celebrity

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.

Things I Kurrently Kan’t With

Sorry I haven’t been actively blogging lately. I have been in a great mood lately and tend to only do my best work when I am angry or super menstrual. Lucky for you and my vagina, I am menstruating (#notpregnant) so I knew it was time to delight my bitches with some updates on my life.

Firstly, I have started wearing Uggs. I feel like I should probably go get a Wal-Mart credit card and go buy some fucking Warm Vanilla Lace body spray because isn’t that what people in Uggs do? This is a true story, I am quoted in my high school yearbook saying, “Uggs are UG” a decade ago (I won ‘Best Style’ #humblebrag and that tidbit was all I could come up with as a style philosophy). At the time, this was very controversial. I lost like 7 friends who swore by a Hollister jean skirt and Ugg boot combo after that was published. So as you can imagine, as I ventured to Starbucks this morning in leggings and my very vintage Uggs I felt like a super cunt traitor but also amazing.

Also on an entirely unrelated note… someone called me a pedophile on twitter. Just because I innocently called Hilary Duff’s 4 year old son hott. I would like to go on record and say that I stand by that statement. Seriously though have you seen him? Hottest 4 year old I have ever seen. If the one upside of sexism is that as a woman it’s less pedophilic to call kids hott, then please let me take advantage of that. Kaia Gerber is hott as fuck. She gets Cindy Crawford genealogy AND a lifetime of Casamigos Tequila. Romeo Beckham… please call me when you are 18. Or 17. Or 12.

Fuck “friends day”. The best part about making harsh statements against these fabricated Facebook holidays is that people get so offended and immediately start to defend themselves for taking part in the propaganda. If you are a regular cyber stalker like yours truly, you don’t need a sappy computer generated slideshow to reminisce. Firstly, you don’t even like 60% of the people pictured and secondly, no one gives a fuck. Publicly celebrating FrIeNdS dAy is like publicly celebrating your menstrual cycle after a pregnancy scare. Or like a Ramona Singer “New Beginnings” party. It’s self indulgent as fuck.

And lastly, on this day February 3, 2016, I initiate yet another Kardashian Kleanse. Because after 3 painful episodes of Kocktails with Khloe, 26 disgruntled reader emails attacking me for calling Caitlyn Jenner an asshole and 487 hours of watching Kylie Jenner’s snapchat and crying myself to sleep – I just kan’t do it anymore.

I miss Lace.

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.

ANTI SQUAD GOALS

Apparently #squadgoals is a thing. My personal squad consists of my crazy best friends (I may actually be considered the most stable in my posse which is mind-blowing), women I am bound to by blood #GrandmaGloria and my bikini waxer Rhonda. It’s a pretty glamorous crew, what can I say. Since I am a d-list podcast host and have started moving in more exciting social circles, I felt it necessary to create some honest boundaries with celebrities I don’t want in my future #girlsquad.

JESSICA ALBA Jessica Alba’s Instagram account and interview persona makes me want to take a shower with my blow dryer. I can honestly say I would rather go out for cocktails with a box of hair than her. Honest cleaning supplies are dope though so mazel tov to that Jess.

TAYLOR SWIFT Calm the FUCK down. Not to be a name-dropping asshole but I’ve met T Swift in an intimate setting and we kinda “chilled”. I was drunk and hangry so our impending friendship was overshadowed by my ancestral gravitation to the late night buffet spread #Jewish so a deep friendship between us didn’t blossom. She is really … nice. Unfortunately nice people bore me. I guess the real problem would be her not accepting someone who thinks Helen Keller jokes and light hearted racism is hilarious and casually uses the adjective “cunty” into her squad. Also it’s kinda only cool to BE in Taylor Swift’s girl squad if you ARE Taylor Swift. Otherwise you are just a minion clapping at award shows or awkwardly walking down a runway next to a bitch in a beaded leotard flailing her limbs around while singing “Style”.

