Tuesday, July 7, 2015



Tuesday, June 30, 2015

JUST THE TIP/ Just The Trailer

Hey y'all!!! 

I know three  many of you are desperately missing the extremely short-lived web series I began, called "Sugar and Tits" and I understand why, because it was brilliant and destined for greatness. HOWEVER, something HAPPENED right when I was setting up the lights for my fourth episode...I got a call from a producer in LA asking begging me to make my own TV show!!! Dream come true, right? ESPECIALLY considering that I didn't have sex with ANYBODY in order to get this call! (I didn't even get a boob job, despite the wishes of my mother-in-law). Anywhoo, a couple months ago I flew to Los Angeles, did some funny scenes on a blow up couch, in a blow up pool and with people on too much blow....and voila! I've got a TV show! Below you can see the trailer and stay tuned for more clips to come :)

PS: I'm shooting the rest of season one late July so if you or anyone else wanna stop by my set to sing a song or tell some jokes, drop me a line at: teahacic@gmail.com

Monday, April 6, 2015


Sugar and Tits make major lifestyle changes to make ends meet since their Sugar Daddy is dead (RIP). Watch to discover exclusive tips on how to become an unofficial brand ambassador, regular weed smoker and more!!!

Tuesday, March 31, 2015


Italians have a term for bitchy, frigid Italian women: 'Fighe Di Legno' or 'Wooden Pussies' (LOL, right?). I wrote about why we should all be FDL, for Vice Italy :)  Here's the English version:

What’s the worst thing you’ve ever been called?

Testa di cazzo? Cretina schifida? La regina delle Olgettine? It may be hard to choose. Insults are an Italian passtime! Throwing them around comes as naturally as offensive hand gestures in traffic. You shouldn’t take Italian insults personally or react to them. I’ve been told that, after being insulted by Italians. Still, while a girl can get used to being called ‘rincoglionita,’ she’ll never shake off ‘Figa di Legno’.

A few sites asked me to trash talk Italian women. Long past the clickbait trend, they hoped I could explain why they’re hated. They wanted the article so badly they threw themselves at me, like desperate sluts! I resisted, heroically. I didn’t want to alienate the only people who don’t hate-read my Italian articles. Besides, I wouldn’t know what to say, since it’s not true that they’re hated. (The women, I mean; there’s no question about my writing.) The only people who think Italian women ‘rompono le palle’ are Italian men, and that’s their own damn fault.

Everything became clear when I returned to Milan for fashion week. When I lived in Italy, I only thought of myself in relation to Italian men, and you know how that went . Now, as an objective observer and non-single person, I could sit back and see it: Eligible Italian Bachelors (25-55 y/o party promoters, web editors, tax lawyers, sandal designers, soap sculptors, football hooligans and gamblers) pick up foreign models and study abroad students, while Desirable Italian Ladies (18-35 y/o stylists, waitresses and [thin] food bloggers only, please) roll their eyes and post photos for foreign followers to get off on. (Some of these girls are dating the dudes picking up NABA students on the side, but we’ll get to that later.)

Between fashion shows , I begged old friends for gossip. The gays had juicy scandals to spill but my girlfriends could only lament. “Nothing happened this year. For months, a guy strung me along on Whatsapp after fucking me a few times…I couldn’t even rely on his emojis.” My straight male friends also complained. “I went out with an Italian girl recently and she immediately broke my balls. I prefer girls from London or Sweden or Asia. Here, they’re all fighe di legno.”

Why are Italian women SO difficult??? With age comes wisdom, and with wisdom comes the ability to realize I’m not an expert on an entire nation of people [anymore]. I asked for help online! Italian girls had a lot to say on this issue, because it’s been an issue for them since they could walk.

“The figa di legno is beautiful and always perfumed. A personal wipe is more likely to get into her pants than you are.  She lives in a big city, can wear heels or be at a rock concert-it's not her look but her ability to make you miserable. Is she the winner, the one able to control men, or is she just a hypocrite? Nobody knows. You want some advice? Get her drunk. All of them! The fdl won't even give up then. " Thanks, Maria Roberti, that was eloquent!

