internets,

As you know, I have a big crush on The Fenbi International Superstars. Their name makes no sense, but it doesn’t stop this band of hot boys from making amazing music.

And tonight they’ll be playing at The Dublin Pub 6821 Southwest Beaverton-Hillsdale Highway, from 10pm until closing time.

Their last show @ The Ash Street Saloon was a total dance party!

For those of you who haven’t hear them, Fenbi is delicious. Their music sounds like old Irish drinking music, but they write all the words (and music) themselves. So, you find yourself singing along to the chorus, or dancing your ass off, to a tune that sounds familiar, and words that sound new. I’m a big lyric freak. I don’t listen to music without words. Period. And the first time I saw them, they entranced me with lyrics that managed to be both dirty and funny at the same time. Their signature song is the one that caught me, 2 years ago, at Kelly’s Olympian:

“Is the life that you lead just a little boring/ is every single day like the one before/ have you turned to a life of heavy drinkin’/ to drown out the fact that you’re a corporate whore.”

By the time Mike started wailing “I think you’re bad enough/ I think you’re good enough/ You’ll never get enough/ I heard you like it rough” I was hooked. Something about how he sings “I heard you like it rough” makes your thighs itch, Todd’s bass playing makes your hips move even harder than you expected -and ohgod! His acordian playing! What that man can do with his fingers is inspirational and enticing. Orian’s fiddle serenades you underneath it all, completing the seduction.

If you don’t have any St. Paddy’s Day plans, meet me there for new Snarky Cards, and sexy boys playing sexy music at you. I’ll be wearing my prostitute dress for the occasion. So, there’ll probably be some nipple poking out by the end of the night.  Hope to see ya there!

Love,

Alisa

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in It Happened In My Vagina | 1 Comment »

Stephenie

Thursday, March 11th, 2010

Dear Internets,

I just got off the phone with my brother, Stephenie. Who called to tell me that his girlfriend (the amazing and awesome Christina) wanted him to call me to tell me that she loves reading about my period-blood-sex-adventures.

Now available online!

I never expected those words to come out of my brother’s mouth. He must be seriously pussy-whipped if he’s making calls to talk about my bloody Vagina on behalf of his girlfriend. That’s like, above and beyond buying super-sized tampons at the store.

“We’re not like regular families are we?” I asked, taken a little aback. “Um, duh?” He responded. Then he called me an asshole. I guess he’s right. I did kinda start it. I mean, I was the one who spent his entire childhood trying to convince him he was gay -it almost worked, he was going on dates with boys and hanging out at the Billy Defrank Center when he was in high school. I remember trying to make him smoke and drive when he was 11. And I did kinda flaunt my sexual conquests for our entire lives.

I guess it’s just one more way in which my life is weird because I make my living off of my Vaginal adventures.

Love,

Alisa

Tags: , , , , , , , ,
Posted in It Happened In My Vagina | No Comments »

Rule 13

Wednesday, March 10th, 2010

Dear Internets,

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

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in Alisa has feelings, It Happened In My Vagina, New Cards, Snarky Cards | 7 Comments »

Bloody Hands

Monday, March 1st, 2010

Dear Internets,

And who wouldn't take me home? I touch myself in public. A lot.

On the third day of my period, every month, I go out and get myself some. I know, my Vagina seems like a constant party, and you assumed I’ve been filling it more regularly than that, but the truth is, the rest of the month I work hard, and I flirt, but I go home by myself. I’m waiting for a relationship, I tell myself. And my friends. And my Snatch.

But the thing is, it’s been so long since I had a relationship, I don’t know how to go about getting into one anymore. For all I know, I’m cock-blocking myself at every turn. It could be years before I find a hot guy who doesn’t have anger issues, knows what kind of emotions he has when he has them, and wants to fuck the shit out of me. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting one. And so, I make my sexual choices a little more selectively than I have in the past. That’s why you haven’t read as many tails of rampant sluttery as you  might expect from an Art Prostitute.

Besides, boys don’t impress me as easily as they used to. But by day 3 of The Bloodbath, I am a cat in heat, and it doesn’t take much to impress me at all. I find boys I’d usually dismiss charming, and delicious. I can’t stop myself. The next morning I wake up triumphant and proud of my ability to score. It takes hours for me to start cursing my insane libido, and my seeming inability to find a nice boy who could take care of this and other sexual needs on a more regular basis.

