Sunday, November 17, 2013


Taking a little break from my I'm Writing a Memoir Don't Bother Me hiatus to explore some computer-generated deep thoughts based on past FB statuses. There's no "I" in psycho, but there is "me" in demented. 

PS: My book is going well, thanks for the donations thus far :)

Friday, October 4, 2013

Friday, September 27, 2013


I was asked to make a video about Milan Fashion Week and I was beyond excited until I saw this was the worst Fashion Week ever. I'm not sure if it's the Crisis or the fact that Fashion Industry Dudes have been wearing sunglasses at night for so long they've gone blind but everything blew-especially the fact that I didn't get into any shows. Anyway I did my best and with the help of a few friends and a twerqing microphone I managed to put some stuff together :)

Thursday, September 26, 2013


Sit down.
You're seated?
Then stand up, and sit back down again.
I have some news.
Big news.
Hard stuff.
Have you watched the latest Breaking Bad?
Did you cry?
Did you pull your hair out?
Did you call your mom and ask her to check your online banking balance because you're afraid to do it yourself but need to know if you have enough money to go to therapy?
Then you've felt 10% of what you're about to.

We need to take a break.
It's not you, it's me, and by "me" I mean my book.

I haven't really been posting ~original~ content here for a while and that's partly because I've been living like a Glamour Gypsy the past few months but mostly because I've been trying to seriously get famous before I turn 26 and though the dozen dudes who have seen me do stand-up didn't boo me off stage, I feel all hope of that happening lies in my Debut Novel.

The only problem with writing a Novel is every single thing about it. I'm both almost done with it and not even close. I delete entire pages after writing them and immediately regret it. I reconsider the whole thing in my sleep and wake up in a sweaty panic and grab my boyfriend's hair and wake him up and force him to tell me that I'm Very Talented and Destined For Greatness and then yell at him for lying to me. 

Anyway, I've decided to dedicate Every Possible Moment I can to this before it drives me crazy. Luckily, I've found twerq work which will supply me with enough funds to buy enough soy dream and kale to get through the next few months I plan on spending all non-job time on finishing this thing.

I'll still be doing my Dear Sugar, Sex.Com and Wired videos (find me on the Wired Italia iPad app!) and obviously my Vice and Wired columns but I have no more  ~free time~ for posting here or anywhere else until January (when I plan on being done and moving into a Manhattan high-rise).

Ideally as soon as I start making big buck$ I can get back to being as self-involved as I was as a student but until then, just wish me luck and by "wish me luck" I mean send money! 

(Via the DONATE button on my homepage and/or by sending envelopes full of jewels to my haus, whatevz). 

Anyway, thanks for sticking with me so long and thanks for giving me ~love~ and a reason to not only wake up in the morning but to stay up all night as well. 

PS: I will still be linking my other work here, duh! So if you don't follow me on FB or Twitter or Snapchat you won't have to check into a mental hospital via ~grieving~ the loss of regular updates on my bowel movements. 

PPS: I'm going to miss you.

PPSS: Not as much as you'll miss me. 

PPPSS: I just farted.

Friday, September 20, 2013

Your Vagina Might Be Scaring Away Potential Vampire Lovers

Hey y'all! I'm back in stinky wonderful nostalgia-filled Milan werqing for fashion week and there's no wifi anywhere and I'm jet-lagged and exhausted from crying all the time (memories!) but that doesn't mean I don't have time to talk to y'all about your private parts so you're welcome.

Friday, September 13, 2013


Hey y'all! I'm kinda werqing for a porn site now (no not that way I'm far too under-qualified to do catering) and here's my first video  in which I school men on feminism and women on how to fake like Gaga ;)

Wednesday, August 28, 2013


I was supposed to be at Burning Man this week (my boyfriend bought tickets before we even met, OK?) (and I’m like, “who was mine for then?”) (and then I’m like, “who’s mom?”). After weeks of persuasion I agreed under the pretense that I don’t have to pay for anything once I’m there (“hugs for drugs” isn’t appealing but neither is giving up my last five bucks for a dusty lollipop) and that however horrible the experience, it will give me great writing material and important lessons like don't fall asleep unless you want to wake up in a k-hole #nevertrustahippy

I didn’t end up going, thank Goddess. I couldn't miss Lady Gaga’s VMA performance! Just kidding, I missed it anyway because we don’t have a TV and I don’t know how to use the internet. Just kidding, I chose not to watch it because award shows stress me out. Not because I think they’re stupid or superficial or wasteful (*laughs hysterically at nothing* *checks reflection in aluminum can* *throws can into the sea*) but because they fill me with the overwhelming sense that I’m missing out.