Online boys had thoughts they wished to keep anonymous, which is a shame, since the quotes are perfect for OKC. “If a girl is cool she can’t be a figa di legno. A girl from Bocconi is a figa di legno. She’s a rich loser. She comes from a religious background and is highly involved in the estabalishment and never had problems.” That’s interesting, coming from a Bocconi guy from a religious background who works for the establishment! *strokes chin hair*  

“A FDL is a beautiful girl, a 10/10. An ugly girl can’t be a FDL because she can’t get cock. She’ll take anything.” Really? I used to be quite unattractive and I certainly did turn down that one guy who asked to fart in my face!

“If a girl doesn’t fuck the fourth or fifth time, she’s a figa di legno.” You mean, the fourth or fifth time you sent dick pics? The fourth or fifth time you took her to a bar, ordered two shots of vodka, watched her drink one, revealed you ordered both for yourself and asked for six bucks back? Or do you mean after you invited her over to your house at midnight so she could give you head and you didn’t offer to call her a cab when you said you like sleeping alone? 

As the mens’ FDL definitions grew increasingly specific and bizarre, it became clear this isn’t about sex. This is about an ideal woman that doesn’t exist. Italian men expect the impossible from their women but yell ‘DEMANDING!’ as soon as a woman asks anything from them. It’s funny, because Italian girls don’t ask for much. In fact, they overlook a lot. Many don’t even expect you to be faithful. Many accept your infidelity as an unavoidable character flaw. They may ask more than an American-Croatian girl does, but that’s only because we’re just content to survive without diabetes or bombing! You know who the real rompi coglioni are, right?

Italian boys are raised in a culture where women are expected to focus all their effort on their kids, so sons grow up expecting any woman in their life to do the same for them. Meanwhile, daughters grow up knowing what’s coming for them. Even young girls know how Italian men are. They have fathers, brothers and schoolmates who are either sexist hypocrites or sympathizers.

“But, Italian men care about their women more than anyone else in the world! Do you see how many flowers men buy here?” That’s a real argument made by a successful editor I won’t name, for your sake. Respect isn’t the same thing as abstract adoration, couldn’t be farther from it. Anyway, they’re only buying flowers because they fucked up.

If I had grown up in Italy, I’d probably be a FDL and my life would have probably been easier for it. Italian women are onto something. We should all be fighe di legno!


1) Better Safe Than Sorry
You can’t imagine how many horrible men I have to be nice to just because of the abundance of naked pictures they have of me. I’m not embarrassed of my nudity but there was a period in which I was kind of chubby and had bad skin, on my butt. You aren’t free until you’re free to burn bridges.

2) Star Treatment
Chiara Ferragni just became the first ever blogger to get a Vogue cover, ever! I ran into her in Tribeca once—she was drenched in designer clothes that don’t even exist yet and had adoring fans running after her. Maybe the LESS you give to the world, the MORE it will reward you. 

3) Trendsetting
It’s very “in” to be slutty online. I think the new “in” is being slutty online and frigid IRL.

4) The Grass is Meaner on the Other Side
I was always the opposite of a FDL and I still didn’t win. Men still hated me. Do you know why? Because I was a ‘cagna’. Men will hate you regardless of your actions! You may as well have the upper hand when they do.

“It’s crazy how many slang words Italian has to criticize the sexual life of women: you can be either a figa di legno, cagna or a rizzacazzi. I found out about that term a few days ago, because a guy called me that for posting a pic with some cleavage. After he liked the picture, of course.” Claudia Pasolini, via Facebook.

5) Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Makeup Off!!!
The best part of being a FDL is constant re-branding. Figure out what everyone’s personal definition of FDL is and go with it! It doesn’t have to be true. You can actually have as much easy sex as you want with people you don’t care about, but if you’re interested in a guy, be a total nightmare! Demand unreasonable shit! (Like that he listens to your stories and asks you questions.)

