Their street names are Tres Perras Locas: 3 crazy bitches. Yuriko, Marisi, and Joy, my sister. Twin to Janis, the muppet to the left.

Janis, my sister's muppet twin

Dear Internets,

I seem to have seamlessly slipped into my new life. I’ve been volunteering at Twilight Artist Collective, and this week, Joy and I saw the Muppets movie together. We texted Stephenie, because he loves the muppets more than he loves chocolate. When we were deciding what time to go, I said “You know, I’ve always worried that I was Miss Piggy. And I’ve always worried that I wasn’t Miss Piggy.” Joy burst out laughing. “Shit! You are Miss Piggy!”

We got our seats in the theater, and Joy opened her bottle of Saki. I’m taking a break from drinking, so I just had one celebratory sip. When we were first starting our lives, Joy and I both had fake names. I went by Molly at work, because people told me that I looked just like Molly Ringwald. And Joy went by Janis, because she looked like the muppet, Janis. I’d told people at the bar that the night before and my friend Colin bent over laughing. “She does!” he said while gasping for air. “I didn’t want to saying anything before!” Joy and I pointed out scenes to each other in which our alter-egos had done a particularly good job. And we held hands while Kermit and Miss Piggy sang the Rainbow Connection.

Christmas Cards are now up on etsy! Get yours today!

And Thursday, I ran into my friend Colin at the bars, so I knocked off work early and went back to his house, to make jokes in his living room.

All these little moments, going to the movies with my sister, hanging out with my friends on the spur of the moment, were so painfully absent in my Portland life. I feel like I’m treating myself by letting myself indulge in them now. And they let me feel loved. They make me feel like I have a life, and I am more than just a Snarky Card machine, created and adored simply so that I can entertain and nudge people towards emotional honesty. I think that’s the root of why I started to feel so angry with Portland. As a town, it embraced my cards. It loved my creativity, and was astounded by my nerve, but very few people wanted to go to the movies with me, or hang out with me after the bar.

And next week I’m the starr of open mike night at 22 doors. One of my favorite bars.

You can buy this this Sunday at 22 doors on Capitol Hill!

I don’t exactly know what I’m going to be doing, or saying. But I’m pretty sure I’ll say a lot of funny things. About my Vagina. And I’ll probably be showing off my boobs. And I’ll be doing custom cards, with my typewriter, Bob. And I’ll have my paintings and my cards and my undies.

So, from 8 to 11 this Sunday night, I’ll be at 22 doors in Capitol Hill: 405 15th Ave E, Seattle, Wa. Come, laugh at my exploits, buy some cards, eat some yummy food, drink some booze and hit on some hotties. See ya then!

Love,

Alisa

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

This is Claire, Snarky Card office bitch. Did you know that some fabulous people made a Yelp for Snarky Cards?! Neither did we! How exciting. Now everyone who loves Snarky Cards and likes to have opinions about things can talk to their hearts content about how awesome Snarky Cards are.

I’ll be keeping you posted on all of the newest Snarky Card Developments. Alisa, is busy making and selling Thanksgiving and Christmas Cards. Which are now for sale on The Internets.

If you want to find Alisa in person, she’s hitting the bars on Capitol Hill in Seattle, WA every weekend, for the next month. You can totally email her to meet you there.

Thanks for loving our shit!

Sincerely,

Claire

This is me, making Snarky Cards. Not Glamorous, I know. but painting is messy.Yes, I'm smoking a joint.

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. They will crack you the fuck up.

Here are my boobs to make up for my messy painting picture.

Lately, I’ve been losing myself in my work. I’m learning how to paint new shit. I’m selling like crazy. I’m getting more internet sales. It’s been liberating. Part of that, is because Arlette came to pull me out of the depths of my recent despair.

Arlette is one of a few of The Bad-Ass Bitches. The other girls in this crew are Claire and KT. I keep trying to unite the bitches, and they keep resisting. “What if we’re all in a car accident together?” Rebecca argued reasonably when I complained about her reluctance to enact a scene from my own private Justice League movie. Each of The Bitches has their own unique super-powers. However, all the bitches are hilarious.

This is just one of the gems on pantslock.com

Arlette is really good at making fun of other people. She has other skills. But her ability to call other people on being dicks, even very subtle-y, has always been one of the things I treasure most about her. Recently, Arlette has started a website called Pantslock. It’s a website devoted to REAL introductory emails sent from men on dating sites. I like to think that I helped inspire it. In the early days of my sluttery, I placed a lot of Craigslist ads. I remember printing out some of the creepier and more insane responses to bring to her house, so that we could read them to each other over whiskey.  Sometimes I would get a novel of gibberish. And sometimes I would get insults. And sometimes I would get “Hey! Like yer ad! U wanna hook up?” And then there were unsolicited dick pics. Some of which I kept.