When I see celebrities, I don’t admire them. I don’t wish I could meet them or be around them. I wish to be them. I deserve to be them, I think, I am them, I feel, I’m better than them, it’s not fair I’m not there, THAT SHOULD BE ME! I scream, at my screen, through a mouthful of cauliflower (the colon’s broom).

I get fiercely jealous of famous people, especially pop stars, because I’ve always known that if I’d only been born with a nice voice, I’d be one. I tried to be a concert pianist but realized that involves too much time spent inside practice rooms alone (and therefore not enough being obsessed over by strangers). Obviously I wanted to be a keyboardist in a punk rock band but nobody wants keyboardists in punk bands, especially if they're girls (I'll never forgive you, Jason, hope you know why you never made it). I got a place in my High School Jazz Band but apparently that isn't "legit" (I'll never forgive you, Battle of the Bands, my cover of "Someday My Prince Will Come" inspired by Bill Evans was killer) so then I just played piano at restaurants and bars until I realized retired couples in North Carolina aren't really my target.

So I moved to Milan to become a famous fashion designer but within a year discovered that I hate fashion and designers equally and after dabbling in PR I realized I hate parties and people even more and eventually figured the only way for me to get famous would be by being on TV. So I became a "writer" and "online personality" (went blonde) and within two years I got my own show on Sky and nothing changed. I guess Italian TV shows don't count, especially now that I'm here.

I have no contacts in California, no friends and no fashion show cues to convince people to think I'm cool at. Nobody can read my articles here and even if they could they'd be underwhelmed (everyone in San Francisco is either a part-time porn star or full-time crackhead, so anything I write seems trite). I hate LA too much to audition there and the only magazines I can write for in CA are too eco-friendly to even consider hiring someone like me (the hole in the ozone layer grows with the stiffness of my hair).

So I've decided to be a comedienne. 

How hard can it be?

Tonight I'll write a routine that should last a few unbearable minutes, and y’all are welcome to watch me perform it tomorrow night at the Flying Pig Bistro from sometime between 6-11:00 pm and/or find me asleep in the bathroom after failed attempts to drink my nerves away. Just kidding, I'm not nervous at all. The countless nights I've spent on dates telling (hilarious) jokes the dates always refused to laugh at have prepared me for the worst.

Anyway, I'm writing this post in hopes of getting some help-I've been watching lots of stand-up for #inspiration and it seems that in order to be "funny" you have to hate yourself or something and I'm kind of worried my oozing confidence will affect my routine. 

What should my stand-up personality be like?

I'll let y'all know how it blows goes! 

Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Tuesday, August 6, 2013


I'm working on a new #exciting and #scandalous video project and by "working on" I mean thinking about starting it but it should be started tonight or tomorrow or as soon as I can get some time alone in this apartment but till then here's Lady Gaga's new single:

PS: my mom thinks I reference poop and farting too much what do y'all think?

A: Disagree
B: Strongly Disagree
C: Very Strongly Disagree

Tuesday, July 30, 2013

I'm a genie in a bottle you gotta distract me the right way

I used to think the hardest thing in the world was walking in sling-backs until I realized the hardest thing in the world is getting myself away from my boyfriend long enough to make a video. 

I think I finally understand why Yoko is blamed for the Beatles breakup. Not that it's all her fault, but, John couldn't just be like, "look, babe, I haven't uploaded a Youtube video in weeks and I have a new wig I still need to try out and it's really hard creating a character for it when you're giving me massages all the time," because she'd be like, "it's cool, dude, I totally get it, I'll go to the other room," and he'd be like, "f'ing finally," and then he'd stare at his computer and take a photobooth selfie and delete it immediately and try to film himself dancing but feel embarrassed and crawl around on the floor and sit in a corner and hug his knees and start crying until he couldn't see through the tears and crawl to the other room and be all, "why are you so far away, I love you and hate myself," and she'd be like, "I was waiting for you to say that, and by the way, I checked what's left of your blog and you've lost a thousand more followers in the past ten minutes."