6) Good Apple
Fige di legno come from trees, so it’s no surprise this metaphor makes so much sense:

Imagine all the things you could get done while  waiting for the ‘bravest boy’ to cimb to the top of your tree! You could finish writing that Empire erotic fan fiction or actually watch Empire.

7) Productivity
If you act too easy, you’ll end up taking care of a man and even the best ones have issues. Living alone means not having to clean up after anyone and even landing on Vice! Did you know Italian girls are going to school more and more successfully than italian boys? Did you know most Italian women say they’re more satisfied as working mothers than housewives? Women are owning classicly male roles so why can’t men touch ours? Italian men barely contribute to housework and childcare, even if their wives work full-time. Sure, this can also be said for America men,  Croatian men and probably whoever lives on that planet similar to Earth . All women face this problem but Italian women have started avoiding the problem by not letting the men have a chance to burden them in the first place.

8) No Regrets
I used to think being nice was the most important thing in the world. I didn’t like myself much for a while, so I did whatever I could to make others like me. I bent over backwards (literally and figuratively) in order to make myself as easy to get along with as possible, especially in male company. I’ve recently realized being nice isn’t that important at all. Being powerful is important and many times being nice is exactly the opposite of what you should do to get there. Girls do lots of things to avoid seeming ‘mean’ to boys. They let them tease them in school, harass them in bars, go further than they want to in bed or even fake orgasms. I wish I had been meaner to men. Not doing so is my only regret. The male ego is more fragile than ours but that doesn’t mean it’s more important.

Looking back on my past, writing a memoir nobody wants to publish, I saw that my insecurity drove me to let men hurt me and fige di legno do the exact opposite of that. Italian women, in general, do the opposite. And that’s cool.

Saturday, March 28, 2015


My latest nightlife column is live on Guest of a Guest! Some say you can never go home again--what about if you're a party girl? Find out HERE 

Wednesday, March 18, 2015


On the second episode of Sugar and Tits, the girls discuss their dreams, struggles and delusions with the help of their new sidekick, Winkle! #twogirlsonepup 

What are your dreams?? Why does freelancing suck ass???

Friday, March 13, 2015


Everyone who knows me knows I excel at minding other people's business giving advice so it's no surprise that I've got a new advice column: ALL TOMORROW'S PARTIES ! 

It's for an event site called Guest of a Guest--they show people where all the #exclusive parties in New York are and I'M helping people figure out what to do once they're there. Yes, anyone who knows me also knows I was a mess party girl for many years so I've got loads of experience to gift those less willing to figure shit out the painfully embarrassing way.

Anyway! Here's the FIRST and SECOND column! I can't post them here because then the site won't get as many page views and I won't get as much cash, ya dig?? Click away if you love mee!!!


Wednesday, March 11, 2015


You've probably noticed my sick new banner and you're probably wondering who made it for me and I am going to tell you!!

Elena Ksav is her name and here's ur Q&A:

Where are you from?

I'm from Venezuela but I moved to Italy 2 years ago.

What do you do? 

I'm currently attending high school, specifically an art school.

What is your dream? 

I want to be a musician, and maybe a fashion/portrait photographer. 

What is your nightmare?

I think going back to Venezuela. We have serious political and economic problems. I grew up with a different mindset from that of the people from my country, I miss it but I think that moving was the best thing that could happen to my life so far.

Which pop star would you most like to steal from? 

MØ, I love everything about her.

What's your favorite song to cry to? 

I usually avoid listening to sad songs except when I love them musically, like California Daze by Peace or British Legion by Kasabian.

Which food makes your stomach hurt but you eat it anyway? 

Four cheese pizza. I sacrifice my stomach every time I order it.

When did you discover your gift for making collages?

When I still used Tumblr and used to make Kasabian collages when I was a fangirl. Then improved my skills using the school's computers to avoid tasks lol

Which animal do you most relate to?

