bitch

Gilded Dildo’s by Gwyneth.

Some people find joy in the sound of a child’s laughter, the sight of a baby bird learning to fly or the smell of a freshly baked apple pie. I find all life’s satisfaction within the release of a Goop gift guide. Just when you think… “Hmmm… maybe GP is just like one of us?” She assures our tax bracket and us that indeed she is not.

The Goop newsletter is my main source of cardiovascular exercise. I sweat, I laugh, I ponder all life’s unanswered questions “are truffles mushrooms or chocolates?” and then I have a good cry and blow my nose into $5 dollar bills.

Much to my dismay, this week Goop delighted us with a Sex Toy Guide. So EdGy! After waiting in line at the supermarket, perusing tabloids and reading headline after headline with GP saying, “I am not a prude!” (only someone prude as a fucking Duggar sister would say that) I abandoned my shopping cart and beelined to my nearest computer.

I am super emotionally invested in these Goop gift guides because I live with the eternal hope that one day she is going to include a fucking Mossimo tunic from Target or an IKEA throw pillow. Not that I would purchase either but at least I am concerned with my relatability factor.

Gwyneth, you have truly outdone yourself. What a minx. Don’t let the macrobiotic diet, personal shaman and truffle oil fountain fool you. Kill me.

Amidst the various $400 nipple clamps, $540 leather whip and the bargain $20 anal beads, Gwyneth Paltrow (Heidi Fleiss) also recommends a $15,000 24-karat gold dildo… THERE she is!

Okay. Firstly, I need a list of all people who own this device and it’s manufacturers because they all need to go find a (tall) roof and jump off of it.

If someone is shoving $15,000 up his or her orifices it better cure cervical cancer or own a private plane. How do you keep the gilded dildo clean? Take it to a jeweler? Like next time you are at the mall, just pop into Zale’s and ask for a quick polish while you go wait at the food court eating Hot Dog on a Stick? Do you know how many corn dog popsicles you could buy for $15,000? AND they are the same shape. Connect the dots bitches… I am just sayin.

Gwynny, I admire your complete disregard for self awareness. Poor people are no fun and give shitty birthday gifts. Never change, stay goopy and hopefully the gold plated dildo doesn’t turn you labia green.

Love always,

Jackie Schimmel

Dear DJ James Kennedy (Part Duex)

Dear DJ James Kennedy,

Hey girl… it’s me, Jackie. Again. Hope you’re doing well. Just kidding, you are literally the worst. Before I begin my second attempt at contact, I would like to clarify that your hAtErZ are not your MoTivaTeRz because you are a fucking busboy at Sur. Also if you are reading this and telling yourself that shit like this makes you relevant, please know it doesn’t… I am simply low on material and love an easy target that is not intelligent enough to defend themselves and proudly displays their douche-ness to an extent that I am able to comment on it without repercussions.

As a journalist I find it my civil duty to make contact with you. Like Carrie Mathison risked her and Brody’s livelihood by hunting Abu Nazir and Diane Sawyer ventured to the Middle East for a nationally publicized sit down with Sadam Hussein, I too am reaching out to sit down face to face and go over some of your questionable behavior. My problem is not the fact that you dress like Kate Moss, think you are headlining Coachella (#saharatent) because you can make playlists on Spotify OR the derogatory way you speak to and about women. It’s your inability to acknowledge what an asshole you are. Perspective is everything… did I just give you your album name?

From one slender physiqued young lady to another, help me, help you, help myself, help the world, you’re the help. You is not kind, you is not smart, you is not important. I wish Octavia Spencer delivered a shit pie to your shared apartment. When you told Lisa that you are responsible for her burgeoning business at Pump, I almost vomited. Just because you have a free 30-day trial of Garage Band, a disappointing H&M blazer and a Yelp profile does not mean you are Calvin Harris. “You can read the yelp reviews, they are waiting for a cd.” I literally want to get this tattooed on my forehead. And then stab myself in the forehead.

I understand that you were probably very perplexed upon learning that you inadvertently ate another mans ass… the true shame is that he was a football player and not LA Reid or someone that could get you an internship at a record label. Music executives need their dishes cleaned too, share your gifts James.

Sometimes I think I am being too hard on you James. But then you start speaking and I feel complete permission and validation in my words. Please know you have an invitation to discuss our issues face to face perhaps over some mini bottles of Seagrams. Dance like no ones watching, rap like no ones listening and eat ass like you have never been hurt.

