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).


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.



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.

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.

Bitch Life Hacks

BYOB… Everywhere. Water bottles are the smart bitch’s flask of the future. Clear alcohol= standard water bottle. Colored alcohol = Perrier (colored plastic) when all else fails double ziploc your happy juice and shove it in your bra (perfect for amusement parks).

For the non-domestic bitch looking to impress your boo: buy a premade rotisserie chicken from the market. Cut it up, add some garlic cloves, lemon slices, rosemary up the ass cavity, stick it in the oven cover with foil and everyone will think you’re a fucking goddess.


Unless it’s your best bitch or boyfriend, don’t be a double (or worse triple) text kind of bitch. In the same realm, if you send a text that takes up length of the phone screen you need to get your shit together.

BYOB… Everywhere. Water bottles are the smart bitches flask of the future. Clear alcohol= standard water bottle. Colored alcohol = Perrier (colored plastic) when all else fails double ziploc your happy juice and shove it in your bra (perfect for amusement parks).

Preparing a cheese plate can really suck the life out of you. There you stand, at Trader Joe’s, paralyzed by the abundant selection. Just remember the 3-S rule: Sharp, Stinky and Soft. For example: Gouda, Stilton, Brie. Fucking duh.unnamed

Always carry mace in every handbag and/or orifice. And don’t be afraid to use it, it’s legal. Just please make sure the safety lock is engaged if it’s up your v.

If you are wearing hot pink or sultry red dress, don’t wear a black shoe. Go nude or metallic. Trust me.

Learn the skinny arm and implement it whenever humanly possible. In conjunction with a protruding clavicle you WILL be your best self.


Buy your olive oil at TJ Maxx. But seriously, that shit is expensive. I buy all major condiments and hair products there. ITS HALF PRICE. Nothing gives me a lady-boner harder than discount truffle oil and a hair mask for under $10… NOTHING.

Get coats at discount shops like H&M or Forever 21 and change the buttons. Oldest trick in the book.

When traveling, ALWAYS tell the hotel you are celebrating an anniversary (even if you are alone) it has a 84% success rate for free champagne.

Use popsicles instead of ice cubes for cocktails. Shimmy a watermelon popsicle into a shaker, add some vodka and mint and everyone will think you are a pretentious mixologist from Los Feliz.


Get a journal or a therapist. Finding support in solace in your friends and family is great, but sometimes working through some of your issues privately makes you a strong bitch. It’s good to have a gauge of when you are exhausting your support systems and save those resources for a real shit storm.

If you want the Ariana Grande ponytail without having to clip one on like she does, you must learn the double ponytail. It will change your life and probably make you a better singer.


In a pinch, know you are legally allowed to sleep overnight at any Walmart parking lot. Seriously… they can’t kick you out. This is what would be considered an all time low but at least a bitch has options.