Either way, Arlette has created a nice place on The Internets to submit weird-ass shit that men send you when they see your profile, and want to sleep with you. It’s hilarious. And updated often. And you should totally make it your home-page. I’ve made it mine.

Lately, I’ve been swimming a lot. And I’ve been selling a lot. Meridian Gold Dust, North 45, Circa 33 and the Great Muu-Muu’s have been my hooking grounds. I’ve been digging the Art Prostitute gig. But Seattle keeps tugging on me, and so this weekend, I’m gonna be selling my wares up there. Until then, I’ll see ya at the bar.

Love,

Alisa

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

For the last few months, I’ve had a lot of Big Stuff happen. I was in a relationship, which messed with my identity. Because I haven’t had a relationship in about ten years. And it ended in a fiery explosion of suckiness. And then I was heart-broken. When things were at their best with Magnum, I was freaked, completely freaked out. “It’s like I spent the last 17 years building this brick wall, and he burst in and punched a hole through it.” I complained to Arlette. “That’s not true. You’ve been taking the wall down, slowly for the last few years. It’s a little more like you got it down from 10 feet to 3 feet high, and he came and kicked those bricks over.” She countered. I harumphed. I didn’t like that I was letting someone in that close. But I couldn’t help myself. I was in love with him. And I haven’t been in love since I was a teenager.

I know this doesn't really fit the post, but I like putting pictures in. And since this post is about my inner turmoil, I thought I'd show you pretty pictures of me. Hoping my boobs would ease the suffering of having to read this. Yes, I'm wearing clown panties.

I knew he would leave me. So did he. I just hoped that before he did, we would have some good times. And I would feel like I was good at it. The boy girl thing, I mean. I just wanted a little hope. Instead, he hurt me as hard as he could and then he left. In retrospect, I should have expected that he was the kind of person who hurts others because he’s unhappy. My parents were those kinds of people. And it would have been a lot to hope for that I’d gotten over my shit enough to date outside my type. We re-enact the most painful things that happen to us over and over again, until we realize that we can’t fix it. And then, hopefully, we move on.

The fact that I was in a relationship kinda fucked with me. The fact that I was broken-hearted rocked my world. For the last four months, I’ve been trying to put back together my sense of myself.

It’s been17 years since I’ve been hurt so badly. Men don’t hurt my feelings. They piss me off. I think that the fact of my pain was worst to me than the pain itself. I just kept thinking I’d made a terrible mistake. My friends were sympathetic, but in the end, they’d shrug and say “Well, yeah, DUH. Sometimes it doesn’t work out and you get hurt.” And then they’d keep talking. But I couldn’t hear whatever came after that. Because I was stuck. Alisa Kay Starr doesn’t get hurt. When a boy pisses her off, she goes out to the bar, and finds another boy to go home with, and she keeps doing that until she can’t remember why she liked the boy who pissed her off in the first place.

But that scenario was not this. I was mopey. And I couldn’t imagine sleeping with anyone who wasn’t Magnum. And I couldn’t figure out what to do with myself to get over it. I asked a few other people about break-up procedures and got nowhere. I wanted a ritual. Something to do with myself while I was waiting for time to do the thing that time usually does. And as I floundered for something to do, I began to question my identity more. I think I was just stunned that anyone got that close. And I felt like an idiot for letting Magnum in. All of which are normal feelings, according to the regular people I know. But they weren’t normal for me. And the fact that I was hurt made me feel like I’d made a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake. And the thing was, I’d waited for him. I never told him this, in fact, I haven’t told very many people this, Internets, but while I’m confiding, I might as well get it all out. I wanted to move last year. But some part of me knew that he’d be free, and we’d hook up, and so I stayed, waiting for him. That little voice in the back of my head, which tells me which cards to give which girl, and when leave for the bus (Alisa doesn’t have a watch. Alisa has intuition. God, talking about myself in the third person is kinda icky.) told me to wait for Magnum. So I did. And being with him gutted me.

This is my most popular card of all time. I don't need any intuition for this card. I just hand it to everyone.

So, naturally, I started to doubt my intuition. The thing is, I depend on my intuition a lot. Snarky Cards is based on it. I try to make as many smarty-pants decisions as I can. But a lot of selling my art isn’t based on the bottom line. Some of it is me, meeting someone, and 30 seconds later, coming up with a pile of cards that fit their life perfectly. People think I’ve read their mind. And I have. It’s my own little psychic trick.

