No-Chella, No-Problems

This year I made the responsible and conscious decision not to attend Coachella. At first it was because my digestive system couldn’t weather a weekend of eating Spicy Pie and for the price of accommodations and artist passes, we could buy an ocean view condo. Also, my people did enough time wandering the fucking desert.

Last year I attended and had 4 mental breakdowns, gained 6 pounds and wore a metal head wreath that I still haven’t forgiven myself for. With every peace sign, crop top and snapchat of trust fund babies pretending to be SuPeR into LCD Soundsystem a bit of my soul dies and reaffirmed my decision to sit this year out. Is it fun? Duh. Does it bring out the worst in people? Yes (please see below).

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People tend to go all Silverlake at Coachella. Bitches (and bros) pretend to know and love obscure bands, dress differently, Nashville filter themselves till their fucking phalanges bleed and all while professing that this weekend “changed their lives”. Shut the fuck up Vanessa Hudgens. It’s a music festival. It’s fun as fuck I get it. But if your life epiphany occurs next to a blow-up neon caterpillar it’s time to get your head out of the asshole you shoved molly inside of and grow the fuck up. I can’t with these people. Maybe the floral crowns and chokers are cutting of blood circulation to the brain?

Also, everyone is on drugs. “Nuh-uh Jackie, I didn’t do drugs! I am there for the music.” Go fuck yourself, EVERYONE IS ON DRUGS. I have no problem with this. I am not a drug person but I hold no judgment to those more free spirited than I. For me it’s the idea of these bitches in body chains shoving vials of cocaine up their vaginas like the Mexican Cartel that concerns but also intrigues me.

Then there are the people who bring their fucking kids. So you’ll spend hundreds of dollars on a ticket (I’m assuming general admission) but can’t drop $40 for a fucking babysitter? You’re baby is getting hot boxed ma’am. I strongly believe there should be a Child Protective Services booth right next to the Heineken Beer Garden. “Little Timmy, finish up your bottle, Diplo is about to start!” No, just no.

Beyond all of this, there is a serious social stratification (big word) that sets the mood as separate but definitely not equal. I’m talking about General Admission, VIP and Artist. The harsh truth is, I would never engage in sexual activity with anybody in General Admission. Mostly because there is a big chance they are sleeping in a fucking tent and shitting in a port-a-potty. VIP allots you shitting in a porcelain throne and you don’t have the same Auschwitz level security entrance. Artist passes are ideal if you want to be escorted in a fucking golf cart and drunkenly sway next to fucking Rihanna. It’s called the Coachella Caste System… one day we will read about this in our grandchildren’s textbooks.

As bitches everywhere comedown from their post-Coachella commas just remember it’s not you, it’s your head wreath. See you next year Coachella.

Victoria’s Secret Show

 

The truth is, it’s super hard to articulate my feelings about the Victoria Secret Fashion Show without sounding like a bitter, diabetic, troll. In theory (and some people’s reality) the opportunity to even aesthetically qualify to strut down a runway in a jewel encrusted vagina cloth with a bouncy blowdry and a 2 foot long thigh gap is super flattering. God knows, no one is asking me. But we all have to recognize that women gathering around the television to watch these female specimens in a fashion show (where you can’t actually purchase the “fashions”) is ridiculous.

Firstly, everyone calm the fuck down. This isn’t going to be some proclamation of feminism just stating the obvious. My absolute favorite part of watching the Victoria’s Secret Show is watching the behind the scene clips of the models being “so goofy and relatable”. Supermodels, they’re just like us. Except better looking and hungry. Taking selfies, lip syncing, being bff with all the other models. I wan’t just one supermodel to look into camera and say “I love cocaine, hate everyone here, have only eaten ice chips and an occasional Splenda packet #cheatday, fuck off.” But NO! Being an angel is all giggles, cheap body spray, glitter and acrylic underwear.

When the angels are not prancing around in pink robes and dancing backstage, they are also getting supes sentimental. Martin Luther King had a dream… and so did Kendall Jenner and Gigi Hadid. Even if being a supermodel is your “lifelong dream” how can anyone even rationalize saying that out loud. My dream is to have like 18 houses, more jewelry than Jaja Gibore and bi-quarterly tapeworm so I can stay thin sans exercise but for social decency sake, I am not going to fucking admit that. I’d make some shit up like “I just want to be a strong voice for my generation” or like “help needy children and rescue stray cats in Somalia”. No thanks. Just lie.

My second favorite thing about the VS Fashion Show is the obvious angels that were simply hired to comply with some racial quota. Like the overly spirited Asian girl who never quite nailed her end of the runway pose. Are you winking, are you kissy facing, having a cerebral palsy situation? Poor girl. I am going to go on a limb and assume that 43% of these bitches don’t even speak English.  So you really can’t blame the girls for awkwardly lip syncing to all the performers music. They could be singing Hitler’s manifesto and they would have no fucking idea because they are just PeRkY aS fUcK.