20 Things To Do in Your 20’s


  1. Travel alone. If you don’t want to travel with yourself, why would anybody else? Learn how to print your own boarding pass, swig cocktails solo and explore a city sans travel buddy. Bon voyage bitch.
  2. Figure out your fucking eyebrows. Whether you prefer a Selena slim brow or a Frida full bush – find the right shape and fullness for your face. Eyebrows are the best way to say who you are without words. They ARE that important.
  3. Clean out your clique. Like Caroline Manzo once said, “when you hang around garbage you start to stink.” Your college friend who pukes in her purse and hits on your boyfriend? Let her go.
  4. Put in the long hours, write the awkward emails and be ruthless to the point of obnoxious. Think “young and eager” not “old and desperate”.
  5. Learn the hard way. I am not suggesting you start a meth habit or dabble in wire fraud. Date the bad boy, drink the tequila with a worm in it, try deep fried orangutan testicles whatever. Being wild and promiscuous is acceptable in your 20’s so own that.
  6. Find your skill. My dream is to be a Korean pop star but my singing voice could bring Helen Keller to pained tears. Through extreme therapy or delusion free self reflection figure out what you excel at and perfect it.
  7. Cut the umbilical cord. My parents stalk me (it’s a Jewish thing) and I think they are the best. However, there is something liberating about realizing your parents aren’t always right and you don’t need their approval to make your own decisions.
  8. Call your grandparents. They could die soon. Too real?
  9. Show off your shit. This is coming from someone who is currently wearing a flannel one piece and my gold glitter retainer. Our thigh gaps probably aren’t getting any wider or our boobs perkier so I say go for it. Slut.
  10. Embarrass yourself. There is something totally liberating about learning how to weather really embarrassing moments. Taking yourself TOO seriously is exhausting and quite frankly a buzzkill.
  11. Say you’re sorry. I try to avoid apologies at all costs but when you fuck up, you have to apologize. Unless you are an asshole.
  12. Learn to cook. I am not saying you need to rebel against your natural disdain for domesticity and become Ina Garten but everyone should know how to cook at least ONE thing decently.
  13. Take care of your skin. Wash your face and get some fucking eye cream. You can’t paint a masterpiece on a busted canvas… think about it.
  14. Find your karaoke song. This may be the most important thing in the whole list. It should be under 3 minutes, keep the crowd engaged AND showcase your best vocal/dance moves. It can take YEARS to perfect (Mine is “All The Things She Said” by T.A.T.U).
  15. Take a big risk. Quit your job, invest in a Scandinavian condom company, or move to a Kibbutz. This is the time to embrace change and suffer the consequences while we still have access to our childhood bedrooms hopefully still complete with Spice Girl memorabilia.
  16. Break-up with your adolescent boyfriend. I am uncertain why people think “high school sweethearts” are so adorable. I think it’s kind of creepy as fuck. I am all for later reconciliation but spread your….wings? It’s refreshing to be with someone whom you didn’t have to borrow mechanical pencils from.
  17. Read a fucking book. It gives you something to talk about and is an amazing companion for a solo dinner date.
  18. Find your go-to cocktail. If you are still drinking liquor from a plastic bottle it’s time to step your game up. I am still totally confused the difference between neat/up/shaken/stirred/with a twist – but I do know I like a Ketel One vodka martini… and I like it dirtayyy.
  19. Fall in love. Could I be more basic?
  20. Don’t rely on stupid lists for inspiration (but do share with other fellow 20-somethings via social media… obviously)

Questionable Tidbits of “Wisdom”

This week I was a guest speaker at my high school. I was supposed to give life advice, talk about building a creative brand and a bunch of other shit I am in no way qualified to be talking about. The good news is that the students were all so cute (I didn’t get booed) and I didn’t say fuck ONCE. That is what we call a victory people #lowstandards. I am pretty sure I said all the wrong things: I mean, I am a college dropout who prides myself on rather unimpressive statistics and useless knowledge. I started thinking about the very few things I have learned as a bitch out in the real world and how it has shaped me as a boss ass BITCH. I am so fucking reflective it kills me. Here are some morsels of shitty “wisdom” I have pulled out of my ass oh so delicately.

  1. I kinda hate that saying “fake it till you make it” because it implies a lack of talent but to a certain degree there is no harm in pretending you know what you’re doing. In fact, I make a conscious effort to always act like I know what I am talking about which I really only do 20% of the time. Quantum physics? Nailed it. Japanese Agriculture? Practically invented it. Stock trading? Since birth.
    It’s only deceptive if you have zero intention to actually LEARN what you are pretending to know. I have become almost professional at bluffing. When I first decided to start a blog I had to Google what a domain was. I also used to boast on my resume I spoke Spanish AND French, but in reality I can barely speak proper English (it’s called spell check and a fab copy editor … bless you Yimu). This is 2014. There is an app for almost everything… think about it.
  2. Only listen to yourself or those who know more than you. I pride myself on not being an authority on ANYTHING. Sure, I am a good cook but Ina Garten is better. I think I am a phenomenal dancer but I’d never get cast as Nomi in my all time favorite movie Showgirls. Personal intuition is a strong guiding force. I was told I couldn’t write, would probably marry some rich guy and never be taken seriously due to my affinity for daytime sequins and my ample bosom. Thank God I am a terrible listener. I always say only listen to your own best judgment or people who REALLY know what they are talking about (preferably with accolades and the savings account to prove it.) Some power hungry corporate asshole with a Ford Fusion and a general distaste for life doesn’t get to tell you what your limitations are in life (I am talking to you Carlos… sorry I won;t make it to your birthday party. You are an arrogant asshole).
  3. Don’t be a slob. Fashion is the best way to say who you are without using words. Luckily, my words are my business but there is a certain appeal to aesthetics that draws people in. You don’t want to buy a house that looks like crap on the outside. Some would say you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover and although that is heart warming ideal – life isn’t a PBS Special. Looks matter. I have worked in offices where whipping out your tits would get you a promotion and in contrast an office where shapeless Hillary Clinton inspired skirt suits were admired like a crocodile Birkin. Brush your fucking hair, smell good and put a little effort in. You’ll thank me.
  4. Check your ego at the door. Nothing pisses me off more than people who take themselves too seriously. If you ever find yourself quoting lines from your resume you need to get your shit together. Some of the smartest people I know graduated from an Ivy League school called LIFE. Education, social class and bullshit credentials shouldn’t define you.
  5. Cry on the inside like a winner. I hope this doesn’t make me seem like a total chick with a dick but save your emotional fragility for a private showing of Steel Magnolias in your living room. Breaking down at work blurs lines and bitches need to separate business from boo-hoo fests. If you need to cry find a bathroom stall and don’t make a scene. It’s just annoying and dramatic.
  6. Don’t be annoying. Persistence is great. Ass kissing is transparent. Don’t be the annoying intern ostracized from the rest. The mentality of “not being here to make friends” is all too overplayed and fucking stupid. I am not saying you need to be braiding a co-worker’s hair and sharing froyo but if everyone has a problem with you… YOU’RE the asshole. No one wants to hire someone that doesn’t get along well with others. Being likable may be the most underrated characteristic of all time. Nobody wants to help, hire, or happy hour with a fuck-head.

