THE LAST STRAW

I've got 99 problems and having nothing to wear is all of them. 

PERFUME LIBERATION DAY EIGHT (AND NINE)

I leave in like 36 hours and I still have a dozen bottles help me guys what will I do like I guess I could set the rest free tomorrow but tomorrow I wanted to spend the day in bed making phone calls to people and making them sad so idk :(

DRUNKYPANTS

IT'S MY PARTY AND I'LL SIGH IF I WANT TO

Devastating news: there will be no "Breaking up with Milan" or "Perfume Liberation" today because today I have to get ready for tonight's Goodbye PAArty!! If you weren't invited I feel bad for you son, I got 99 problems and being on Tea's blacklist ain't one.

Anyway don't worry, I'm sure tonight will inspire at least 10 Tragic Videos. See y'all tomorrow! 

BROOOM PIX

For those of y'all who can't make it to my installation  (including myself) here are some pics! For the rest of y'all, move your asses to Brooom in 81B Redchurch Street in London this week! The installation is showing 24/7 till the 27th!!! :)

TEENAGERS FROM MARS

but we do care 



thank you :)

BROOOM!!!

Attention all London readers, haters, dudes, sluts, animals and spiders: come see my installation this week at Brooom! I can't be there IRL because I'm stuck packing in Milan but I will be there in ~spirit~ and by that I mean I'll be farting as hard as I can towards London and hoping the smell reaches y'all :@)

PERFUME LIBERATION DAY SEVEN

I dropped this threesome on NABA's campus because they were always the brightest of the bunch and deserve a good education. 

CHUB RUB CLUB

Never trust a photographer.

PERFUME LIBERATION DAY SIX

The perfect image for the cover of their debut album. 

SUMMER IN THE CITY

Making deals with the devil doesn't always pay off. 

PERFUME LIBERATION DAY FIVE

Yesterday someone was like, "your Perfume Liberation is actually littering and it's illegal" and I was like, "first of all it's not littering if it's art and secondly how dare you talk to me" and  he was like, "I'm gonna report you" and I was like, "to who your mom I hear that she sucks" and he was like, "what" and I was like, "uh huh" and he was like, "oh my god" and I was like, "yeah I just did" and then he went away and I decided to liberate perfumes inside from now on or at least more often because I don't want some loser getting me in trouble with his shitty mom.

Today I dropped off Mr. Cartier and Mrs. Chanel by the toilet inside of one of my favorite bars. I love this bar because it's cheap enough to afford and close enough to crawl home from so I've been going there every day either to cry into glasses of wine or flirt with the bartender and by "flirt with the bartender" I mean yell at him to stop judging me for crying into my glasses of wine. I'm certain Mr. and Mrs. C will feel right at home. 

PACK ATTACK

I wrote about packing for VICE Italy

I’ve spent all week packing and by that I mean crying face-down in my suitcase. Moving is emotionally exhausting when you’re leaving a country you hate to admit you’ve fallen in love with the same way the Popular Boy in High School Comedies falls for the Nerdy Girl after she takes her glasses off. And it’s especially draining doing it alone. No, I didn’t ask friends to help me move because I’m an Independent Woman and by that I mean I’m not an asshole willing to annoy my friends and by that I mean I don’t have friends.

But packing isn’t just emotional, it’s confusing. Going through your belongings fills you with soul-searching questions, like, where did all my socks go? Did I ever wear socks? What were these antibiotics for? Can I take antibiotics recreationally? Who’s panties are under my bed? Is it gross to wear used panties? Why do I have ten identical black dresses from American Apparel? Why can’t I fit into any of them? Where did I get all this shit? And how do I get rid of it? And that’s the hard part.

I don’t hoard things, I hoard feelings. Everything I own reminds me of a fond memory, a beautiful friendship or traumatic one-night-stand. It’s hard to not keep worthless trash for the sake of nostalgia, like that metro card I used to cut coke with or my fashion school diploma.

But when moving you need to be ruthless. You’re starting a new life, not dragging around your old one! It’s essential to only take essentials! And I’ll show you how.

~TEA’S PACKING GUIDE~

Tip: If your suitcase isn’t comfortable enough for you to sleep in, it isn’t comfortable enough for your belongings! Remember, things have feelings too.

CLOTHES

You know when you find a dress two sizes too small but it’s the only size available because it’s a sample sale and it’s designer and it’s special you know you’ll look amazing in it as soon as you lose those Last Five Pounds so you buy the dress with your rent money and you keep it hanging on your door to remind yourself to stick to your diet every day but every night you come home drunk and full and as you fall asleep you see the dress and think “tomorrow I’ll do better” until finally you’re using that dress but you’re using it to dry your tears because two years have passed and you still can’t get it over your thighs? Pack that dress. Only that dress! Remember, you’re packing for the person you want to become-not for who you are now (you’re running away from that person). Also bring a Statement Piece like that T-shirt you bought at your first punk show and nailed to your wall to remind yourself that you used to be cool.

