And so I explained how it’s been feeling like everything is starting to fall into place here. And I can’t leave just when it’s starting to get good. I cited the publishers that are sniffing around my book idea, and the impending t-shirts I’m going to make and sell with Brianna from Tender Loving Empire. And the cute boy who’s been flirting with me lately.

And all of those things are real. Sans the boy. Last night the flirtation I thought I was having came to a screeching halt when I tried to take him up on some of his intonations. And so I spent the better part of this morning moaning in hung-over shame. “Why? Why did you think he actually liked you?” I viciously whispered to myself as I stomped around my apartment. “You’re still in Portland. He’s cute. And he flirts with you constantly. Why did you think that you were going to get some make-out?” My cats looked a little frightened by the stomping, and then started making out. Again.

See how Tigger's about to plant his face in Chester's A-hole? Yeah, that's his happy place. He has a special sigh for when he hits it just right.

I don’t know what is going on in my life. Everything is opposite. My gay cats have started to have orgies, while they perch on top of me. The other night, Tigger sat delicately on top of my room-mate Patrick’s chest, and Chester ran over, and lovingly started to lick Tigger’s balls. Patrick noticed that they were doing it on top of him, but he’s gotten used to it, so he just kept watching tv. This gay-cat-sex thing has become a constant. They are no longer two separate cats. They are now just one long gay porn. And I’m surrounded by cunt-teases.

So, last night, I made an ass out of myself by assuming that a cute boy who has been flirting with me with increasing intensity wanted to make out with me. And today I feel bad. Not because I was rejected, but because I feel like for weeks, I’ve been sculpting this beautiful and amazing penis out of clay, and I was just getting the kiln all fired up, so that I could glaze it, to make it hardened, so that I could use said beautiful penis for future friends-with-benefits fun. Right? And last night, just as I was trying to put the penis in the kiln, some stupid Portland boy wrenched it out of my hand, and dropped it on the floor. And when I bent down to pick it up, it was all smooshed and flat, and it didn’t even look like a penis anymore. And I realized that I’d been trying to make a working dick out of shit. Not clay.

That’s how I feel.

Because rejection honestly doesn’t bother me. And if last night had been a simple rejection, I would have been fine. But as soon as I was like “You know how you tried to slip your hand in my bra earlier? Yeah, let’s do it on purpose this time”. This particularly beautiful boy came up with a string of reasons why that was a bad idea. And I found myself mired in bullshit excuses. When he probably meant “I like flirting with you, but you’re not really my type.” Or something. Who knows? But he couldn’t find the words to say it, and I was drunk and completely confused. Usually when boys stick their hands down your bra, you can milk that sort of situation for more action. But this is Portland. In this place, boys don’t have casual sexual encounters with women that they want to continue to be friends with. Boys here date. Because they’re sad. Not only are they sad, they have a lot of other feelings, that are hard to untangle. And sex just makes them feel more things. So they can’t have it unless they mean it…. and if they do try to have it casually, they cry. Seriously. That has happened to me more than three times since I’ve moved here.

I know this. I know all of this. But the flirting was so exciting. And so testosterone-y. And everything else seemed to be looking up. And so I got carried away, hoping and wishing that I was finally going to find a friend to fill my Vagina.

And like I said, things are going well in my life. They’re just not going well inside my Vagina.

Fortunately, there’s a solution to this kind of conundrum. It’s called a Vibrator. I haven’t had any fancy money for things like Vibrators for the last four years or so. So I’ve been rotating through the 6-7 old ones I have rattling around in the Happy Box. And since I’ve started my sad rotation, I’ve thrown a couple of vibrator funerals. I finally had to say good-bye to my first vibrator- a present my best friend Emily gave me when I moved in with the last man I had a serious relationship with. His name was Mark. And he was terrible in bed. It was a smart gift, Emily. You totally outdid yourself. And, not only that, it was classy how you put it into a box that held your checks, and gave it to me in front of my parents, and our friends. I don’t think a single person realized what you’d given me.