So smile, bite your tongue, bust your ass, feign interest in your cubicle mates dying cat and when all else fails remember that salvation is just a dirty martini away. Feel enlightened? Probably not. You’re welcome.

In Filters We Trust

I want to delete my Facebook so fucking bad. Without sounding like an asshole, the only reason I have one is to shamelessly self promote and cyber stalk.

Instagram however, is like a slutty little sister. On one hand she drives me nuts – but at the same time makes me feel better about my life. Sure you may have to take her to planned parenthood on a weekday but she will also capture you looking your best with a protruding clavicle and a fresh blow dry #MAYFAIRFILTERBITCH. It’s an internal battle I am just not mature enough to handle. The problem with our generation is that we think what we are eating, wearing, cooking, looking at from traffic, or how we looked as babies all are both interesting and relevant to others. The truth is no one really gives a fuck – we are in this social media clusterfuck for our own benefit and publicity.

I am 100% guilty of this.

98% of photos on my Instagram have been posed, propped and assembled with perfect lighting. I will let meals get cold finding just the right angle to display my domesticity with the perfect shot of my homemade linguini and clams. Does this make me a fucking loser? Most definitely.

If I were clever enough to understand Photoshop I would let myself go and live solely through my warped reality of Instagram. I could Photoshop myself in Aruba with Adriana Lima’s body sipping a chi chi despite the fact that I am really home alone raping a baguette with butter. I would get this 5 pound weave out of my scalp and give it back to the Ukranian hooker who sold it for a pretty penny (albeit a hooker who’s been taking her fish oil because this hair is shiny as fuck #omega3).

Social media makes our daily doings seem glamorous and unintentionally pushes us to try harder. We now pay more attention to garnishing our homemade meals with basil, embellishing our outfits for a #ootd gram and have seriously upped our nail game. So in reality… it’s just making us better dressed, better housewives and better at forming relationships with the Vietnamese. “Flowa fo yo nail?” No bitch, unless I am under the age of 6 or have some type of crippling mental disability I don’t want a fucking flower.

In the real world we can’t edit, brighten, caption or add music to our moments in time. We get pimples, wear sweatpants, drink mojitos out of things other than mason jars or are only seen in a bikini after a small bout of the stomach flu. Essentially, it’s all just a curated highlights collection of our life. As much as it would be a real hoot and a half to upload a picture of an allergic reaction after a faulty bikini wax – I would much rather broadcast my new Gucci shoes I had to sell an ovary for.

So go ahead bitch, stand in front of a rustic brick wall, look out into the distance while someone “candidly” snaps a pic of the outfit you spent 4 hours putting together #fallfashion. Lose a finger in the process of julienning fresh chives to garnish your store-bought lentil soup #homemade. Awkwardly hold a kiss until you get the perfectly loving snap of you and your boyfriend of 2 weeks who has a small penis and an even smaller savings account #truelove #mcm and always remember… everything looks better with a filter.