I never tell boys that they are falling victim to my charms because of biological need. I should, I know, give them some sort of warning label to read. But my Vaginal needs come before anything else at that point.

Regardless, I think we all know that period blood, as well as being a great inspiration for bad sexual decisions, is also a great lubricant. And there is nothing hotter than seeing a guy pull away from you with your dead-baby blood smeared all down his happy trail.

So, I made this card for you to give to your guy. Congratulate him on his fortitude, give him his props for sticking it to ya, even when the sticking got sticky.

And in the meantime, I’ll try to wrap my head around the idea of finding something regular to put into my whoo-haa. So that I don’t have to keep conniving my way into strange beds every month.

Sincerely,

Alisa Starr

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in It Happened In My Vagina | 1 Comment »

Feminism and other F Words

Wednesday, February 24th, 2010

Recently I was accused of not being a Feminist. And it totally pissed me off. When I first tried to write this post, I made a list of all the things I’ve done, in my life as a feminist. Mostly, what I’ve done is read about it and talk about it. Which is kinda boring. I mean it’s not boring to me, but it would be boring to you if I told you about it. And I realized that I don’t really talk about Feminism anymore. Not the way I used to. I love where I come from, and I consider Gloria Steinem, Andrea Dworkin, Alice Walker, Ani Difranco, Tori Amos, Madonna, Nikki Giovanni, Bust Magazine, Bitch Magazine and all of the other Bad Ass Chicks who’ve fought for our rights over the years my family, my history. But I don’t need to talk about it the way I used to. It’s part of my belief system. I’ve internalized it. It’s part of who I am. And feminism doesn’t negate the other parts of who I am. I love sex. And I know, as a real feminist, who’s been around for a while, there’s no reason why you can’t be a feminist and like a good fucking.

I mean, that’s kind of the point of feminism, right? Because feminism is basically about everyone agreeing that women and men are equal, while still celebrating their differences. And it’s about me, as a woman, believing that other women’s choices are OK.

I’m a feminist, and that means that whether you’re an accountant, a housewife, a daycare worker, a teacher, an executive or an Art Prostitute, I support your right to do the work you’re called to, and I will fight so that while you do that work, you are respected, and safe, and equally paid.

That’s what feminism is about. It’s not about policing the way people use words, or trying to take the fun out of sex. It’s about making sure that all women get to follow their talents.

And my talent is making sexy, irreverent, somewhat disgusting Snarky Cards. So, I hope you love this new one, where I combine I my inner belief system and my love for fucking.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in It Happened In My Vagina | No Comments »

Feelings and Family

Monday, February 22nd, 2010

Dear Internets,

Some of you might have noticed that last night I was out selling Snarky Cards at Zeitgeist in The Mission. I have returned home to San Francisco, to celebrate my ex-fake-husband’s 30th birthday.

I’ve taken the opportunity to get the Hell off my couch, jettisoning myself out of the Art Shack, which is stuffed to the brim with cats and people right now. Steve and Emily have a guest room, with a ginormous, comfy bed. There’s a swimming pool nearby and a bart station. So I can swim in the morning, and go out selling in The City at night. And I can return home, to the comfy bed, and bask in the love of my friends.

Isn't Steve adorable?

Steve and I started fake dating 8 years ago. It took us two years to fake-marry. And then it took that two years to explode in our faces. No-one really gets my fake marriage. Most people assume that I married someone so that they could stay in the country. Steve was born in Rochester, NY. And he and I didn’t actually marry. We just had a purely emotional relationship. Partly because I think he wasn’t attracted to me. And partly because I wasn’t capable of more than a fake relationship. We acted like we were dating. And then, when I moved into The Funhouse, we acted like we were married. And our divorce was painful and long. Yesterday, at his party, all of his friends stood around, and told stories about Steve. He’s kind of a private person, as his sister pointed after he got embarrassed, and stole out of the room in the middle of our hoots and reminisces. I didn’t really get that until all of the people who love him were in the same room with him (not his idea). No wonder our fake-marriage didn’t work. I’m not even a little bit private.