Love always,

Jackie

Eff 2016

Most people say the Holidays are the season of love, joy and spirit. If there is ever a part of my year that makes me hate everyone and everything it’s this very time. Something about a festive acrylic nail, caramel popcorn, and the misuse of sequins compasses the opposite effect for me.

So we made it through Hanukkah/Christmas. I only had to acquire like 4 gift receipts, an art of which I have mastered … for distant relatives a simple “I love this discounted Warm Vanilla Sugar bath set that will make me smell like I’m from a broken home in Riverside – but I am allergic to jojoba oil” always does the trick.

After my exchanges are made, I have digested the 542 latkes impregnating me AND made a quick visit to my therapist to work through a serious altercation with my neighbor who has yet to take down her glittered Jack-o-lanterns from Halloween AND decided to put both a nativity scene and a fucking LIGHT UP REINDEER on our communal grass area (I hope you read this, I hate you so much) – New Years was lurking.

I have and always will have a serious distaste for New Years.  New Years is a real dick because it kickstarts this faux soul searching that I just can’t with. You should know that with every polyblend bandage dress, plagiarized inspirational quote and 2015 collage a part of my soul dies. If you suck, your year is going to suck. That’s a bit harsh, medical traumas excluded – that shit isn’t your fault. But honestly, save your inspirational quotes for a sad plank of wood to hang in your kitchen right next to your bowl of potpourri (horrible).

People who are really into New Years Eve are the same people that have a default picture that was taken 6 years ago and try to consign their Juicy sweatpants because they “still have value”. For the record, I chopped up my Juicy tracksuits over a decade ago and made the terrycloth wardrobe travesty into rags that I use when I bleach my bathtub and toilets.

To be honest, I still think of years in terms of school years so the pomp and celebratory nature of bringing in the New Year is totally lost on me. Firstly, I had a great year so I am not looking to entirely re-jig my format. Granted, I could work on some type of public filtering system (like not using the adjective “cunty” with strangers) and it wouldn’t kill me to try and be more social… I’m fucking kidding, my anti-social nature is my favorite thing about myself #neverchange.

Here’s the truth, some people wake up everyday and give it 100% and I prefer to hover at an attainable 83% so by the time January 1st rolls around I feel content in my slightly above average functionality. Set the bar low, and how far you can go!

Another thing that I will never understand is people who let a manufactured holiday initiate a Ramona Singer inspired renewal. People start issuing insincere apologies and faux forgiveness so they can bust into 2016 tOteZ dRaMz FrEe, Korbel in hand. Some pseudo religious life ruiner said that forgiveness is unconditional… only assholes say shit like that. Here’s an idea … don’t fuck up badly enough that people WON’T forgive you. If someone chooses not to forgive you, it’s probably still your fault.

I am not proud of all my actions this year, back in October I had a 3 week klepto stint at CVS. It’s not my fault if they have a malfunctioning self checkout system and a Sally Hansen Quick Dry nail polish slips into my shopping bag. And maybe some travel sized deep conditioner. But I am not apologizing and in return don’t expect forgiveness from the Beauty Department Supervisor.

So as we embrace 2016 with open arms, abused livers and as you dust off your Bebe dress and return it to it’s garment bag (NOT) in the back of your closet, just remember if you were an asshole in 2015, you will probably still be an asshole in 2016. Happy New Year.

Goop Gift Guide 2015

There are times when I really start to question humanity and spiritual justice in this world. But just when my faith has almost dissipated the universe throws me a bone and I can see the light once again. Normally these spiritual awakenings come to me in the form of a Goop Gift Guide. Nothing and I repeat NOTHING gets my blood boiling, my heart bursting and my palms sweating like the release of a super Goopy curated list of things that nobody could or should have.

Like not that I am some fucking humanitarian but there are kids starving and carrying bowls of rice on their head somewhere, I am pretty sure we should throw some cash their way before spending $6,000 on a fucking caviar set. Ladies and gentleman, I am proud to present you the 2015 Goop Holiday Gift Guide (this is NOT a drill, this is 100% real).

ROLEX WATCH DAYTONA BLUE $14,968.94Because there is nothing radder than a custom, neon-blue watch” I can think of something radder Gwyneth, it’s called social awareness and likeability. Also thank you for being so accurate with the pricing. God forbid you round up the number six cents. Every penny counts!