@jackieschimmel … #iwokeuplikethis

Conscious Uncoupling

Breaking up with a friend is signicantly more difficult then dumping some shmuck who is in his 6th year of community college, thinks Crossfit is a legitimate excuse for a real job and doesn’t know what fucking burrata cheese is. I have only dumped one friend (reference: here) and approached the situation like a drug addict slowly weening off crystal meth. I would love to say we just drifted apart and outgrew eachother but that was not the case… she just kind of sucked. I should mention I may not be a sensational human being, but I am an amazing friend. Said ex-friend used to be this wholesome and sweet Catholic girl who wore Ann Taylor sweater sets and watch Golden Girls with you on a lonely Friday night. As soon as that bitch hit month 2 of college she started penetrating anything with a scrotum and a pulse… she pounded Franzia out of the bag and spent hours at a fraternity telling people how she always gets mistaken for Keri Russell.

After porking her 147th guy of the semester she lovingly told me that I was the “ugly friend” and was lucky to be friends with her so I could meet guys. Delusion is a precious gift. In hindsight, I wish I had taken up a small drug addiction in lieu of our friendship… something chic like cocaine. It could give me such an edge, not to mention a protruding clavicle bone and maybe even a deviated septum so I could have an insurance paid rhinoplasty. Maybe in my next lifetime…Anyone who knows me knows confrontation gives me severe anxiety. I am a coward, I prefer hiding behind the security of my computer and passive aggressively blogging about my issues rather than meeting for drinks at The Brass Monkey and address them face to face a la Kelly Bensimon and Bethenny Frankel (does anybody get this reference?) So how do you know when you should break up with a pal? Well for one, if a name immediately popped into your head upon reading this post … that’s probably a clear indicator. I have people in my life I have simply grown apart from, feel are disingenuous or I simply can’t fucking stand. It’s like friendship Darwinism. I am not even entirely sure what Darwinism is but I am going with it and you should too. So you have found yourself in a platonic friendship that drives you to the pharmacist for a Xanax refill, what should you do?

  1. Determine their role in the motion picture of your life. Is this your quirky office friend? The fun girl you bring out to the bars? The bitch that makes you laugh and take your mind off things? Or the person you call when you get dumped to bring you raw cookie dough and vodka? There are a million types of friends ranging from convenient acquaintances to borderline lesbionic life partners and then everything in between. Ditching a bitch you get teppanyaki with once a year and ditching your childhood friend who spoke at your Bat Mitzvah is a totally different animal.
  2. Evaluate the situation. Have you been spending too much time together? Is this a temporary annoyance? What are they really bringing to the table? Do you have fun with this person? Do you feel supported and supportive of this person? Are you menstrual? Breaking up with a friend is a serious life move and should not be taken lightly. Like Lauren Conrad once icily stated to her ex-bff Heidi Montag “I want to forgive you and I want to forget you.” A bitch just can’t come back from that.
  3. Really think: is the split worth it? Unless you tried to kill my dog or have become a vegan, I probably wouldn’t find any other reason to end a friendship abruptly. I may screen your calls and casually unfollow you on Instagram but that would be the extent of my pursuits. I have always said it is easier to keep it kosher and get along with people then have to worry about going out and having “beef”.
  4. Consider it may not be them, it could be you. This is a harsh reality every bitch needs to deal with. I call this the Tamra Barney factor – if it’s “everybody else” it’s probably you. They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results (or something like that #collegedropout). How many old friends are still in your life? If the answer is none, your probably an asshole and need to cling on to any chum you have in a 5 mile radius.

Girlfriends are like a bag of jelly belly’s… some are sweet, some are sour, some our your faves, some are there just to fill the bag and some just ain’t your flavor. But before you impulsively ditch a bitch because she bought you a pair of Sketcher Shape-Ups for your birthday, think about what you’re leaving behind and if your figure is prepared for yet another breakup.

Skinny Bitch Piña Colada

I was going to do a VMA recap but… I don’t fucking feel like it. Recaps are so annoying. I will say Ariana Grande is too talented to keep dressing like the spokesperson for Wet Seal lingerie, Taylor Swift moves like a limp green bean with a minor case of cerebral palsy (although Shake it Off is my jam) and Yonce is STILL on my mouth like liquor…. Every female in the music industry should be EMBARASSED #queenbey.