Here's my plan for trying to get my man to help me help myself not fall off the face of the internet:


1) Sleep
Naps can last for hours so you can have plenty of time to wonder where your creativity went while he can  rest his spirit and refresh his mind. After a nap today my boyfriend said, "I'll love you forever, while you're young."

2) Toys
Ew, not those, this is a family-friendly blog and by that I don't mean the kind that involves people doing things that make families. Ok, he actually bought me this camera but I let him pretend that it's his sometimes #bestgf

3) Food
Take your boyfriend out and by that I mean let him take you out so he can stare at his phone the whole time while you push your salad around while deciding what to title that book you've told everyone about but haven't started ~actually~ writing yet. 

4) Play
And by that I mean let him punch you sometimes because that means he loves you. 

Monday, July 22, 2013


(I wrote about living with my BF for VICE Italy)

“You have an IRL life now.”  

My friend comforts me as I agonize over my dwindling online presence (I haven’t updated my blog in weeks and haven’t re-tweeted Amanda Bynes in days). She assures me it’s good that I’m not “all over the web” anymore because that makes me seem “mysterious.”

I hate mystery. Secrets are for prudes and pedophiles. There’s no point to doing anything unless you tell everyone about it. Over-sharing would be my middle name if I didn’t already have a hyphenated last name aka the one thing preventing me from getting famous since I eliminated the only alternative (being brunette). But things have changed for me recently and I’m finding myself seeing the good side of mystery.

My boyfriend and I met three months ago. We said “I love you” the first week and by the second decided I should leave Milan to live with him in San Francisco, where I am now. Yes, we’re moving fast but only because we’re romantic and spontaneous, or as my therapist would say, “dumb.” (And by “therapist” I mean cat, because I can’t afford a therapist, and by “cat” I mean that guy who sells crack on my street, because cats can’t go out in this city and I refuse to keep prisoners).

Living with a boyfriend makes life nicer-if he’s nice. Mine gets me coffee when I’m too busy painting my nails working to do it myself and has no problem carrying a broken organ I found on the street in the middle of the night up three flights of stairs and into our bedroom (I’m a Strong Independent Woman and I can let him do everything for me if I want). If you’re nice, living with him will subject you to annoyances, like having to run outside to fart or staying up all night Google-searching makeup that’s safe to sleep in (it exist, and I’ll get to that later). But nice or not and no matter how charming he is when he burps in your face and regardless of how stunning y’all look hugging through Instagram filters, living together peacefully takes patience and wisdom and I don’t have either of those, but I do have this list:


1) Space
Quentin Crisp wrote in How to Have a Lifestyle that nothing crashes your style quite like having a roommate, especially if that roommate is your partner. I always hoped I’d end up living alone because I thought I’d always be alone. Everyone else did, too! Recently a girl wrote me, “you having a boyfriend is one of the horsemen of the apocalypse.” (It’s true, and the end is near). Needless to say, I had my doubts about co-habitation. Sharing rooms in college was terrible and having flat-mates was far from fabulous. But now I know that’s only because I didn’t love the people I was living with, and therefore couldn’t love their stuff! Sure, I died a little when I pushed my dresses against his vests. But when organizing shared space, creativity goes a long way, and by “creativity” I mean hiding his things under the bed when he’s sleeping.

2) Grooming
Today my boyfriend sent a picture of me to his mother, with the caption, “finally, without makeup.” I was wearing concealer, powder, blush and mascara. Men don’t know what we go through to look good and they don’t want to know what we go through to look “acceptable.” Men want women to be creatures of mystery. You must always keep them guessing how your eyebrows stay in a Nike swoosh, how your mustache disappeared and where your dick went. Obviously, they should never see you without makeup on. If you aren’t willing to go to the bathroom and put on your face and come back to bed before your boyfriend wakes up, (this isn’t hard, boyfriends sleep all day), I suggest you try this over-night makeup, or learn how to sleep in the tub.