ZOOEY DESCHANEL Maybe it’s the bangs, the harmonica I assume she carries in her tote (she would never call it a purse it’s a “tote”) or the plethora of 50’s housewife dresses. If wholesome had a poster bitch it would be Zooey Deschanel and it is so exhausting. If I was ever on the precipice of life or death and a She & Him song came on… I’d voluntarily choose death. I need her to randomly start wearing leather pants and let her bangs grow out. I need her not to constantly act like she is Ella Enchanted meets a girl at Coachella widdling wind chimes. She also just had a baby she named Elsie Otter as in the slippery barking sea mammal so there’s that #qUiRkY.

BEYONCÉ Just too fucking introverted. Too many boats, too many bikinis, too many black and white documentary clips. I can’t keep up with that.

CAITLYN JENNER People who truly have zero prejudices are not afraid to insult people whether they are gay, straight, male, female, trans, black, white, purple. I don’t get a lady chub for Caitlyn Jenner just because she transitioned and it’s politically correct. Despite the fact that her public transition was incredibly brave, will save lives and is amazing for the Tran community – I still think Caitlyn is an asshole. And I hate her cardigan sweaters so there, I said it, sue me.

LENA DUNHAM I still kind of love her but also think she takes on too many issues and over intellectualizes EVERYTHING which would not work out with me long term. But like, still kinda want to be her bff.

People I would like in my fictitious girl squad: Ilana Grazer and Abbi Jacobsen, Helen Mirren, Cindy Crawford, Lady Gaga, Goldie Hawn, Kristen Wiig (basic), Caroline Stanbury, Amy Schumer, Isla Fisher, Sophia Vergara, Lisa Ling, Hoda Kotb (filling my racial quota with last three) and my ultimate frenemy Gwyneth Paltrow.

Dear Leonardo DiCaprio

Dear Leo,

As I write this I am lying on the bathroom floor picking up the chunks of hair I ripped out of my own scalp upon hearing the news of your engagement. If this sounds like a suicide letter it’s because it is. For the past 24 hours I have been on a downward spiral that rivals Amanda Bynes’ 2013, Britney Spears’ 2007 and Joaquin Phoenix’s 2009.

My first emotion was anger. Angry at you, angry at her, angry at the cashier judging me for buying Nyquil, a magnum bottle of Ketel One, 4 loaves of French bread, 87 pounds of brie cheese and an assortment of razor blades aka my scorn lover suicide kit #HOWDOYOUMAKECHLOROFORM?

After the anger subsided and I did a ceremonial burning of all of my Leonardo DiCaprio VHS tapes, denial set in. How did this happen? Who is this woman? I’d like to tell you congratulations on your impending nuptials. I’d like to say I’m glad you’re settling down. I’d like to say I hope you name your yacht after her and live a long happy life together boating in Cannes. I never lied to you before and I surely am not going to start now after you have ripped my heart out and taken a huge metaphorical shit on my fucking dreams.

Honestly I hope you are miserable together and the whole marriage goes up in flames. No one has supported like me. I have loved you during your weight fluctuation, your pubis facial hair situation and even when you started driving a Prius. That’s loyalty Leonardo… something you clearly don’t value.

I named my fucking dog after you. And when people ask me why his name is “Leo” I always tell them he is named after his biological father. I assure my group of dog mothers that canine “Leo” he has my personality and your interest in humanitarian work. I am sure your fiancée owns a German Shepard named Axel and is a fucking vegetarian. OF COURSE SHE IS. Fuck her.

Sure she might be an ethereal supermodel who gives huge fucks about the environment and sunbathes topless and wears anklets and shit. Can she love you like I could? No. Does she own the Celine Dion “My Heart Will Go On” single remix cd? No. Did she see Critters 3 that you starred in around 1991? Definitely not. I FUCKING DID.

Worst of luck to both of you. My heart will not go on. You fucking let go Jack.

Sincerely,

Jackie

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.