THE ROSEWOOD HANDLE TRUFFLE SLICER $40If you own a truffle slicer…” I applaud Gwyneth for suggesting a gift under $12,000. However, I am not sure this is an a appropriate stocking stuffer.

CEDES MILANO TOOTHPASTE SQUEEZER $244Better than a chip clip!” Okay now I am starting to get angry. A mother fucking toothpaste squeezer? I am pretty sure it makes more sense to buy an economy sized supply of Crest at Costco then invest in a machine to squeeze out every last morsel of toothpaste. I would put my life on it that this bitch doesn’t own a fucking chip clip.

HERMES MAH-JONG SET ABOUT $46,000There’s a waiting list” I would like a copy of that waiting list. This is actually revolting. I adore the casual price estimates, Gwenyth is just like at the office slicing truffles and all “It’s about $46,000 not entirely sure. Whatevs. Brb gotta go get Apple her new gold-plated mechanical pencils #singlemother.”

SENNHEISER ORPHEUS HEADPHONES $55,000 “Because some audiophiles really do need $55,000 headphones” Like a recording of people gagging while reading this list? Even the way she spells “audiophiles” makes me want to die. I want to take the truffle slicer from above and slice my retinas at this point because it is all too much to handle.

18K GOLD DUMBELLS $125,000Speechless” Go fuck yourself.

WORLD VIEW EXPLORATION AT THE EDGE OF SPACE $90,000We want it.” Ironically this is still a teacher’s salary less than the fucking solid gold dumbells. “Happy Hanukkah Aunt Jodie! This year instead of the usual Target giftcard I am sending you to the edge of space. Have fun! XO, Jackie”

ULYSSES TIER STANDARD SURVIVAL KIT $12,500Give life, everything you need for a full two weeks.” How woodsy of you Gwyneth. What the hell is in the kit? Tracy Anderson? Hermes china? Preserved Foie Gras? I’d prefer the cash k thanks.

Tis the season to be Goopy. Fa la la la la, la la la VOM.

Dear Annoying Couples

I am not nearly as bitter as I make myself out to be. Granted, I self admittedly do NOT think all children or beautiful, don’t get weepy at leaves changing colors and would rather shoot myself in the asshole than watch a Nicholas Sparks movie marathon. I can however, get a wee bit mushy when it comes to love. I am cringing even as I TYPE that last sentence. The beauty of dating serial egomaniacs is that when an amazing man comes around you have the right to get a little gooey (internally). This is a very slippery slope for a closeted basic bitch like myself to navigate but once you find proper footing along with your social decency, it’s fairly easy to conclude that those feelings are reserved for you and your partner. Consider this a very passionate and strongly worded letters to people (both male and female) who feel it necessary to annoyingly publish intimate photo’s and declarations of love on social media.

We all know the couple… 18 hours can’t go by without a fucking collage, song lyric, gag-worthy Facebook comment or incredibly awkward photo of your significant other sleeping. PDA on social media is like a bacon wrapped street hot dog… sporadically it can be enjoyable and joyous (especially under the influence of alcohol) but on a daily basis it makes you sick, fat and remorseful.

Here is the issue, while you think you are solely promoting your happiness I would dare to say that doth protest too much. I understand a scattered moment of weakness where you want to scream your undying love at the rooftops, I have been there. What I cannot understand or support are the couples that unconsentually rape my retinas with their ridiculously cheesy and inauthentic declarations of love on social media.

It is always the couples that have either broken up 52 times OR are on the verge that throws a fucking non-milestone Flipagram slideshow into the mix. It’s a very passive aggressive plea to publicly reminisce on better times and quite frankly makes me want to take a shower with a blow dryer. OMG HE BOUGHT YOU A TEDDY BEAR AND SENT YOU A SAD BOUQUET OF CARNATIONS? I literally don’t give a fuck and no one else does either.

If you are a bitch posting articles from Elite Daily like “Why Highschool Sweethearts Make The Best Life Partners” just kill yourself. HOW REVOLUTIONARY. So because some freelance writer suggests that being penetrated by the same person who sat next to you in Geometry before you got your braces off is the best foundation for a life of fidelity and comfort, then you should totes do it. Just know there is a flattering article for EVERYONE and just because it’s applicable doesn’t make it true or worth sharing. OmG yOu GuYs, look aT oUr HiS aNd HeR XmAs sWEaTerS! STAB ME IN THE FOREHEAD PLEASE.