I can’t imagine keeping my life private, and that’s, like, one of his goals. His sister was really happy to meet me. “Well, he didn’t want to introduce me to you when we were fake-married because I say the word cunt, and you’re too delicate.” I informed her, feeling triumphant that we’d finally met, despite Steve’s best efforts. “I wanna hear more about this fake marriage!” She leaned her pregnant belly into the question. “Well, it’s a lot better now that we’re fake-divorced.” I was feeling smug because Steve and I are so close now. But a room full of people objected. “The divorce was horrible!” Jen cut her eyes at me, making sure I remembered. Jon nodded his head, looking frightened. “It was like a real divorce.” Randy explained to his still-confused sister. I looked around the room, at my friend’s pained faces, as they mentally relived my fake-divorce, trying to figure out how to give the whole thing a sensible narrative. And I saw Emily trying to scoot between Steve’s sister and her husband, and I realized what  had happened. And I realized that I could finally say it. “Yeah, and it would have stayed horrible between us, if not for Emily.”

Emily The Bridge

“Really?” Steve’s sister sounded surprised. Maybe in the real world ex-fake-wives don’t usually get along with newer, perfect girlfriends. “Yup. Emily is the bridge to all things awesome. She’s the one who got us all here.” It was true, but I was also happy to tell the story of me and Steve without getting stuck. “To Emily!” I raised my glass and everyone in the room toasted the girl who fixed my best-friendship.

Emily and Steve like to go out in nature together. I think nature is really gross. And deadly. I think that she's always trying to kill us. So we shouldn't be going out into the wilderness to be alone on her turf, where she has the upper hand. They're perfect together, right?

We were just trying to recover from our fake-divorce, when he brought Emily to Portland two years ago, to see me and some of her friends. I spent the whole weekend putting off being alone with them. I brought them to the bar, and then I disappeared to go off selling Snarky Cards. I made plans and then broke them, until finally he called and said “Could we please have breakfast before we leave town? I’d like to spend time with you.” So I couldn’t get out of it without looking like an asshole. I got high before I left the house, to loosen me up for whatever discomfort there was in front of me. I felt awkward as the three of us waited for a table, until Emily turned to me, and said to me “Steve tells me that you’re the reason that he’s good at communicating. And I just want to thank you because communication has been a big part of our relationship.” I froze, like I’d been caught doing something wrong. And then the last remaining bit of me that hadn’t forgiven him dropped, and smashed, and I fell in love with Emily a little bit. “Oh. Uh.” I stammered. “I didn’t realize he still said that to people.” She nodded brightly. I was amazed at how simply she’d put me at ease, and mended my relationship with Steve in one swift move.

Emily’s like that, her clear honesty sees you through uncomfortable moments, and where Steve and I break down, she picks up the slack. And so I have my best friend, Steve, back, and a bonus new best friend.

I realized, once I got here, that I haven’t been sleeping for the last month. Not just because I have been sleeping on the couch, but also because I’ve been worried about the next stage of Snarky Cards. I’ve been trying to figure out what kind of person I want to be in business. I’ve been wondering how to choose business partners. I’ve been trying to figure out what the next stage is. And I’ve got all these instincts, and intuitions, and feelings. And I’ve largely been trying to quash them. Because in business you go by numbers. And intuition is a woman thing. And Vagina’s are a weakness. Or at least, that’s what I’ve heard in all of the other business situations I’ve been in. And I’ve had over 30 jobs. I’ve been in a lot of business situations. Before Snarky Cards I had a sales career, an office-bitch career, and a book career. And I always closely watched the executives, the decision-makers. And I tried to figure out what I liked about what they were doing, and what I didn’t and what I’d do differently, if it was my company.

And somewhere along the way I let it sink into my beliefs that having a Vagina, and feelings, and letting those influence my business decisions would mean that I made bad decisions. But looking around the room yesterday, at the faces of our friends, I realized that Steve and I built a life together, and when it fell apart, they still loved us. And they still want to celebrate us. And without all of those feelings, and all of those friends, I wouldn’t have been able to get this far.

My life has been saved over and over again by my feelings and my intuitions. So, it’s OK if my business runs on those same feelings and intuitions. I can be successful on the strength of my friends love.

Emily let me borrow her scanner, so that I could bring you New Snarky Cards. So if you wanna check out my etsy site, just remember that it’s brought to you by my Vagina. And my intuition. And the love of my friends.

Sincerely,

Alisa

Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in It Happened In My Vagina | 1 Comment »

« Older Entries