3) Romance
There’s a fine line between kinky and lazy. There’s a big difference between “I want to watch you pee” and “I left the bathroom door open.” Becoming too comfortable with your boyfriend can lead to boredom, which can lead to cheating, which can lead to, “he just walked into the knife!” Living in Italy taught me that all men cheat, so to keep yours satisfied you must pretend to be a different person each day. I know I’m doing it right when he says things like, “you’re so lovable when you aren’t crazy.” 

4) Fights
People say the best part about fighting is the makeup sex, and I’m like, are you kidding? The best part about fighting is crying in the shower so loud that he tries to kick down the door and you call the police but the water breaks your iPhone so you demand that he buys you a new one. Ok, that hasn’t happened yet. So far my boyfriend and I have only bickered about little things like sexist jokes (never funny) or fake pregnancies (always funny). But I know we’ll have huge fights eventually and then I can yell things like, “I left Italy for you!” *throws dish*  to which he’ll respond, “that’s the best thing I’ve ever done for you!” *punches wall* to which I’ll respond, “the best thing you can do for me is leave before I jump out the window!” *faints* Speaking of suicide, last week I posted a selfie on Instagram with the caption, “my boyfriend isn’t paying attention to me so I’m going to drown myself.” It worked wonders.

5) Chores
I’ve had all-male roommates for the past few years and aside from pee on the toilet seat and the meat-related messes (why are men always cooking meat?) it was surprisingly cool! I felt maternal towards the girls they’d bring over when I’d let them use my tampons and safe when I’d bring home strange men. Probably because of that time a dude tried to break in and the boys yelled at him and called the police while I locked myself in my room and wondered how much it would hurt to jump onto my neighbor’s balcony (I’m not saying women are too weak to fight, just smart enough to avoid it). Anyway, boys are messy but they’re also boys, meaning if you yell at them they’ll feel like their mother is yelling at them so they’ll do whatever you’re asking (and if it’s your boyfriend you’re yelling at he’ll do it fast, knowing he’ll get a bj).

6) Friends
We all know that girl who moved in with her possessive boyfriend who made her hang out only with him or his friends all the time so she never went out and ignored all her friends’ calls because she was too embarrassed to let them see what she’d become (someone who wears an apron un-ironically) so by time the dude left her, she had no friends and nowhere to crash. Don’t let this be you! When you leave your friends for your boyfriend he should leave his friends for you too so eventually all y’all have is each other (and his hidden stuff under the bed). Co-dependency is more binding than a pre-nuptial.

7) Work
Don’t let your boyfriend distract you from what’s important, which is publishing your best-selling novel (Lady Gaga fan-fiction). Today my boyfriend wasn’t letting me concentrate on my writing (I could hear him breathing-how rude) so I sent him out for coffee and he brought me that and a paper bag. Inside the bag was a bottle with the label, “Skinny Girl Margarita.” I asked him what it was and said, “you love margaritas and hate calories so this can be a treat when you need a break from writing.” It was what my therapist would call a “breakthrough.”

Sunday, July 21, 2013


Life is hard sometimes, like when your boyfriend makes you do annoying things like move to San Francisco and go to Los Angeles and be outside and do stuff IRL with IRL people when all you really want is to feel the warmth of your laptop on your crotch.  

No, I didn't become a celebrity but I did meet Lindsay Lohan and now she won't stop sexting me so I blocked her but then I remembered that she owes me a bunch of money and I need to get a hold of her but I don't know how? 

Anyway I'll be more ~present~ from now on-it just took me a while to find good wifi spots and excuses to avoid fully participating in my relationship :) 

PS: Please make me famous soon this isn't fun anymore. 
PPS: I'm #serious.
PPSS: I'll send you my hair.
PPSSS: No I won't I'm trying to grow it out #sorry
PPPSSS: 8==D~~

Tuesday, July 9, 2013


I wrote about Croatia entering the EU for VICE Italy

Croatia finally entered the EU last week (the week I left Europe #convenient) and I know what you’re thinking: “we don’t need any more prostitutes here!” And that’s offensive, because we always need more prostitutes. So don’t be negative-think of Croatia entering the EU as a new roommate moving into the apartment you’re already sharing with the French asshole, the dirty Spaniard and drunk British dude.