You need a Practical Piece like [Faux] Fur for California Winters.

And don’t forget underwear! Only bring your sexiest sets and enough whiskey to convince yourself you look good in them.

Donate the rest of your clothes to charity so after you leave all the people you knew will see homeless people wearing your outfits and that will make them think of you and that will make them miss you and that will make them regret never throwing you a going away party and that will make them hate themselves as much as you hated them.

SHOES

They won’t fit in a suitcase so I’m mailing them to my parent’s house but every time I’ve sent an American ex-boyfriend locks of my hair or voodoo dolls or fake pregnancy tests they never arrived so I’m not keeping my hopes up.  

Of course my most important pair of shoes is flying with me. You never know when you’ll need your Stripper Heels or your Croatian passport but I do know those two usually go hand-in-hand.

SOUVENEERS

I’ve kept every perfume bottle I’ve used since moving here and I’ve grown obsessed with them and though I can’t take them with me I can’t bear to recycle them either! What will become of them? What if they don’t want to be Coke bottles? What if they’re unhappy as ash trays? What if they get separated from their loved ones in the process? And speaking of the process, does recycling even work in Milan?

It was all too much to bear so I decided to set them free. Every day until I go I’ll leave a couple bottles somewhere in the city so they can start a new life together and live happily ever after. (I’ll be documenting this on my blog) so y’all can follow the adventure! You’re welcome).

ACCESSORIES

By “accessories” I mean wigs because how else will I trick all my new friends into thinking I’m interesting?

UTILITY

Let’s all take a moment of silence to study what’s happening to my Sex Supplies:

The birth control and condoms are unopened and the lube is unused but the iGino vibrator is worn out AKA welcome to my Long Distance Relationship. Why am I packing this stuff?  So I’m ready to see my boyfriend and by “ready” I mean “already poked holes in the condoms.”

DECOR

Speaking of my boyfriend, I’m moving in with him aka re-decorating his flat. My American Flag will be put on his wall so he never forgets that I’m the one with the US passport so if he misbehaves I’ll report him to immigration.  

My Lady Gaga poster will hang close so he remembers what to call me in bed. 

“Mother Monster”

I’m bringing my Polaroids so he knows that I have a social life outside of him and that I used to date models because jealousy is the secret to any healthy relationship. Just kidding, I keep these pictures to remind myself to never dye my hair back to black (what was I thinking).

And this flower will go where it wants. I found it at my first Milanese House Party, stole it and watered it for a week until I realized it was plastic. It’s stayed with me since and has guided me through the most troubling times via black magic.

Obviously my stuffed seal is coming so I have something to comfort me when my boyfriend decides that letting me live with him was the biggest mistake of his life.

ENTERTAINMENT

You are what you watch. That’s why I’m only bringing the show that proved promiscuity and substance abuse is cool, the movie that showed me the power of slutty dancing and the cartoon that taught me that I want to be a cartoon.

John Waters once said that if someone doesn’t have books at their house, you shouldn’t sleep with them. But what about bad books? I have dozens that I’m burning because after reading them I’m only more convinced of how much I hate everyone. Bukowski was an asshole, Hunter S. Thompson was a psychopath and Nabokov was a pedophile. I’m only bringing literature which will enlighten me, brighten my spirit and inspire my dreams! Lady Gaga interviews will remind me of my goals and Hollywood murder mysteries will predict my future.

CONDE NASTY

What we talk about when we talk about magazine editors. 

PERFUME LIBERATION DAY FOUR

I left Mr Manifesto and Ms One by the tram 3 stop in 24 maggio square because I thought they'd be happy there because they'd be close to their favorite restaurant (McDonald's) and only a few tram stops away from their second favorite restaurant (Burger King) but as I got on the tram and waved them goodbye I watched a dude pick them up and throw them away and when I saw that my heart broke into more pieces than they did when they hit the bottom of that trash can.

Rest In Pieces 

THE DEVIL WEARS NADA

Nothing is embarrassing if you aren't embarrassed.

PERFUME LIBERATION DAY THREE

On my way to the gym today I found the perfect grassy spot for Dior Poison Senior and Oh! Lola. These two have a complicated relationship-they met when Oh! Lola moved in last year and needed a mentor-as the eldest member of the collection, Dior Poison Senior took the job-but didn't expect to fall for the underage beauty in the process. They have undeniable chemistry and a ton in common despite the age difference-but they're only friends who flirt and will stay that way till Oh! Lola turns 18. In the meantime they'll roll around platonically with the snakes. 