No one cares. NO one cares. NOT ONE PERSON BESIDES YOU FUCKING CARES, NOT AT ALL. You are annoying the fuck out of everyone who knows you and it’s self indulgent and delusional to think anyone besides you two sappy assholes need to be privy your intimate moments.

Here’s the harsh truth… when people are TRULY enjoying themselves, finding a steady handed Asian to capture their loving embrace is the LAST THING on their brain. Love is a many splendid thing, love lifts us up where we belong, but daily declarations of such are disingenuous and WRONG. How’s that for a poem…

Love you. Mean it.

Obitchuary

This is a new weekly post where things that are irritating me come to die. They may be resurrected a la Jesus Christ at a latter time, but in this very instance I wholeheartedly stand by my personal decision to pull the metaphorical plug if you will.

Rosé I fucking love rosé. Not some gross shit from a bag, box or bottle of 2 Buck Chuck #sulfites. I am talking REAL rosé. Without emulating Gwyneth Paltrow, real rosé is from Provence and doesn’t leave you with red rashy rosacea face like other cheap shit. As much as it pains me to say, rosé season is over. The good news is that once rosé season is over, so is bikini season so it’s time to let yourself go again. Insulate for the winter, eat a pizza, have a beer.

The Bing Bang Theory Okay. Does anyone ACTUALLY think this shit is funny? Jimmy Nuetron called and wants his graphic designer back. Watching actors in mock turtlenecks playing “nerds” while being paid a million dollars an episode seems exploitive to my intelligence. LAUGH TRACKS MAKE ME SO UNCOMFORTABLE. I can’t, I haven’t, I won’t. Ever. (But I really love Kaley Cuoco.. be friends with me?)

Yeezy x Adidas  If Jodie Sawyer from Center Stage gained 100 lbs and ended up being severely depressed and admitted to a mental institution, then whilst in solitary confinement found a stray pencil and started sketching fat binding androgynous dancewear as a solemn creative outlet – you would have Kanye’s fall collection. It’s sad, it’s manic, it’s fat binding and it’s a camel toe nightmare. These are not clothes, these are mesh full body condoms.

Paris Shit Paris is the most beautiful city in the world. I love the rude people, I love the food, I love almost everything about it… except the memorabilia. If you walk into a bitches house and she has 3 or more home décor items with a Parisian theme… grab your shit and head for the hills. When I see someone with a black and white picture of an Eiffel Tower I instantly think #daddydrama and/or Lexapro. I also hate people who caption their Instagram posts with things like “j’adore” or “je’taime”… because it’s “je’stupid”. Makes me want to punch myself in the trachea and drown myself in the Seine after engorging myself with a wheel of local brie.

Faux Senior-Citizen Hair Maybe I am just jealous that my mane doesn’t have the flexibility to change colors without deep reconstructive treatments. My hair is the blend of a pipe cleaner and a dead weed. There is not enough frizz serum and moisture masks in the world to allow me to casually die my hair grey. I will admit, I had some pink extensions put in after a run-in with Lisa Vanderpump, but shortly realized I was not pulling that shit off. So essentially I drank the kool-aid and then dipped my head in it. Why the fuck would anyone want to voluntarily look geriatric? Jamie Lee Curtis called and wants her look back.

Rest in peace.

J Law & A Schum Are Writing a Movie

I hate people who awkwardly love a celebrity they have never met solely based on their public persona. I realize this makes me a major hypocrite because I would give away all of my organs to attend just ONE themed dinner at Vicki Gunvalsons house. White girls love three things indefinitely; iced coffee, Sex and The City and celebrity bffs. Bitches everywhere lost their box bleached MINDS when photos surfaced of Jennifer Lawrence and Amy Schumer vacationing together.

OMFG. People in the same industry hanging out together? Mind blown. Now I sound like a cynical asshole. I mean obviously deep down I wish I was the third blonde on the back of that jet ski or after a digestively succesful week, I could have replaced JLAW on the top of that pyramid. God knows that would never happen, I don’t poo on vacation. Anyways, word just came out that now the duo is writing a fucking movie together. This makes me nervous for a plethora of reasons.

Firstly, nothing breeds mediocrity like a doting friend. Some celebrities like to surround themselves with “yes people” which makes sense since most of their crew is on payroll. Whoever gave the movie “Tammy” written by Melissa McCarthy the green light should actually be fired and then shot. Secondly, mixing business with friendship is always a bad idea. You shouldn’t shit where you go to watch The Bachelorette… does that make any sense at all? Thirdly, I will probably get nailed for saying this but… I didn’t think Trainwreck was funny. It felt like a sad rip off of 12 different romantic comedies and was dark in an uninspiring way that added no depth to the plotline. I am not saying I could write anything better but I am allowed to be a judgemental coward through my computer screen #troll.