DEAR GWYNETH

Dear Gwyneth,

It’s been awhile since we spoke. I have sent a few nudes to Noah in efforts to pull a Mary Kay Letourneau situation (like only when he is legal) but haven’t heard from him either. Whatevs. I hope everything is going great for you, I imagine you are somewhere in Côte d’Azur calling your house staff by the wrong names and muddling organic tarragon and Apple’s tears for a new signature Goop cocktail. I hope to one day sit next to you on the porch of one of your many vacation homes and laugh at poor people together, but until then being pen pals will just have to do.

I thought it was really blue collar of you to do the NYC Food Stamp challenge for a few hours awhile ago. You are like an imported organic Cippolini onion, so many layers yet so unattainable. I felt for a moment a less Goopy Gwyneth was coming, like a blonde truffle-infused Phoenix Rising. I was even able to find a dishtowel for sale on your website that would only set me back $175. Can you say #downtoearth? All you needed was one public drive through at a McDonalds and a Taylor Swift concert cameo away from being America’s slightly less pretentious Sweetheart again. Was the Priestess of Goop becoming more relatable?

Clearly I had spoken too soon because shortly after this possible breakthrough I received your September Goop Newsletter. Besides you breaking world news and bravely stating that “Pokē is having a moment”, featuring a super practical cotton zip-up sweatshirt for $1,198, debuting your FALL 2015 CULTURE GUIDE which almost sent me into cardiac arrest –AND you also tickled my pretentious pickle with this recipe for “Beauty Milk”. The ingredients include pumpkin seed milk, Moon Pantry tocotrienols, lucuma, schisandra berry and fucking PEARL.

Um… is that shit available at Ralphs? WHERE THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO FIND MOON PANTRY PEARLS? IS THAT EVEN LEGAL? WHAT THE HELL IS A SCHISANDRA BERRY? ARE YOU ON ACTUAL CRACK GWYNETH?

I’m sorry for yelling at you, I just got a little heated about asking my Trader Joe’s sale clerk where I could find the organic tocotrienols (preferably locally sourced) for my Goop Beauty Milk. I don’t care if this milk could turn Shrek into Jennifer Lopez YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE TO SELL AN OVARY TO AFFORD ANY RECIPE ON FUCKING GOOP. I would rather be ugly and still have my dignity.

I hope you understand where I am coming from and we can talk this over in person soon. Please know that I will always love you and never plan on unsubscribing from the Goop newsletter but only because it enrages me so much my heart rate increases and I end up burning lots of calories. Stay goopy girl and let me know when Noah turns 18.

Love always,

Jackie

gwyneth

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

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…

Bennifer

Today is the worst day. I can’t remember feeling this melancholy since Jessie Spano almost overdosed on caffeine pills on Saved by The Bell. I take celebrity couples really fucking seriously. Perhaps I am a delusional closet romantic who stupidly thinks marriage is forever and everyone shits rose petals but I am more deeply affected by a celeb break-up than those of people I actually know.

This morning my whole world was turned upside down as I was eating my “fuck my bikini bod” Belgian waffle and perusing Huffington Post. I almost choked when I read the headline announcing Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garners divorce. This hurts me in every cell, organ and orifice. WHY? They seemed so normal and wholesome. The only silver lining is that there may be a Bennifer resurrection, which would make all my wildest dreams come true. Can you imagine a Jenny From The Block 2015 remix with Ben in the new video? It’s basically the only thing keeping me sane at this point.

Thank God the Gays can get married now, we need them to drive up our countries marital success rate. Gays were BORN to plan weddings; swans, chandeliers, chincy appetizers, embellishment. Duh.

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Ben, I will stepmother Violet, Seraphina and Melon or whatever the other ones called with ease. Call me babycakes. While this is difficult for me to comprehend, a bitch must remember not to cry cause it’s over but smile because it happened. BUT if John Krasinski and Emily Blunt, Channing Tatum and Jenna Dewan or Aaron Paul and whoever his hott wife is break up… I am going to kill myself and that’s a promise.

The 10 People on Facebook

The Supportive Acquaintance – Likes ALL. YOUR. SHIT. Despite the fact you and this person BARELY know each other, you appear to be the very best of friends on social media. Sends you super unfunny gifs and you two have been trying to get drinks for 7 years… but it ain’t gonna happen.