Croatia is the broke roommate who eats your food and wears your clothes without asking. She’s the one who smokes inside after promising she’d quit and the one who causes drama by letting her abusive ex-boyfriend (Serbia) come over after midnight. She embarrasses you by showing up to the party in Juicy sweatpants and then gets you kicked out of the party for bringing a gun. She’s the one you can’t trust to keep a promise or a secret but she’s so beautiful you don’t even care (until she steals your boyfriend).

Even if your new roommate might “borrow” your car or “misplace” your jewelry, she’s not all bad. My shittiest roommates taught me the most important lessons, like, always lock your bedroom door before going out if you want to see your favorite leggings again and turn your lights off before masturbating because nobody knocks anymore.

Ten Things Italians Can Learn From Croatian Roommates

1) Hold Your Liquor
Everyone in Milan thought I had a drinking problem when they were the ones with the problem-not knowing how to drink! Italians can easily have a bottle of wine for lunch but give them more than a Negroni before dinner and they’re calling their mommy for a ride home. The only problem Croatians have with alcohol is when they don’t have enough alcohol or when they walk home from the bar during winter and fall asleep in the snow and die-but one can argue if that’s even a problem.

2) Rise and Shine
Italians don’t eat breakfast, (a brioche isn’t breakfast), probably because they’re still full from the enormous dinner they ate at midnight. Croatians make the most of breakfast because by dinner-time they’ve already spent all their money on illegal slot machines. Your Croatian roommate will cook you a hangover-curing breakfast (you’re hung-over because you don’t know how to drink) so delicious you won’t even care that the main ingredients are rats and gunpowder.

3) One Big Room Full of Bad Bitches
People think Croatian women are just passive putas who will screw anyone for an American passport, and that’s not true! First of all, there’s nothing passive about beating our kids. Secondly, why would we screw for a passport when we can kill for it? Jokes aside, Croatian girls are the toughest I know and though I grew up in America, my summers in Croatia made me the Strong Feminist I am. There my cousins taught me about #slutpride and my grandmothers taught me that it doesn’t matter who you marry because you’ll be disappointed anyway.

4) Dress to Impress
When I first came to Milan I didn’t know anybody (or how to communicate with them) so when I saw a Croatian at a club one fateful night (I knew he was Croatian because he was the only boy above 1.5 meters) I approached him and he told me he knew I was Croatian because I was the only girl wearing a shitty jacket in January. Over vodka we agreed that though we’re freezing to death, there’s no point to buying coats since “it will get warm in four months.”

5) Family Matters
Italians are famously family-oriented (*cough* mafia *cough*) but Croatians stay even closer to our relatives since we can never afford to move out. On the rare occasions we are away, we stay connected. I talk to my mom on the phone ten times a day, which seemed excessive to my boyfriend until he realized it takes a lot of time to organize crime.

6) Penny Pinchers
When you’re notoriously poor nobody expects you to help pay for the internet bill or the taxi ride home or the morning-after pill because everyone knows you’ve been starving for a month to afford last season’s Levi’s.

7) Workin’ on My Shit
Italians think it’s cool to cut corners at work-that’s why y’all have daily strikes and ten hour lunch breaks. Croatians prefer to avoid work completely. The most popular retirement age is 30 and the most popular reasons are “disability” (beer belly) or “veteran” (served the required two years in the army).  

8) The Early Bird Gets The Worm
I always hated that Italians go to aperitivo at seven, dinner at eleven and to the club at one-it’s exhausting and unnecessary. Croatians eat their largest meal at four, go to the bar at six and come home pleasantly wasted by midnight. If you get a little hungry in-between you go out and get a mayonnaise sandwich, which gives you an excuse to have sex in the park (which brings me to my next point).

9) Love is in the Air Everywhere I Look Around
Most Croatians don’t get our own apartments until we’re in our  thirties so if we want to have sex with someone, we’re creative! Croatia is where one learns to screw against cars, in public bathrooms, under bridges and behind park benches. But don’t mistake the excitement for love-Croatians don’t say “volim te” unless we’re wasted, which is all the time.  

10) How to play soccer.