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

My brother, Stephenie, the novelist.

My sister, Joy, the artist

I guess I don’t talk about tarot cards that much, so I get why she’d be surprised. All of the kids in my family read cards with amazing accuracy. My brother also writes novels, and my sister makes jewelry, and paints and draws, and makes clothes. I’ve always wondered if it was an artistic thing. And then I don’t know, so I give up and spend a few minutes pitying my parents, who wanted us all to go to college and get real jobs, and have careers with clear trajectories. And then I get distracted thinking about my brother’s short stories, and I worry about finding him a publisher. And then I worry about finding me a publisher. And I forget to figure out if reading Tarot with accuracy is connected to creative ability.

My first cat’s name was Tarot, because even though he was completely feral, he looked like he knew how to be loved, and love me back. I got him from a crazy-cat lady in California. She’d found him in a garbage can. He was six months old, and he’d never lived inside. It took me a year until he let me pet him, and even then, I had to corner him in the bathroom, and use thick gloves my sister gave me to pick him him, and put him on my lap, while he yowled. I prayed he didn’t scratch my eyes out, while I pet him over an over again, saying fiercly “Someday you’ll like this!’

I was pretty feral when I got him, I’d just estranged myself from my family, and I was 22, living in my hometown, all of my friends had gone away to college, and I didn’t know how to make new ones. I was working 90 hours a week, and I wasn’t sure if my life was going to be worth fighting for. Taming Tarot was one of the few things that gave my life direction and trying to show him love injected compassion into my angst-ridden existence. And slowly, as he started to look to me for love, so did I. I got some therapy, and started coffee-shop slutting around again, and he started letting me cuddle with him at night.  And all the while, I read my own cards over and over again, for guidence.

This is a picture of my third costume change of the evening, at one of our blow-out Fun House parties

The thing is, my cards always told my future. And it scared me a little. And one day, four years later, I was at college -I’d gone back to school to get my tiny Sociology degree- and I got the New Location card. Which always means I’m going to move. I called my Fake Husband, who I lived with at The Fun House and told him. “You don’t have to move just because the cards say you do!” he blustered. “No. You don’t understand, I don’t want to move, but the card came up, and when it does something outside of my control is going to happen, and so I’m going to.” I was sad. And a little frustrated. I liked our ginormous house of awesome. But Steve and I always seemed to be arguing this was just one more thing. He’s still kinda Christian in his thinking. And things like Tarot cards are spooky and a little wrong. “Well, just because your cards say it doesn’t mean you have to do it.” He hung up quickly. I glared at the phone. Unbenknownst to both of us, Crazy Dennis, our Speed-Freak landlord was  breaking into the Fun House at that very moment, so he could leave an eviction notice in my bedroom on the back of an envelope. I found it when I got home from school. “What do you think about Tarot now?”  “I just try not to think about it.”He replied uncomfortably. And I thought “Well, if Steve can ignore the fact that Tarot’s real, than I can too.” So, I put my cards away, and I moved to Portland. Tarot died when we moved here, he’d gotten into a fight and some other cats sharp parts had knicked his lungs. The vet said if I’d had a million dollars, I might not have been able to save him. And I was so sad, I couldn’t say the word for a long, long time. I ran out and got two kittens to replace him three days after he died. They were cuddly and cute and open and loving and so opposite him, I put the cards and the cat away in my mind and I haven’t thought much about either since.

But the last six months have been hard on me. I love my life. But it’s become unpredictible and extreme. And every day something huge happens, and I have to figure out how to deal with it. Some of it is good stuff (which I will reveal to you, dear internet, when it’s all finalized. I don’t want to get your hopes up and then dash them) and some of it is bad stuff. And it’s gotten to the point that I’ve realized that The Universe was right when it decided to give me Tarot Cards.

I had always thought the ability to see my own future was a consolation prize for giving me such a shitty childhood, abusive parents and a stubborn nature. But now that I’ve had some therapy, and my abusive childhood is no longer the defining thing in my life. I mean, I still think about it sometimes, but it not longer hurts my feelings that those things happened to me. And I’ve started to accept my stubborn nature, and give it some begrudging props. I wouldn’t have gotten this far with my Snarky Cards if I hadn’t been so sure that this was the best way to make myself a writer. I’ve wanted to be a professional writer since I was 6. I made a promise to myself that I would one day be a writer. Which is why I’ve worked my ass off, 90 hours a week for two and a half years, hungry half the time, promising myself it would get better if I could just stand being poor and scared and tired and hungry for another year. Stringing myself along, ignoring kind-hearted people who told me over and over again to get a real job and work on my dreams part-time. “Like a normal responsible person”. Because I’m stubborn. And I said I would finish this. And I said it would make me a writer. And I don’t have a goddamn book published yet.

Lately I’ve begun to think that rather than being a consolation prize for a hard life, my Tarot Cards tell my future because my life is so weird, and totally unpredictible, and I need some advance warning about what’s coming up so that I can get ready. And The Universe knows that, and so it gives me a heads up out of consideration. And, maybe the advance warning of what’s going to happen next will allow me some mediocum of security in a world where I depend on Strangers in Bars to pay my rent. Or, as I did last night at Kelly’s Olympian and Meridian Gold Dust, the electric bill and phone bill. -Thank you Strangers in Bars! Todays electricity is brought to me from you! And also: Cute-Boy-Rich: Please stop intonating that we’re going to make-out and then disappearing. You are a cunt tease. Nobody likes a cunt-tease. Next time I see you, you better be cornering me in a bathroom and trying to grope me.

So, tomorrow night Fenbi’s playing a show again. FINALLY! They’ve asked me to read Tarot for anybody and everybody. I will be doing that for $5 a reading at the Ash Street Saloon from 8pm until close-to-closing. A word of warning though: When Fenbi plays, you need to shut-up and dance. That’s what I’ll be doing.  So -before and after the cute boys entertain us with deliciously dancable music-you can get your present, and possibly your future read for $5. I’ll bring some Snarky Cards too, so anyone who wants to peruse through those can.

I’m off now, to try and make some sort of gypsy costume, so that I’ll look like a vagrant fortune-teller. I hope to see you tomorrow night!