Gonna miss you crazy kids!

BAD RELIGION

PERFUME LIBERATION DAY TWO

I've liberated two more perfume couples today!  

Chanel Blue and Dior Poison met at the shrink three years ago. Blue was having a hard time accepting the fact that his Ex, Chanel n5, (pictured below with her new lover, YSL Baby Doll) became a lesbian soon after dating him. His shrink didn't help with the issue but Dior Poison was able to sedate him in the waiting room. They've been helping each other forget their past, present and future ever since.  

Chanel n5 sometime misses Blue and fantasizes about reuniting with him. She even sometimes sends him sexts late at night and feels guilty about it-but shouldn't-her Baby Doll is secretly sleeping with Poison this whole time! What a mess. I put the couples only a block apart so they can find each other if they need to...so long, my confused lovers! 

#SLUTTYGIRLPROBLEMS

It happens to the best of us?

PERFUME LIBERATION MOVEMENT

I've kept every perfume bottle I've used since I moved to Milan aka I have a shit ton of perfume bottles saved up and I've grown quite fond of them and by "fond of them" I mean "obsessed with." The hardest thing about moving so far is having to part with them. I didn't mind donating clothes, throwing out books, giving away my sewing machine-but putting my perfume bottles into a plastic bag with the idea of recycling them made me cry.

What will they be turned into? What if they don't like being coke bottles or ash trays? What if they get separated from their loved ones? Who knows if recycling even works in Milan?

It was too much for me to bear so I've decided that instead of recycling my sweet bottles, I'll set them free! 

Every day until I leave Italy I'll put a couple of bottles in a special place in the city where they can start new lives and live happily ever after (two at a time so they don't get separated from their loved ones-it's pretty clear here who's been dating who all these years).

Anyway above is the first couple I liberated this morning, Mr and Mrs Lola, they've been together for over three years. Though their relationship has been challenged by the presence of newer, slimmer Lolas or the sexy young Oh! Lola, their love has always prevailed. 

More perfume liberations to come every day till I leave. 
You're welcome. 

YOU MAKE ME WANNA THIGH

Don't blame me, blame my buzz cut. 

DON'T TELL ME CAUSE IT BURNS

MONSTER SHIT

Or that time I cried at a Lady Gaga concert #chic

IF YOU WANT TO DESTROY MY SWEATER

Homeless men are still men and by that I mean assholes.

DON'T CRY FOR ME MILANO

I wrote about leaving for VICE

I’m moving to California. Not in the way I’ve been “moving to California” ever since I first watched Pretty Woman (childhood was full of dreams) but the way in which I’ve bought my ticket, broken my lease and started selling my stuff. I’m moving this month!

I know what you’re thinking: “Why are you leaving us? What will happen to VICE Italy?? How will we survive without you???” I understand your confusion and sympathize with your devastation so I’ll answer these questions because it’s the least I can do after abandoning you so suddenly and so brutally breaking your hearts.

Why are you leaving us?

As much as I enjoy placing orders in Italian at McDonald’s, as much as I relish laughing at businessmen in Armani licking gelato without irony and as much as I was hoping to join the parliament after running a successful escort service discrete enough to not “out” all the men working in the fashion industry as secretly heterosexual (you know who you are), it’s time for me to go.

All “signs” are pointing me back to the states! First, my Visa expired and I’ve learned that writing about blowjobs can’t get me a new one. Then, an American Diner opened on my street, and while a couple of years ago I would have been thrilled to have a safe-haven that won’t judge me for using ketchup, now it’s just a reminder of what I miss (they don’t even have the right ketchup). Third, I love a boy who lives there and though I’m getting used to sleeping in my makeup in an effort to be always-prepared for Skype dates, I must admit it’s getting exhausting coming up with new ways to send him pictures of my butt.

Most importantly: coffee shops. I loathe your morning macchiato! The only thing I hate more than taste of espresso is tasting it standing uncomfortably at a bar while being rushed by other customers pushing their elbows in my sides and rubbing brioche crumbs in my hair. And the only thing I hate more than that is not having a decent toilet to diarrhea in after that espresso rips up my bowels (a hole in the ground is a torture device, not a toilet).

Italian “coffee culture” turned me alcoholic. Listen: back when I was failing High School I discovered the only way I can force myself to study is by doing it at Starbucks-that way, I feel like I’m doing something “fun.” Thanks to Starbucks, I even graduated High School and got accepted into an American college, where I studied at Starbucks! But then I came here and let me tell you, it’s a miracle I ever earned my degree or held down a single job. Whenever I had to study or write I could only choose between doing so in restaurants or bars and we all know I don’t like eating, juice is empty calories, only losers order water and milk is for pedophiles! What did you expect me to do but develop a huge drinking problem? (Yes, I tried working at home, and no, I still can’t do it-it feels too much like work). Being able to sit on someone else’s couch all day with one cup of coffee and limitless WIFI is a good enough reason to move back to America on its own-in fact I’m pretty sure that’s what brought the pilgrims there in the first place.  