The Perpetual Humble Bragger – Whether it’s a promotion to be the manager at Cheesecake Factory, a romantic trip to Mykonos or just a constant reminder how hard it is to be naturally thin, this person just can’t fucking help themselves #SPOILED.

The Ex – To unfriend or not to unfriend, this is the question. Facebook friendship mostly maintained for stalking purposes and to send vague yet passive aggressive messages via status updates like this;

“If it’s over, let it go and
Come tomorrow it will seem
So yesterday, so yesterday…”

And you get to troll HARD on their new side bitch. Win win.

The Parent – Doesn’t understand hashtags, loves a good puppy video and posts the same picture an average of 59 times. Most likely to post political, semi-racist and culturally offensive material which creates tension with your quirky Libertarian friend from Los Feliz.

The Shameless Mofo – No birthday wishes, no likes, just un-consensual molestation to your newsfeed with personal vendettas and self promotion– so basically me. Hi! #THEBITCHBIBLE

The Buzzkill – I don’t want to see any bible quotes, sobriety anniversaries, dolphin rape epidemics, terminal illnesses or death announcements on fucking Facebook. Keep in mind this is the same platform for fucking Candy Crush invites. WRONG PORTAL!

The Skanky Hoe – We get it, you’re over your awkward stage and got the lap band surgery. We don’t need to see you, your belly button ring and polyester lingerie set on the reg. This is applicable to men also. Put a fucking shirt on, no one wants to bang a guy at the gym at 2pm on a Tuesday. Get a job.

The Underachiever – Nearing the 9th year of their stint at the local community college, still lives at home and only socializes with people and places in a 4-mile radius of their teenage area code. If you have been in a Junior College longer then you attended high school, it’s time to give up and just become a drug dealer.

The Overachiever – The bastard that graduated from MIT in 2 years, created an app that cures cancer and now is dating Karlie Kloss and only flies private. Just when you are feeling like a baller for getting a new car sans co-signer, you get wind that this person just bought an island. Usually an Indian guy overlooked in high school you wish you paid more attention to. For the record, I luh that Tikka Masala. Call me boo.

The Mormon – Wedding photos, pregnancy photos, dorm renovation photos. Mormons are pleasant as fuck so it’s hard to make fun of them … except they can’t drink but probably cause they are just always pregnant?

Please passive aggressively share and for a play by play of my evening with Taylor Swift (for real) listen to this weeks podcast 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.

Kylie Jenner Hates Me

It’s Monday morning and I am in an Instagram tiff with Kylie Jenner. As I sat sipping my green tea, perusing the internet and reflecting on life I was all at once swarmed with text messages and phone calls. At first I thought they finally found Tupac or a new Zankou Chicken was opening up. Why else would everyone be contacting me with such urgency?

About 20 minutes prior, I casually put this photo on the @bitchbible Instagram account (#plug) all in good fun…

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Then this happened…

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#NOTIDEAL. I was then catapulted in the moral battle of defending myself, doing damage control and/or capitalizing on the situation like any other shameless media whore would do. Naturally I choose to focus on the latter. This is coming from place of ZERO JUDGEMENT but she was obviously cruising her own hashtag because I never tagged that bitch. Maybe she is stalking me? Maybe not.

Despite being a pretty ballsy bitch on the exterior, I am kind of a pussy in real life. I don’t handle conflict well and would be a much better woman if Kris Jenner were my mother. You can imagine my internal struggle on how to handle such a situation.

Like I always say, when life hands you lemons, infuse them into a simple syrup, mix with vodka and CHUG. For the next 30 minutes I frantically pondered my damage control. Do I apologize? Permanently avoid Calabasas as if it were infected with Ebola? Make a sex tape with Johnathan Cheban? Start a clothing line? Buy the 7th Tyga album ever sold? (Side note: who IS Tyga? Hopefully Kris is working an getting his ass a Frosted Flake endorsement) Now I will NEVER be friends with Kendall and Gigi! Fuckity fuck fuck.