Ten years later, I haven’t had a relationship since, but I have had a really hard time getting rid of that vibrator. Even after the motor died. And I realized that it’s flesh tone looked a little… wrong.

So, I was delighted when It’s My Pleasure called me to ask if they could carry Snarky Cards! And even more delighted when I went into their store! I’ve been meaning to go to It’s My Pleasure since I moved to this town. It’s a sex-positive vibrator store. Portland’s answer to Good Vibrations, if you will. Which is rad, because I grew up thinking that Good Vibrations was the best standard with which to judge a Vibrator store. And when I got to Portland, I couldn’t find Good Vibrations. I could, however, find Fantaseyland. Which is not a sex-positive sex-toy store. It’s the kind of place where creepy guys jack-off in the back room, while you stare at the big-breasted women looking at you wickedly from the inside of the packages of vibrating fun.

It’s My Pleasure is found on Sandy and 63^rd ave, in a cute little white house. The porch creaks in a nice way, and there’s coffee and tea, waiting for you inside. A giant black cat, Lucifer, loiters on the porch, demanding attention from everyone who walks through the door. It’s the kind of place where you can find the tasteful Kama Sutra, and pretty butt-plugs. If you have a question, Brandy is happy to help you. But she’s just as happy to let you browse by your lonesome. Either way, you’re not going to avoid eye-contact with other customers, or worry about someone offering you $20 for a handjob, while you try to figure out if you want just Clitoral stimulation, or some G-spot action too. And now, they also have Snarky Cards!

While I was there, I shopped and I found a new Vibrator, to soothe my angry, lonely Vagina. It’s called Little Kiss. And after the first time I used it, I thought about starting a new religion dedicated to using Little Kiss. It’s that good. I think once you try it, you’ll join my new religion. It felt like gentle, tireless fingers, working their hardest to give me orgasms, over and over.

So, I’d like to dedicate my latest painting to the boys of Portland. It’s one of my most popular cards. My friend Kay wrote it. And I’ve always thought it was mean, because feelings are important. But I’m feeling it now!

The Glorious Spencer, the delightful designer of Brother West, fashion for smart people!

Ok, so First Thursday @ Radish Underground rocked! It was awesome. The booze was yummy, so were the snacks. Spencer, the featured designer, was delightful, and I got to rock out with my Dickleganger, Ammon.

We talked about 80′s television and I gave him some new TV recommendations. And then we both found out that we’ve both just started swimming!

I hate exercise, but being in the water is the closest thing to comfort I can find that isn’t drinking or having sex with strangers. I realized recently that I can’t stay a slutty alcoholic forever. It’s just not physically possible, and I need to develop additional coping mechanisms in case I get a venereal disease, or psoriasis of the liver. So the last month, I’ve made a point of going to the pool more and more often.

This isn't me at the pool, this is me at the river, but I am wearing a bathing suit, I figure you can imagine the rest.

Ammon just started swimming too. Which is weird. He’s even started watching videos on You Tube about swimming. I guess he’s just learning all the strokes now. I was on the swim team when I was a kid, and I’ve had tons of swimming classes. They were a great opportunity for my mother to flirt with cute young boys, so she made sure to sign us up every summer. So I don’t need to geek out in front of the computer, most of my work is when I’m in the pool, trying to get up the courage to try the butterfly, or remembering how to breathe and swim at the same time, without drowning.

Gina, Ammon (my Dickleganger) and Celeste! Aren't they gorgeous?