The 24 hours after the show is what I like to refer to as Basic Bitch Dooms Day. Everyone complains how they never want to eat again, vow to get an ass like Adriana Lima or celebrate their “normalness” by posting pictures of themselves eating a pizza in rebellion. This is fucking stupid. Shut the fuck up. I get the attempt at irony but it’s as sad and redundant. 

Also, poor Ellie Goulding, here she is fully clothed singing her little heart out and is background blur to some Scandinavian amazon with big pink balloons taped to her ass slow-mo blowing kisses to a camera man with a boner. Granted, I would sell my sister to a brothel for abs like Behati Prinsloo but like… it’s just never going to happen and I am okay with that. These woman are obviously beautiful and I live for embellishment so I get the allure, but let’s all live and let live.

Whatever your feelings are post-show just remember that we live in a world where Facetune is $1.99, Spanx are crotchless, lighting is everything and Victoria’s lingerie is made of fucking polyester… that bitch.

Things I Am Bye Felicia-ing

Hiking – It’s not that I dislike nature, I actually quite enjoy it. Granted, I can think of 72 things I enjoy MORE than general foliage. My issue currently is the Instagram rape my pupils suffer daily with the overflux photos of bitches hiking. First came the juices, then came the acai bowls, now it’s the Simba in the Lion King basic ass hiking picture. Congratulations, you climbed a big pile of dirt at 6am and burned 650 calories before dawn. I stayed horizontal, watched Kathie Lee and Hoda and lessened my chances of getting Lyme disease or bitten by a snake. Who is the real winner here?

Hilary Duffs Music Career – I mean… this was cute when she had her old teeth, now it’s time to give up. Some people say you should never give up on your dreams. I am not one of those people… if things don’t come to fruition after a solid 10 tries, pursue elsewhere. Find a new dream. Become a freelance jeweler or take up welding. I love you Hilary, always have and always will but this seems So Yesterday.

Frappucinos – Apparently there are 76 new flavors. A cotton candy frappucino? What kind of sick ass bitch would order something like that? I have a few new flavor suggestions for you Starbucks, these are on the house: Diabetic Dreamin, MuffinTop Mocha, Die Alone & Cream. Listen, I can wrap my head around liquid calories that are alcoholic. But a buzz-free beverage that is nearly 50% of your suggested calorie intake is gross.

FOMO – Fuck fomo. If I hear one more bitch whine about having FOMO, I am going to hurl my body through a window, find the largest shard of glass and engrave tic tac toe boards into my own flesh until I bleed out. How do I put this gently? YOU SOUND LIKE A MENTALLY UNSTABLE, INSECURE, WHINEY DUMBASS. I feel better. You say FOMO, I say Lexapro. Wah wah, get over it. Anyone with 1/7 of a brain knows you can never judge a party by it’s pictures… a cluster of girls “candidly” huddled on a patio laughing with an aggressive X-Pro filter probably means they were only serving Svedka with store brand soda (no garnishes) and the party sucked ass – no one takes pictures when they are having shitloads of fun, think about it.

High-Low Hemlines – I shouldn’t have to explain this… in fact I won’t.

Have an amazing weekend. See you on the other side of my menstrual cycle when I am being a less angry bitter old troll.

WiNTeR bReAk 2014

Oh em gee. This is the longest I have gone without posting. I am sorry for going MIA but I am being basic as fuck and enjoying this lovely holiday season. I feel like I have become wildly basic in the past couple of weeks and I am not proud. By 2015 I may be driving a white Jetta, wearing a Michael Kors watch, upgrading my Emoji selections and binge watching Pretty Little Liars with a froyo. Just kidding, that’s disgusting.

I’ve taken this time off to roast chestnuts by the open fire, drink eggnog and contemplate the age old question, was Mary really a virgin or just hit the Jesus juice too hard one night, fucked a sheep herder, rode a camel back to her pad and figured it would be a better story to say God knocked her up? Who could blame her? I’d do the same fucking thing. Although I’d rather have the illegitimate father of my bastard be more financially stable but I digress.

Currently I am in San Francisco on vacation and enjoying the sights and plentiful Asians. I will be back and bitchier than ever next week, until then follow me on my pursuit of holiday cheer on Twitter and Instagram @jackieschimmel (I lost 800 followers and this bitch is THIRSTY)

Tag me, tweet me if you wanna reach me bitches. Yes that was a Kim Possible reference and yes I am embarrassed.

#wInTeRbrEaK2014