In my defense, unless Ky-ky attended an early morning sample sale or a kitschy consignment store, the shorts retail for $60. Perhaps $20 in Kardashian Kurrency konverts to a normal persons $60? I don’t know, I am not a mathematician. ALSO “GTFO out of here” translates to get the fuck OUT OUT of here which is super confusing. Besides that Kylie kinda handed my ass to me on a black and white chevron platter available exclusively at Sears.

Was it nice? No. Was it malicious? No. Has it gotten me more followers? Yes. And that bitches… is the silver lining. I saw Kylie Jenner wearing army pants and flip flops so I bought army pants and flip flops. Bye dolls!

Dear Gwyneth

Dear Gwyneth,

I have been meaning to write to you since you named your child Apple. I will admit that if we ever meet face to face and are in the same tax bracket I will immediately delete this letter and try to penetrate your social circle (and your ex husband). I know you are probably busy finding the latest $780 sweat band to declare a summer MUST HAVE on Goop, but I hope you can take the time to acknowledge some of your recent public glitches.

A couple of months ago you declared in a magazine article that you are “incredibly close to the common woman”. Seeing that your net worth is an estimated $140 million dollars, this is difficult to comprehend. From an Oscar, performing at the Grammy’s, a cookbook, a blow dry bar, your bestie Beyonce and the bane of my existence GOOP, I hate to break it you sweet cheeks you ain’t common.

Most recently, you broadcasted that you would accept the NY Food Stamp challenge and feed your family off $29 for the week. Poverty challenges aren’t like a game of hopscotch you played at your elite sleep away camp. It’s cute that you felt the need to publicly broadcast your Food Stamp Challenge and bring awareness to the cause. However I am not sure they sell organic kale at the local Food for Less. If you wanted to properly fulfill this challenge I have a hot tip for you; Cup a Noodles, economy sized Bagel Bites and a fucking sugar daddy. Girls just want to have funds. Also did you really need to buy 7 organic limes? If this was a first offense, I wouldn’t be writing you but as a fellow blonde Jew with entitlement issues I felt it necessary to offer some insight.

I get as a public figure you are trying to use your platform to spread awareness. For that I will not fault you, however the juxtapose of your attempts to be relatable and your overwhelming pretentious bullshit (hi Goop) makes you completely un-likeable. Like borderline Anne Hathaway status. You have been quoted complaining how hard it is to find a bikini wax in Paris, how your children gravitate towards organic produce and nuts and that whole “conscious uncoupling” nightmare I JUST CAN’T. Goopers also delighted us with this recent quote…

“I am who I am. I can’t pretend to be somebody who makes $25,000 a year.” THEN DON’T GWYNETH, JUST DON’T.

I mean, Country Strong is the best movie of all time so for that I thank you. Yes, I have the soundtrack and no I am not ashamed. Gwyneth – even the way you spell your name is pretentious. You’re delusion is oddly inspiring. From gallavanting about Europe with your macrobiotic green juice, hawking $1300 pinky rings and casually using the verb “imbibe” in one of your Goopy (and gaggy) newsletters – keep doing you girl. And have Moses call me in 8 years.

Love always,

Jackie

PS Gwennie, freshly shaved truffles are actually NOT available at most supermarkets.

Spring Break Style

Spring has sprung and brought all of my favorite things; caftan weather, marshmallow peeps and massive anxiety towards “festival season”. I know bitches really lose their mind for fall when they can get off on layering and mediocre knee boots. I couldn’t give two fucks about dressing for the fall/winter season. Mostly because I spend most of December with a rash (I am allergic to 98% of fabrics) and usually with 10 pounds of extra weight… you know, to stay insulated.

Needless to say, the second I can shimmy my pastey ass into a sheer tunic and awkward J.Lo head scarf poolside I become a better bitch. Here are some off my Spring Break/Festival Season picks for the blossoming warm weather loving Bitch.collage

Comment below for details and for more style talk listen to this weeks podcast “Pretty Hurts”  (tinyurl.com/thebitchbiblepod) with my promiscuous Grandma Gloria and turbo-bitch cousin Joanna xx