A sloth. I'm 24/7 done and tired because of school. 

Here is her Facebook  and her instagram :)

Thanks for the banner girl !!!

Monday, March 9, 2015

Introducing Sugar & Tits !

Sugar and Tits are two girls trying to make it in the big Titty City. One is an Instagram famous blogger and the other is a keyboardist and internet activist! Together, they chase fame and just make rent with the help of their Serbian Sugar Daddy, who may just be a living accumulation of all the boogers thrown behind the couch. Stay tuned for more episodes by subscribing to my channel!

Saturday, March 7, 2015


I’ve aged five years in five days. See below! On the left, there’s a picture of me on the first night of Milan Fashion Week and on the right, the last. What happened in between? Where did the left girl’s spark go? Did she trade her eyebrow arches in for a knockoff Versace purse? I wish...it’s much worse!


I like my men like I like my postal service: hard to get! Or in other words, Italian. No offense here; they take pride in their slow strides, driving women mad. It’s charming at a bar but unbearable when waiting on fashion week invitations.  Missing almost all of the Milanese catwalks was devastating. It was Berlusconi’s mistake to make organization a lesser priority than escorts and mine to assume I’d be on any lists. “The paper inviti and guest list are diversi, signora.” “It’s signorina!!!”

As one who used to hold the clipboard at Milanese fashion events, I can attest they are only there to make others feel bad. Was being rejected now my punishment for the years I spent doodling dicks around fake names and shaking my head at strangers?

First, I was refused entry into Moschino, so I took my friend’s underwear invite and wore it over my pants for the night. I told everyone at Rocket Club that I watched the show from front row, but they didn’t hear me, since SimonMilner was DJing and an ego-maniac Hooligan aka my Husband was on lights. Together, they induced chic seizures. I walked home at three, hoping for better luck with Versace.


The next night I wore a suffocating Versus dress to the Versace show, hoping Donatella would see and invite me upstairs for coffee. What a waste of a broken rib! I was empty-handed again and wasn’t on the list, either. To point out how bad I felt, I’ll say the highlight of that hour curbside was watching Chiara Ferragni walk by. If you don’t know her, I won’t tell you who she is. That way, you can remain one the few who won’t have to scratch their heads, asking WHY? Speaking of questions, I was interviewed on Radio Popolare by Marta Stella that night! I’ve become popular in Milan ever since leaving Milan. I appreciate the attention now, but why did nobody care when I lived there? Where were all you supporters when I was sitting alone at bars every night, crying into flat wine? If you’re a fan of my work, why didn’t it go viral??? I feel like an artist who starved to death, watching their paintings become priceless from hell.


Did you see what happened at Prada? I didn’t! The only lining I saw were silver linings in my rainclouds. I figured, if I can’t get into the shows, I’ll make a diary about it! “So far, I’ve missed Moschino, Prada and Versace. Next, I’m missing Cavalli, Pucci, Gucci and many more! Stay tuned to get the inside look at being a fashion outsider.” I made a quick reject video in front of Cavalli. I can’t tell you about the runway, but the guests outside were all bare legs, studded stilettos, zebra print manis, tanned leather faces. I didn’t feel so bad about missing that one. Even a butterfly camped outside the show was like, “nah.”

If you think about it, the group of people who go to shows and don’t make it inside are much more exclusive than those who do.  Reporting my rejections is a brilliant idea, I thought! Maybe I’ll push my career into Vine-famous territory! Will I get free makeup? Get paid to host parties in Vegas? Make my dead grandpa proud? Before I could find out, someone did their job (a foreigner?) and I got my Pucci and Marni invites. Ok, my genius plan was out of the question, but at least I could watch gorgeous models strut all over my dreams. 