What will happen to VICE Italy??

I may be crazy but I’m not stupid-of course I’m keeping this column! I plan to write it until I get fired [or hired as the editor]. It’s a a strategic move on both sides because I’ll have the “time difference” as an excuse for sending everything late and the ability to tell my new American friends that I’m “big in Milan” and therefore seem “exotic.” (Americans think Italy is a third world country, and they’re right). I may be stupid, but I’m not crazy-obviously I’ll get new jobs, too! I just have to decide between opening a taco truck, teaching Pilates at Whole Foods or being Brangelina’s nanny to save up money for plastic surgery, because you can’t be a stripper in California without big boobs, and we all know that’s my One True Calling.

How will we survive without you???

If I were you, I’d miss me too. Think of it this way, girls: without me revealing to you all the men I’ve had sex with (and who they cheated on with me) y’all can trick yourselves into believing that the men you meet aren’t all assholes. It will make life easier for you and them (until they cheat on you with whatever new Erasmus girl replaces me as the “town slut”). Y’all will be fine without me-it’s myself that I’m worried about!

I don’t want to get emotional and talk about #feelings because if I start writing why I loved Milan enough to turn a “study-abroad semester” into “five years of humiliation” I’ll get tears all over my laptop and I can’t afford a new one now (see: price of ticket to California). But I am going to miss stuff. Lots of stuff! Like not having to tip service workers and therefore getting terrible service (there’s nothing like a waitress spilling a glass of red wine on your head to make you feel alive). I’ll miss post-aperitivo food-babies (and the shame that comes with them). I’ll miss fashion week open bars (and the shame that comes with them). I’ll miss cashiers yelling at me for not having exact change. I’ll miss bartenders yelling at me for ordering a cappuccino after noon. I’ll miss knowing “meet me at nine” means “I’ll be there at midnight.” I’ll miss having to take a tram for an hour to find soymilk. I’ll miss having to take a tram for an hour to find a bank. I’ll miss forgetting that the grocery store and the bank both take three hour lunch breaks. I’ll miss the romantic shades of grey of the buildings and smog-especially on Sundays when everything is closed and everyone’s inside and you can pretend to be the star of a post-apocalypse movie.

Milan is special, and it’s changed me. How could it not? It’s a city full of opportunities! A place of possibilities! A city where each Marangoni girl is also a DJ, any Naba boy does part-time PR and every IED professor also works as a Party Photographer. Speaking of parties, I guess most of all I’ll miss knowing I can go to any party and get in by saying “Marcelo Burlon.” 

ALL U GAVE ME WAS A BROKEN FART

BROKEN FART
I WANT IT BACK
BROKEN FART
I GOT IT BACK

CRY ME A NAVIGLIO

Leaving Milan is kind of like leaving a boy in that the only way to get over the pain of a breakup is by remembering all the shitty things that happened when y'all were together.

who's synched periods with me be honest

Now that I know that I'm leaving I'm finally allowing myself to admit to myself how much Italy blows. Like first of all people are so rude like the other day I went out and a waitress spilled a full glass of red wine all over my hair and my (faux) fur coat and my bag and my outfit and my shoes and I didn't even yell at her because I'm #civilized but she still made me pay full price and didn't even offer me a napkin or to cover my dry-cleaning bill? UGh. So today I went to get that dry cleaning done and the lady kept saying stuff like "I don't know what to do with this fabric so I can't guarantee that it won't get ruined" and I'm like "what do you mean you don't know" and she's like "well you cut off the care instructions" and I'm like "so" and she's like "I need them" and I'm like "how dare you say that to me." 

Secondly, my gym is basically hell on earth (or below earth because it's actually in a basement) because they don't have personal TVs for each set of equipment like first world countries do so instead they just turn up the [one] television set volume like way up and meanwhile turn the radio volume way up and meanwhile leave doors open to the aerobics classes (bc we don't have AC or pilates) so everyone can hear that music (JLO ft Pitt Bull) playing way up so the only way to even be able to listen to your own music or yourself thinking or yourself counting how many times you've pushed your thighs together with that leg exercise thingy is via just staying home. 

Thirdly the men here are terrible like Saturday I held that lecture for WIRED and all the grandpas were leaving the room probably because they've never heard a woman speak in public before.

Most of all, I'm tired of sounding like an extra from "The Godfather: Balkan Edition" whenever I order a pizza talk.