If I don’t trust those instincts, I screw up. But more than that, I start feeling insecure, and then I really screw up. When I get insecure, that part of me that can figure out how you feel about your lover, or you father is operating without any kind of constraint. And so for no apparent reason, I start talking about how much better my relationship has gotten with my grandmother since she died. And your face crumples, and it turns out that your grandmother was the most important part of your life, and she died two days ago. No shit, that kind of stuff happens all the time when I’m not listening to my intuition. Obviously, making people angry/sad is not good for business. And stepping on other peoples feelings depresses and frustrates me. I’ve been able to pull things out of people since I was 11 years old. Being able to pull a grown-ups’ secrets out of them scared the shit out of me as a kid. It took me a long time to figure out what to do with what people tell me, and how to leave their stuff alone. So when I suck at it, it makes me feel 11 again. Overwhelmed by my lame psychic powers.

So, I felt stupid, and sad, and alone, and bad at relationships. And I thought seriously about giving up on Snarky Cards. Because if I can’t read people, I can’t sell. If I can’t sell, I might as well just go try to get a Real Job. And anyway, I am clearly no longer a slut. I don’t drink that much anymore. What’s the point of my tiny little career, anyway? And so on and so on. You get the point, the more I questioned myself, the less sense my life made.

Me and Arlette at our favorite bar in San Francisco

Which makes a lot of sense. My identity was completely changed by Magnum. It’s still changing, in a really big way. And that kind of shift is scary. I don’t think I started to be OK until Arlette came for the weekend. We were going to go out and take over Portland with our unified radness. But in the end, we had a slumber party weekend. We dyed my hair, and went to the goodwill, and Arlette made amazing food, and we talked about stuff, and watched the first season of Veronica Mars. And by the time she left, I felt a little more like myself again. We’ve been best friends for 8 years. And I think I just needed to be with someone I love, who loves me, so that I could feel like “Maybe I don’t suck at this. Maybe I don’t always make shitty decisions about love. Maybe it’s OK that I made a mistake with Magnum.”

And, of course, there’s Karate. Karate and I have been going home from the bar, off and on for the last year. Not seriously. Never more than once a month. But still, it’s the longest I’ve ever had any kind of sexual relationship. And Karate and I see each other at the bar at least once a week. We’re friends with the occasional benefit. In the wake of my Veronica Mars weekend, I think I was feeling stronger. Whenever I’ve been annoyed with the way things are between me and Karate, I tell him, and he thinks about it, and then he does what he can. It was late, and I’d had a lot of whiskey. “You make me feel like I’m good at this stuff.” I sniffled into my drink. He smiled. “You’re really good at this stuff.” he reassured me. From there he went on to say how I’m fucking beautiful. And how I make great art. And, in the end, he was just so nice to me.

The best thing about my relationship with Magnum is that I was so hurt afterwards, I had a hard time walking. He didn’t hit me. But he said some pretty terrible things to me before he ran away. And I think some of my identity un-hinging, was me realizing I just couldn’t be with assholes anymore. They’re my type. It’s my Daddy Issues. I’m always trying to make up with Jon. Not actually with him. Jon is an asshole. He has done and said some horrible things to me. He can’t fix a lot of the shit he’s done. No. My relationship with my actual father is over. And so I date assholes. I think when I was in my early twenties, I thought that it was love when a guy told me I was worthless. Therapy relieved me of that retarded notion. But as I got older, I think I really was trying to figure out if I could make it work with someone who treats me like shit. As practice. Hoping if I could win over an asshole, and get one to act right, I could take those asshole-taming skills back to my father, and give it one last shot. But with Magnum, I think it was just purely habit. And when it was over, and I was literally limping with heart-break, I realized, I have to give up assholes entirely. I need a lot of confidence and a good amount of peace of mind in order to do my job. And I can’t sacrifice any of that to a lover.

Which freaked me out further. I mean, I’m no longer a slut. I’m now a girl who has feelings. And those feelings can get hurt. And so, I can’t date assholes anymore. Some part of me just believed that I would never get laid again. No-one bitches about not getting laid as much as nice guys. It’s a little ironic that I was destitute, because all of a sudden I realized someone would have to be REALLY nice to me in order to get my clothes off. And I just didn’t believe that would ever happen. Maybe because I’ve never had a romantic relationship with someone who was really nice to me.