Just because you CAN do something, doesn’t mean you SHOULD. Like Sarah Jessica Parker for example… have you seen her shoe collection? If kitten heels and every fabric swatch from Chicos had dirty unprotected sex, there you’d have it. Or Hilary Duff’s music career revival. It wasn’t working for Lizzie and it isn’t working for you. Like just come out with a line for Macy’s and call it a fucking day. I secretly hope their movie is amazing because #girlpower and I end up feeling like a bitter old bitch but after “Tammy” I need to protect myself. Jen and Amy, I wish you the best of luck on your endeavor and will be awaiting my invite to the next tropical girls trip, metamucil in tow. Love you.

bff

The Return of Thirsty Thursday

I would try and write a quippy intro for this but I am still at a loss of words, so instead I will use a plagiarized movie quote…

“It’s a great thing when you realize you still have the ability to surprise yourself. It makes you wonder what else you are capable of…”

Do the right thing… @jackieschimmel

Dance Like No One’s Watching

On this weeks podcast, I bravely took listener calls and showcased absolutely terrible advice devoid of any wisdom. The result is one of my proudest moments and very favorite podcasts, enjoy and I apologize in advance…

Who Is Jesus Christo?

Anyone who knows me personally can attest to the fact that I have the worst flying luck of all time. For the majority of you who only know me through the Internet, let me give a brief and 100% true record of my in-flight history.

In 2003, a Dutch woman physically assaulted me on my way to a family trip to Hawaii. My cousin and I sat behind her and may have thought it was funny to kick her seat every time she fell asleep or break out into song whilst watching Spice World on our portable DVD players #spoiled. She kept shushing us, which only made us sing louder and add some passionate hand gestures that may have interfered with her comfort level. When we got up to de-plane, I shoved my cousin into her for a domino effect and then she literally whipped around and smacked us. But actually. Like straight up turned around and slapped us in the face. The stewardess saw, told our parents (who had abandoned us in coach) and then airport security got involved…  and she wasn’t allowed into the state. MAHALO! She didn’t speak a lick of English, ultimately got deported and we were police escorted to our hotel because we felt “threatened.”

In 2006, on a flight to Miami, I got seated next to a Persian family of four who reeked of lamb kabob and Elizabeth Taylor perfume. Between reapplying their lip liner and speaking at decibel that any extraterrestrial in space could hear, I was traumatized. Okay, it wasn’t that traumatizing but I did have an aversion to shawarma for a few months after that and it was difficult.

In 2013, on my way to Europe an elderly woman had a heart attack (and possibly died) in my fucking lap. Calm down, she was like 127. What I could never understand is why at that age she was sitting in Coach? After a certain age where death is probable, details are important. It would be much chicer for her to die in Business Class where she could fully recline and drink from proper glassware… what the hell was she saving her money for? Spring break in Cancun? The real tragedy is that the bitch interrupted my Gossip Girl marathon and I never got to find out if Chuck and Blair lived happily ever after.

In 2014, I flew to Nashville with a man that could not be contained by armrests and indoctrinated me into the Mile High Blood Pressure club. He had to give himself insulin shots at hourly intervals and ultimately passed out from a saturated fat-induced coma and spent four hours drooling on my shoulder while I cried because I was grossed out and my television remote was hidden under a flap of his skin.

Needless to say, flying is not my strong suit. Despite all these infractions, little did I know that perhaps the worst flight of all was not behind me.

Being the Good Samaritan that I am, as I boarded my flight yesterday in NYC and took to my luxury economy middle seat a sweet little Milano babe asked if I would switch seats with her coworker who was seated in the back of the plane so they could sit together. Her friend was a Naomi Campbell doppelgänger (aka black, tall and, probably would throw a phone at me if I didn’t oblige) so I said yes. Basically I did it for civil rights. Let the entitled white woman sit in the back of the plane… #justice.

As I gallivanted to my new seat I was pleasantly surprised to see both my row and the row next to me was jam packed with hot guys in suits. I love a man in a suit. Sure I have a boyfriend but just cause I’m on a diet doesn’t mean I can’t check out the menu. No ring, no thing. Suits = real jobs = nice dinners = happy Jackie. They looked like a row of suave investment bankers and I was instantly wishing I would have worn a more body conscious top… Guess I’d have to just rely on my quick wit and vast knowledge of real housewife trivia, because men LOVE THAT.