It’s weird to have a Dickleganger. I mean, I never expected to meet someone who thinks the same way I do. I’ve spent my whole life hearing about how I’m unique, or different, or (the worst ever) spunky. I bet you Ammon never got spunky. Spunky is what you call girls who unnerve you. Or, at least that’s what it means when someone calls me spunky. It’s a nice way of saying that I scare the shit out of them. Which is OK. I’ve been scaring grown people since I was a kid. I’d accepted that it was my lot in life. The idea that there was another version of me out there never really occurred to me. I thought KT was as close to that as I would ever get. And half the time, I have no idea what she’s talking about. It’s so nice to find a person in the universe, who knows what I’m talking about all the fucking time. At least so far. I’m sure at some point, our lives will stop symmetrically lining up, and we will find things that are different, and life will go on in the universe, with that sense of alone-ness that I’ve always carried with me. But for now, it’s nice to be completely, and consistently understood, by a boy, who is my platonic friend. And that’s kind of the bonus too: I love that he and Gina are happily-ever-after-ing. It’s like, even though I’m not romantic, or involved in romance, he is. And that means that maybe there’s hope for me.

Don’t worry, the Vagina Spiders have been banished, and I’m still up to some of my old tricks, and as a tribute to my bad sexual decisions and yours, I give you: My Need for Therapy. A card to give someone you had sex with, who you never want to sleep with again. Because, you know, you figured out mid or post-coitus that you were only having sex with them because you’re crazy. I hope it comes in handy!

Last week, I realized that I had sold 17,993 Snarky Cards, since I’ve started. Most of those I’ve sold in Portland, Oregon, where I live. And you can tell. There aren’t very many bars, coffee shops or refrigerators left in Portland that aren’t marred by a Snarky Card or two. I think I might have saturated the market. And I’m getting that itchy feeling. I wanna go somewhere where my cards and my boobs are new.

Shannon is on the left, and her room-mate Lizzie is on the right. Lizzie let me sleep in her room. Her bed is really comfy. I didn't have sex in it. I had sex in a car in the parking lot next door.

So, I went to Eugene. This isn’t totally out of the blue, my little sister Shannon lives in Eugene, she’s going to be an architect. She’s the only one out of the four of us to get a degree, and I’ve never visited her. I know that sounds harsh, but she comes to Portland to hang out every other month, and I never really felt like I could leave. But now, all I’m doing is thinking about leaving. So, I splurged the $22 for the bus ticket down to our state capital.

This is the Eugene Buffalo Store, isn't it sexy?

When I got to Eugene the bus stopped in front of Buffulo Exchange, where I promptly tromped in with my Snarky Cards and asked if they would like to carry them. The cute girls at Buffalo Exchange were delighted, and they bought 60 Snarky Cards for their store.

A night at the bar can get you knocked up!John Henry's had this up at the bar. I thought it was precious.

Later, that night, Shannon and her girlfriend, Jen took me out to the bars to sell. It was awesome! I sold a lot of cards, and I met a lot of people, and I flirted with cute boys. The boys of Eugene are pretty rad, funny, smart, and not at all weird, like they are in Portland. My mind was blown with the make-out possibilities!

On Saturday, I went around to some stores in The Whittaker. Which is the independent, cool, hipster area of Eugene. In other words: It’s the part of Eugene that looks like Portland.

We started with Olive Juice. Which is this KICK-ASS party store! They have wigs, mustaches, cocktails sets, and boost-i-ae’s! It’s like, they stock everything you could ever want, in order to be the life of the party! Obviously, being a booze-focused party store, they went ape-shit over my cards, and you can now find Snarky Cards nestled amongst the coolness that is Olive Juice.

The Fruits of My Sweatshop!

I only brought two display boxes, and I got nervous that maybe I’d need more. So, Shannon got out her paints, and handed me some cardboard, and I went to town making some more. Eventually I roped her and her room-mate Dana into helping me get the cardboard all prepped for painting. It was like my own little sweatshop! I’ve always dreamed of my own sweatshop.My heart melted at the site of them.

Afterwards I went selling at the bars Saturday night. The kids in Eugene seemed to dig me, and I sold a lot of Snarky Cards, and I talked to a lot of cute bartenders. I smoked some weed and I flirted with some cute boys. On Sunday, Shannon wrangled Jen and some cute girls they’re friends with, and we all went to The River to swim. It was really fun. Well, except that these girls are all about ten years younger than me, and thought nothing of bounding down steep ravines into said river. And my poor leg, still feels a little stuck and broken. And so I got stuck, and I felt a little old.