So, when Karate swept me off my feet, with his compliments, and his kindness, I happily followed him home. And sleeping with Karate again, really made me feel like it’s going to be OK. Karate is a great lover. So, I didn’t feel like I was trading anything in for the niceness of him. And it reassured me that I will have just as many nice lovers as I want.

Beauty and The Beast is still my favorite movie. I mean, she reads, she says what she thinks, she has brown hair, and she turns an asshole into a Prince. It's like Disney selling me my own story.

And, so I figured out that, yeah, all this shit is different. I’m loving differently. I’m letting people in. And that means that my ups and downs will be higher and lower. And I have to let go of this angry slutty girl I used to be. But if I were telling the truth on myself, I’d say that while I was that angry, slutty girl; I incessantly wrote poetry, and I lived for didactic feminist literature. I scrap-booked like crazy. And I was still sentimental as Hell. I really wanted a dog. And I over-identified with Disney movies. I was never adeptly described by two words. No matter how rad those words were. So maybe letting go of those two words is not the end of an identity.

So, I’ve come back to myself. I still like to give strangers advice. I still like to go to bars, no matter how much I drink when I get there. I still like to flirt with every man I meet, whether I go home with them indiscriminately or not. This last month, I’ve started to realize that I’m not ready to give up on Snarky Cards yet. And as my confidence grows back, my intuition comes with it. And I get a little better at all of it.

So, you can see why it’s been so long in between posts. I think that the last time I posted, I was in the middle of this. I wanted to wait until I saw my way out of it a

Me and my typewriter, Bob, and my tits, and my cards

little bit before I wrote about it. I’m still trying to scrape together enough money to move to Seattle in October, and so you might see me out selling at the bars. These days I tend to stick to my favorites: Gold Dust Meridian, Circa 33, North 45, 21st Ave Bar and Grill and my beloved Muu-Muu’s. So, if you want a Snarky Card, from a chick who is trying to pull her head together, stop by any of those bars on a Friday or Satuday night, and keep an eye out for my tits, which will be hanging out of whatever slutty red dress I’ve recently found at the good-will. I’ll happily show you the new shit. And with a $20 purchase, you get a free motor-boat.

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

Me at The Triple Nickel

Dear Internets,

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

Lately, as you might have heard in my last post, I’ve been caught up in a post-break-up haze of miserable-ness. Which has severely crippled my ability to eat, sleep and work. It’s not just the break-up. It’s probably also the fact that I had a relationship in the first place. I’ve been so good at just fucking guys in bars for the last ten years. And it’s served me well. I’ve never had to deal with so many pesky feelings before.

Being slutty has kept me safe from this kind of hurt for a long time. Sigh. I miss being a total whore.

I kept being surprised when the phenomenal sex between me and Magnum (Seriously. It was like, primal shit. My orgasms were longer, and deeper than ever. It was the craziest shit I’ve ever done with another person.) kept getting better. We talked about it once, and he was like “Yeah, I knew it would get better. It’s the trust thing.” Like trusting people you sleep with was normal. Like it was OK, and it had happened before. It was one of those moments where I thought the normal thing he said was hilarious. And I couldn’t laugh, because then he’d know that I was a rusted out robot.

Anyway, so I’m feeling feelings. Every day. They are unwelcome, over-whelming and intense. Usually this is where I come up with a deviant scheme to punish the person who made me feel feelings. However, I don’t seem to want to do that. So, I’m just trying to be normal. Which means selling in my sexy new clothes (Thanks Savvy Plus!). Hopefully tonight, when I’m out at bars, there will be some poor, unsuspecting assholes that I can assault with my wit. That usually makes me feel better.

Tonight, I think that there will be boobs.

Also, I have a feeling there will probably be a lot of aggressive flirting. I think I’m almost ready to start hate-fucking again. It’s a little embarrassing, because my primary post-break-up advice for the last few years has been to start hate-fucking as soon as you possibly can. Because no-one should pay for the mistakes your last lover made, except your next lover. But I’ve been reluctant to take myself up on it. Although, it’s only been a few weeks. Maybe I just needed to ease into the hate-fucking. Maybe I shouldn’t judge myself for needing to be sad before I get mad. And into embarrassingly angry sexual situations.

I just posted this on my etsy site! I hope you like it!

So, I warmed up today for selling by posting some new cards on my etsy site. And some new pictures of me selling, and my customers looking on Facebook. And I’m letting you know Internets, I’m planning on hitting up Meridian Gold Dust, Circa 33, North 45, and Muu-Muu’s. So, if you want some Snarky Cards, from a cranky bitch, who would like to make-out with you/make you pay for her last break-up tonight, you’re in luck!