Contemporary fashion is missing fantasy. Street wear is cool but does it make you dream? If a dress doesn’t inspire you to picture yourself winning an Oscar or getting public revenge on an ex-boyfriend, is it even worth seeing? Emilio Pucci is the epitome of Xtreme Italian fashion, and that says a lot.  Pucci always adorned the sexiest, most outrageous celebrities. The brand is daring, loud and worthy of a daydream.

So, who will wear the A/W 2015 collection? Telling by the velvet, slits, sheer silk and stars, it’s perfect for vampire brides on their way to a honeymoon. Or, a political fortune teller? What about God’s mistress, or God herself? (Lindsay Lohan or Paz De La Huerta). A rock star could definitely be caught on a drug run in one of the suits. Full flared pants and sleeves, the seventies are calling for reformed hippies, too! I’m not saying anyone can wear this stuff; just anyone who wants to be someone so hard it becomes a thing they can’t escape even if they want to. If you don’t have a dream yet, don’t fret. Just figure out what suits your hips best and the rest will fall into place eventually. If the Italian post can pull through, so can you!

That’s a good Tweet, no? I went to a café for Wifi. There, I ran into an old buddy. Good old James Goldstein! We're good friends, yes. He said he didn't remember me, not even that time I interviewed him last fall, so I laughed and laughed at the joke! Good old James...he said he was just stopping in for a snack and I asked why he's waiting to order? You shouldn't pay, I said. You see, I'm sitting in someone's old spot, with their aperitivo plate still full of free food, nobody even noticed! Not even when I ate half! He didn't want to join me. Some people truly don't understand a good deal! Haha! Good old James. I miss him already.


Marni was the only other brand to get me in and I wrote about it HERE . My favorite part of the show was before the show, when I got to creep on models smoking in the window.

I didn’t know that as I was creeping on them, the Sartorialist was creeping on me

There's a new party in town called TOM. I got into a fight with an old man there. Well, my man had to fight him for me. OK, they didn’t actually fight, because hitting the elderly may send you to prison. What happened was this ancient dude I know through ex-friends walked up to me and said some real nasty crap and I started crying, mostly because my feet hurt but also because it reminded me of the shitty company I used to keep out of extreme loneliness and despair. Desperate times call for dumbass dudes! Anyway my boi trash talked him and the bouncer split them up and we left very dramatically, which was good for my personal brand. After, I saw the Malibu 1992 presentation, which was fun because I got to pretend I was one of the models for like a second.

The designer Dorian used to work for Plastic, where everyone went that night. The #legendary club has been around since before your parents even boned each other. It’s the type of spot you’d see a retired mobster and fashion school student making fun of Stefano Gabbana together. Any celebrity, musician, artist or drug dealer passing through town stops there. It was a second home to me, though I’ve gotten kicked out many times. After paying off the county for over ten years and putting off the inevitable, they had to change locations last year, which killed the magic. But, there are still amazing DJs and bowls full of chips! I stayed until closing  at six, ate late night gluten and told all my enemies that I love them. I do love them, though.


As a reward for defending my honor at TOM, I took my husband shopping with his money. We went to Frip and I sat watching him change for five million minutes. I passed the time by taking selfies and writing notes on my phone. During that time, someone lifted my purse, with our keys, his phone, our cards, my makeup (!!!) and last few tampons in it. (Thank god there were still no invites inside, right?) We spent the day panicking, breaking into our air bnb, begging friends to buy us dinner and also lend us money. That evening, the purse was found at the police station, with everything still inside. Maybe the robber was disappointed by the condition of my vintage Gucci.  

Fashion began in Italy and that’s where it will stay. All the biggest brands were born here and they will survive here for as long as they can evade taxes. Though I regret not seeing the new fashions, I FELT them everywhere. The bakers at the pasticceria were wearing thigh-high latex boots behind the counter, the aristocratic pharmacists were handing out pills with embellished gloves! (You've got to stock up on Aulin when you're there, it's like over the counter Oxy.) The tram drivers had fur back pockets to keep their butts from getting sore. I’m not sure what pick-pockets wear because they were too fast to see, gone in a flash like skinny pants will be.