Thanks, Eugene! For making this whore feel at home!

But that’s the price for not dying; feeling your age. And they were so young and beautiful and enthusiastic, it was hard not to get caught up in their excitement. I think it stirred something up in me, though. Maybe it was their easy laughter, or maybe it was just that I’d already noticed The Boys Of Eugene; they flirt easier than The Boys Of Portland. They show unabashed interest. They don’t seem as fucking depressed as Portland Boys either. That night, I went out selling in the bars of Eugene one last time with a mission. I was going to get fucking laid. And I did. I met a really cute boy, who didn’t have a hard time cleaning the spiders out of my Vagina, in his sexy station wagon.

All in all, it was the best trip I’ve ever taken to such a small town. I heart Eugene. And I think Eugene hearts me!

For those of you who don’t know: I’m Alisa Starr and I make Snarky Cards: Brutally Honest Greeting Cards.

And you can see me tomorrow at Tender Loving Empire for First Thursday! There will be bands galore! And lots of other folks will be there with delicious hand-made goods! Stop by and see me do my typewriter-rad thing!

I’ll have lots of blank cards so, bring your grudges and your secret-crushes, and I will work my magic, getting you laid, or even with the person of your choice!

Afterwards, I’ll be chilling at Virgo and Pices to see my friends Mike & Todd (formerly, and probably still known as FENBI: International Super-Stars). They fuckin’ rock, and there will probably be dancing there. So get your party on in NW Portland tomorrow!

In celebration of tomorrow’s celebration, I give you: The VD Card! It’s one of my favorites. I made it after this hot guy tried to put Herpes in my Vagina (an incident leading up to my commitment to Vagina Spiders). I got really pissed off afterwards. I mean, I was like “There’s a fucking, rule, man! You have to tell people before you mess around with them what you’ve got!” Then I realized that that rule is scary. It’s hard to say “Hey I have HPV! Wanna make-out with me?” I mean, for regular people, it’s hard enough to say “Wanna make-out with me?” and by regular people, I mean, people who are not me. We all know that I have no problem getting or asking for sex. Anyway, so I decided that if I make this card, it can serve as a post-coital warning, which is not as good as a pre-coital warning, but it’s better than nothing. And, hey, after you sleep with someone, that’s when you usually find all the bad-shit about them out anyway. Like they’re in love with their mother, or they’re about to get divorced, or their last girlfriend dumped them because they couldn’t stop lying, you know, the real shit. This is just an easy way to let someone know that you might have given them Chlamydia. I love the fact that I’m the only girl making cards that can help you trace back your VD.

Six inches of cleavage and custom Snark? Taa-Daa!

I just got an email from Delmar, today, who took pictures of me slinging my shit at The Rose Festival! It’s pretty cute, right? I look, much as I will look tomorrow, with my typewriter. The dress, the boobs, the huge smile, it will all be the same! Come take a gander, it’ll get yer dander up!

May all your wet dreams come true!

While I have recently found a deep and abiding comitment to Vagina Spiders -which is to say that I’ve decided to not have sex for so long that my Vagina dries up, and spiders move in and build cobwebs there- I understand that not all of you have had ENOUGH! Like me.

And really, I’ve had sex with, like, 83 people. It’s like I’ve been doing a marathon, and no-ones fucking chasing me. So my poor Vagina deserves a break. So don’t feel badly for me, or her. Just enjoy the fruit of our endeavors, and I will keep making these breathtakingly horrifying cards for you from the dredges of my experience.

What was I saying? Oh yeah, I get that my comitment to Vagina Spiders is newfound, and singular. And I want all of you to be having sex. Not just sex, but Great Sex! So I give you: The Great Finger-bang!

I hope you enjoy it! And for anyone who wants a custom Snarky Card tomorrow, I’ll be at First Thursday, at NorthWest LoveJoy and 17th Avenue from 4pm until 9pm. I hope you get laid!