Love,

Alisa

Here are some cute girls laughing at my newest selections last weekend!

Dear Internets,

For those of you who don’t know, my name is Alisa Starr. I make Snarky Cards. I sell them from a box that hangs beneath my boobs. They will crack you the fuck up. I also have them in 35 different stores, mostly in the Northwest, but I have a few satellite stores in San Francisco, Louisville, Seattle and New York. I love my stores. So, I’m making a concerted effort to give them their props from now on.

So, I’m writing to tell you that Emerald Petals has gotten a new stash of Snarky Cards! Last week on my way home from therapy (yes, Alisa’s brain has gotten a little spazztastic lately. So, I’m back on the couch). I dropped off a new batch of Snarky Cards at Emerald Petals on Mississippi.

Hilary's pretty hot, right? And look at her picking out new Snarky Cards!

Emerald Petals is an eclectic mix of gardening shop and flower shop. Hilary, who owns the joint is sweet and knowledgeable. And she also looks pretty hot in her shop apron.

Sexy Succulents available at Emerald Petals!

They have a lot of cacti in right now. My Grandma was a sucker for succulents. She had two greenhouses full of them. And looking around Emerald Petals, I remember that I didn’t even realize that Grandma’s “plant room” was actually the nicest bathroom in the house. They had 7 people living in that tiny house, and she had the balls to make sure nobody used that third bathroom. Because it was for plants.

Grams love of these prickly pants confounded me as a child. First, they required dirt, which I thought was gross. And they are part of nature. Which I was pretty sure is always trying to kills us, due to some traumatic family camping trips. And she could spend hours watering them, and doing other mysterious things with them, I didn’t know about (I’m assuming there was trimming) because I wasn’t allowed to go into the greenhouses. Because I was a kid, and I could totally fuck some shit up, if left unsupervised. And the greenhouses were her sacred space. All of which I kinda resented. In case you can’t tell.

It's a pretty sweet shop to browse through, right?

So, looking around Emerald Petals, having smelled the fresh tulips, I tried to make my peace with the cacti. And I realized that all those plants required the work of love. Which is something I think I’m only grasping as an adult. Love means coming over to fix a friend’s couch, or taking her out for drinks so that she can talk about her broken heart. Love is Kay helping me take my first shower after I broke my leg. And Grams worked hard at loving those plants. Two greenhouses kept her busy. In the frame of all things dirty and sweet smelling,  I finally started to get gardening a little bit. It’s the work of love. I like to think my relationship with Grams got a little better, because I stopped by the shop. She’s dead now. So, our relationship doesn’t grow as much as it did when she was around. And I try to treasure the little movements towards understanding her better.

So, if you’re in Mississippi, and you want to get some fresh Tulips, or some beautiful cacti, or some of the newest, raddest Snarky Cards, stop by and say hi to Hilary, and get your hands a little dirty. You might not make-up with your dead Grandma, but I know you’ll feel better afterwards.

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

I know it’s been a long time since I wrote to you. I’ll catch you up in a day or two. A lot of stuff has been going on in my life, and in Snarky Cards. For those of you who don’t know, my name is Alisa Starr, and I make Snarky Cards: Brutally Honest Greeting Cards. I sell them in bars from a box that hangs beneath my boobs. They will crack you the fuck up.

For sale tomorrow at Cafe Nell!

Tomorrow, I’ll be debuting Snarky Underwear at Cafe Nell’s 2nd Annual Clam Bake! Snarky Undies will be available on the internets on Monday. You can get your first look at Snarky Undies, while eating some great food, and dancing yer ass off, with some sexy people, one of which will be our illustrious mayor, Sam Adams! Some of you may remember that The Chapman Swifts are one of my favorite bands. They have been broken up for the last year, to my chagrin, but they’re back together, tomorrow for this party. You will rock out. I always feel better, after I’ve heard them play. I love this band and you will too.

I’ll be there with my typewriter, and my Amazing Ass Wear, typing and drinking and laughing. It’s $14 for dinner, and all proceeds go to Basic Rights Oregon, and Q Center, two totally awesome Gay Rights Groups.

Please come and party with me, and celebrate my success, as well as Cafe Nell’s and let’s please all flirt with the Mayor! He’s adorable and gay. I’m gonna try to get him to motorboat me! The party jumps off  at 3pm and we’ll fighting for our rights until 10. Cafe Nell is located at NW 20th and Kearney. I hope to see you all there!

Love,

Alisa