I joyfully sat down in between my row of dapper hotties and gave a mysterious yet coy smile. As I assessed the meat market I realized they all had name tags. Hmm… must be attending a conference! Classy!

They seemed stiff and in desperate need of a cocktail. I looked to my left and read the guys name tag “Elder Joseph” I then looked to my right and read “Elder Patrick”. All of these guys had the first name Elder? Strange. I impulsively tried to make idle chit chat and said to them, “I feel like I am the meat in an Elder sandwich! I have never met anyone by that name! It’s a very trendy name, kind of like Apple or Seraphina. Is your dad Chris Martin?” They looked at me like I was crazy.

I noticed the seemingly 30 year old man to my right named “Elder” had chosen Cinderella as his in flight entertainment and the “Elder” to my left was casually reading the Bible. Huh? I then noticed the small text above their once tantalizing nametags that read Church of Jesus Christo? Who the fuck is that? Jesus Christ’s Hispanic bastard child? Were they doing missionary work in Ensenada? Did the altar boy who go their name tags made have dyslexia? What’s with the misspelling? This wouldn’t be all that awkward if I wasn’t a shameless self-promoting troll whose iPad, laptop and cellphone weren’t DRENCHED in my logo “THE BITCH BIBLE” and sprawled in plain sight for Jesus Christo and his disciples to see… that, and I was drinking a Bloody Mary and watching 50 Shades of Grey like Satan’s wet dream.

Soon I could feel them congregating and whispering about me. What started as a potential Elder mile high love triangle very quickly became a full throttle attempted exorcism up in the sky. Nothing burns like the judgmental glare of a pushy Mormon. I made a selfless seat change in attempts to be a good person and in trade got dick slapped by Jesus Christo. I considered jumping out of an emergency exit and calling it a day, but saw the light and know I have much more awkward airplane encounters to live for.

It was rough. But nothing in this life is fair, especially in economy.

Welcome Bitch!

Hello kitty, my name is Jackie Schimmel and I am potentially your new best friend or worst nightmare. If you are here because you saw me on Watch What Happens Live, welcome and brace yourself. This is my sick little twisted world where I vent and offend people. Here you can find misguided life advice, strongly worded letters to Gwyneth Paltrow and even a few recipes because I am wholesome and approachable… right?

If Britney Spears has taught us ANYTHING in this world, it is that hair extensions are a slippery slope and they cant ALL be hits (#Perfume). Because of this Britney Jean life lesson, I have compiled some Bitch Bible posts to lure you into my bitchy stratosphere. That sentence sounds super rapey and I am okay with it. Enjoy and follow me on Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, Grindr, Craigslist and YouPorn.com or just on the street… Having a stalker is very chic.

How To Handle a Breakup Like a Bitch

Thirsty Thursday

Awkward Encounters: The New Girlfriend

Woes of a College Dropout

Conscious Uncoupling

My First Roommate

The Almost Boyfriend

And if you aren’t sick of me yet, please subscribe to my podcast series aptly named “The Bitch Bible” available on iTunes, Soundcloud, Stitcher or wherever you get your pod fix!

#DontJudgeChallenge

It is no secret that I am a highly irritable lassie. Almost anything, anyone or any place can be a trigger for me to lose my shit. I nearly had an ulcer after a friend of mine told me she was going to get her acrylic nail filled… UNLESS YOU ARE AN ESCORT OR WORK AT A DOMINOS PIZZA WHO STILL WEARS ACRYLIC NAILS? But seriously. And don’t even get me STARTED on the Toyota Yaris… I hate that little troll car.

I was particularly perturbed this morning when I heard of the #DontJudgeChallenge infecting basic bitches everywhere to take to their social media accounts and post pictures of themselves with fake acne, unibrows, disheveled hair and glasses to project societies perception of “ugly”, only to then wash it all off and reveal their “beautiful selves”. Shit like this makes me want to pull a Caitlyn Jenner and switch teams. I hate almost any social media challenges but especially ones that are primarily focused on appearance. The #NoMakeUp selfie of 2014 nearly sent me to Passages in Malibu.

To be clear, I am no stranger to a self indulgent Instagram post. Just last week I had a serious digestive breakthrough which I immediately celebrated with a bikini pic because I was fucking feeling myself. I am not ashamed of that. And if I have to nearly sell an ovary to buy a new pair of shoes, I sure as shit will post a picture of them because I am anti social and need to justify the purchase. It’s not great but it’s the truth and like Jill Zarin, “I own it”.

But less about me (@jackieschimmel) and back to the matter at hand… the #DontJudgeChallenge. First of all, there is literally nothing empowering about dressing your face in clown make-up to be “ugly” and then revealing that you are like SuPer pReTty with a killer contour and perfect lashes. Fucking gag me. What a statement! It’s super cute that you can wash all that shit off and go resume your shift at Abercrombie and Fitch. What about the bitch waiting for her Acutane prescription or a distant cousin to the Kardashians who hasn’t gotten her unibrow electrolysis treatment yet?

There are plenty of young girls who don’t have the luxury of wiping blemishes off, so these pathetic public attempts to liberate women are essentially just humble brags wrapped in faux-feminist packages.

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I beg of you from the bottom of my black hollow heart, lets put an end to these exteriorly focused social media challenges because they are moronic and make you look like a huge asshole. You don’t need a “cause” to show off your shit, you don’t need perfect skin and contacts to be beautiful and you don’t need a tapeworm to rock a string bikini although it did help me a lot. Looks fade, tits drop, wrinkles form and we all die looking like gray fucking raisins ANYWAYS so let’s kibosh this shit and all go read a book, sing “Kumbaya” and swap tampons.

Love always,

Jackie

Dangers of The Double Tap

For those of you have been living as your BEST self and subscribe to The Bitch Bible podcast series, you are already privy to my social media catastrophe that occurred a couple of weeks ago. It was an uneventful Wednesday night and I decided to delight in my usual midweek Instagram troll. I just earned a follow from an old “boyfriend” whom I “dated” for about 16 days when I was 15 years old. We were basically a prepubescent Jewish Kimye. I weighed 76 pounds, had braces and a personality I was not pretty enough to pull off. He was in desperate need of Accutane, played Lacrosse and drove a station wagon. True love.

I had just figured he died since I had not seen, heard or spoke to him in almost a decade. I broke up with him via text message and said I couldn’t do a long distance relationship. He went to a high school 1.3 mile away from mine and geographically was very undesirable for a bitch with only a permit and a bus pass. I expected him to write me 365 letters and beg for me to take him back but that didn’t happen and our love flame was extinguished.

Cut to 2015, me sitting on the couch with a face mask on and a stiff martini exploring the depths of his Instagram profile. Boy did I dodge a bullet. I won’t blow up his spot, but this fucker really likes Lake Havasu. Not my vibe. Naturally upon seeing an anniversary collage (gag me) he posted with his new girlfriend I clicked on her tag and was overwhelmed with joy to find her profile PUBLIC. Yahtzee.

After scrolling back nearly 94 weeks back, I must have been twitching in satiation because I accidentally liked a bikini bod selfie which was ironically ALSO taken in Lake Havasu aka the land of canned domestic beer, acrylic nails and regret. Holy ball fuck. OBVIOUSLY I immediately unliked it but the damage was already done. Three hours later I received the following text from my ex-soulmate aware of my mishap. I considered maintaining a morsel of self respect and not responding but that would be far too rational. Instead I decided to almost guarantee a restraining order, enjoy.

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I would say I am ashamed but that would be a lie. For more in depth analysis on this issue please listen to my podcast series and you will not regret it. Subscribe here: tinyurl.com/thebitchbiblepod

Bad Blood

Taylor Swift is premiering her new music video this Sunday and every celebrity and Serayah (who is that?) are in this fucking video. I can barely get my 84-year-old Grandma to do my half hour podcast series and Tay Tay’s locked down the entire CAA client list. Rumor is the song is about Katy Perry and I’m hoping for full-blown passive aggressive awesomeness. Secretly I think Taylor is sending a message a la Regina George like “Lol Katy, all these celebrities hate you too! Go hang out with Demi Lovato and be miserable! “

Famous people should literally never complain about anything. You are the luckiest sons of bitches on the planet. Someone recognized me at Target 3 weeks ago so I’m basically a local celebrity but still have managed to stay super down to earth despite my wild success. Let’s be clear, I would do a lot of weird shit to further my career. I’m not above it. I’d fake an illness, lose a limb, gain 400 lbs, smuggle some drugs. Hustle has no moral compass and I’m comfortable with that. I curse the day I was born without any serious physical defects… I’d probably have an endorsement deal by now. OR get cast in this music video.

Maybe I am delusional but I feel like Taylor would really love me. She’d be hesitant at first because I cuss so much and exercise casual racism for shock value but soon she’d use me as an external outlet to say all the things her publicist won’t let her. She’d become super dependent on me and I’d allow it while I secretly poison her cats and decide it was worth the emotional turmoil because we only fly private which I love.

So far we have Gigi Hadid, Cara Delevigne, Jessica Alba, Lena Dunham, Ellie Goulding, Hayley Williams, Ellen Pompeo, Serayah McNeill, Lily Aldridge, Kendrick Lamar, Karlie Kloss​, Zendaya​, Martha Hunt and Hailee Steinfeld​. WHAT THE FUCK IS MARISKA HARGITAY AND ELLEN POMPEO DOING IN HER VIDEO. Who’s next? Fucking Vivica Fox? At least that would make sense cause she would be filling a racial quota. Who the hell do I need to rescue a cat from and bake with to get in this video? I’m coming for you Lorde.

Side Bitch 101

We need to address an epidemic sweeping the nation and compromising our gender morale… the social outbreak of the SIDE BITCH. In life you either want to be the USDA prime filet mignon (a la cart) or the basic baked potato. It doesn’t matter HOW MANY BACON BITS AND CHIVES YOU DROWN YOURSELF IN, you aren’t the mother fucking entree. This reads harsh because it seems wildly obvious and baffles me how many side bitches live in denial.
“He works so much”, “His great aunt’s dog died”, “He has a yeast infection” the truth is, if he isn’t taking you to dinner, has never seen you in daylight and still has a parenthesis in your contact info… For example: Jackie Schimmel (neurotic bitch with blonde hair), you are the sidest bitch on the block.

I can speak informatively on this subject because I have been a side bitch. It was brief and it was brutal. He only offered me his roommates alcohol,  only saw me after 9pm on Wednesdays and I am almost positive thought my name was Jade. He would occasionally bring me to work events because I am sociable, can clean up well with a professional blowdry and know how to handle my alcohol. I was poor and would date about anyone I could steal fruit snacks from. I eventually pretended he was hit by a truck and ignored his late night calls. SIDENOTE: Anthony if you are reading this, you are short, rude and smell like latex and failed entrepreneurship. Phew, that felt good.

So let’s assume you are a few chromosomes short and are unsure if you too are the lukewarm creamed spinach in the meal of your romantic life. For your convenience here is an idiot proof list.

You only hang out on weekdays, specifically ones with none of his selected television programs. Plans are usually made an hour in advance and typically take place at his apartment or god willingly his condo, I love a man with real estate. Saturdays simply don’t exist in a side bitches world.

You’ve never met any of his friends, or if you have it was in a very large and very casual group setting. Very few details are shared regarding your relationship and sober affection is virtually non existent.

You don’t do dinner. This has a loophole for manorexics who simply are gearing up for their summer bod, but usually is because they don’t want to have the intimacy that comes with sharing a meal together. Dinner=dating=monogamy=girlfriend=death.

You aren’t friends on Facebook. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, nothing matters in life unless it’s FBO (Facebook Official) not your education, not your career, not your love life. You think you’re above Facebook proclamations? Or is that the side bitch universal code of conduct…. Think about it.

You can’t get him to accompany you to ANY event. Asking him to be your plus one at your friends wedding is basically like asking him if you can murder his whole family and then sell their organs on the black market. You find yourself bribing him to be with you. This is a low point.

You’ve heard it once, you’ve heard it 400 times… “he doesn’t do labels”. Let me be very clear, if a guy is into you he doesn’t want you to be with anyone else. It’s an animalistic testosterone thing. I am not a biologist but it’s the truth. Guys who “don’t want to rush things, don’t like labels and aren’t ready for a girlfriend” are fucking other people and probably on a Saturday.

You are reading this list and are having a mega epiphany that all of the above runs scarily parallel to your current situation. Mazel Tov, you are a side bitch. Although this is hard to accept and even harder to free up your Wednesday late night rendevous, remember it is always better to be the Filet Mignon (or Tofu Steak if you’re a sad vegan) than the fucking baked potato #ENTREELIFE

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The only thing sadder then living as a side bitch is that I spent 15 minutes out of my day creating the visual above. For more tough love download, subscribe and share The Bitch Bible podcast series here: tinyurl.com/thebitchbiblepod