If you don’t follow me on Instagram you are really missing out… I am like the Martin Scorcese of fucky 15 second instavids (@jackieschimmel #plug). Yesterday, continuing my pain in the ass world tour – vacation edition, I was lusting for a poolside pina colada in a big way. It is rare I have these fruity cocktail cravings since the only thing I drink is dirty martinis. Until yesterday I had been convinced a “Phil Collins” was just a super popular gin drink… awkward. Now I eat like a diabetic truck driver but I WILL turn down for liquid calories. 500 calories for one fucking drink? No thanks, I would rather have a burger. I have to keep my shit together, I have my television debut in a few weeks (I will be on Watch What Happens Live on Bravo 9/14 #doubleplug) and have no intention of doing any type of exercise. One of my cocktail making tricks is the importance of a good shaker. I make ALL my drinks in a shaker, it’s like an irresponsible arm work out. Another trick is swapping out ice cubes (which tend to dilute the happy juice) for fresh fruit popsicle chunks. I don’t mean loading up your drink with some syrupy bullshit – I am talking either real frozen fruit or some 100% juice popsicles. My faves are a watermelon mint popsicle (48 mutha fuckin calories) found at specialty markets and coconut water fruit floes from Trader Joes (perfect for this recipe). Here is my super easy Skinny Bitch Pina Colada recipe that will not result in a muffin top or a hangover.

This is hands down the most awkward video of all time. Bottoms up bitches.

50 Shades of Gay

I like to think I make the perfect beard. I get aroused by gold lamé, put together a gorgeous Sunday brunch and can quote every Real Housewife tagline both past and present seasons. I have been romantic with many a potential backdoor lover and dame myself an expert in all things fag haggery. Here are some surefire signs that your boyfriend wants to tickle a pickle. 


  • He knows the difference between Yves Saint Laurent and Saint Laurent.
  • He only knows the terms “wide-reciever” and “tight-end” when it comes to sports.
  • He speaks in hashtags #likesitupthebutt
  • He drinks rosé and watches the Real Housewives with you… voluntarily.
  • He is under no circumstances trying to penetrate you.
  • He thinks ear cuffs are the new body chain.
  • He suffers from limp wrist syndrome.
  • His instagram username fudgepacker69.
  • He offers you “charcuterie” and/or “fromage when you go to his place.
  • His drink of choice has grenadine in it.
  • He gets erect for a good juice spot and the perfect kale chip.
  • He uses the term YAAAAAS in lieu of a hetero yes.
  • He watches gay porn like this gem.
  • He uses more than 1 emoji per conversation.
  • He has headshots even though they are not prevalent to his career… you know just for fun #gay
  • He owns a Ke$ha cd and insists he too is “hot and dangerous”.
  • He fucks guys.

It’s not that weird to be a guy’s beard, but you should know when you’re romantic with a homo.


Instagram is Ruining My Life

UNFOLLOWED & UNENTHUSED I track my followers closer than I do any irregular moles, my menstrual cycle and my ill maintained weave. So one would be able to draw the conclusion I favor my Instagram audience over my own health… Which I think really go hand in hand because when some bitch I went to highschool with unfollows me it really fucks with my seratonin levels. I know this because I have an app that tracks this shit for me #21stcenturygirl. My immediate rebuttal is one of two maneuvers, I either go on a double tap rampage or passive aggressively unfollow them (if there profile isn’t private and I still have access to their shameless duck faced filterlicious selfies). I then engage in a serious downward spiral “why did they unfollow me? am I not funny? too much self promo? did I offend them? does my filter game suck ass?” It all can be so overwhelming, but everyone reading this should know… if you have unfollowed me you are on my shit list and I suggest you refollow me in next 24 hours or your basically dead to me. Big kiss.

OVERLY-FILTERED AND OVER-EXPOSED I am very well aware of my strengths and weaknesses as a human being both in the flesh and via the internet. I like to think I am self-deprecating and charming but can’t deny the fact that I am irreparably obnoxious. Instagram serves as the ultimate danger zone for obnoxious people like myself. Beyond being grossly gaudy, I am also grossly anti-social. Therefor selling an ovary to purchase a pair of Louboutins seems ridiculous given that they will most likely never get to be showcased outside of my apartment. This is when Instagram gets to me… now I can show off my overly priced shoewear to give them the exposure they deserve but then also end up being one of “those girls”. In the same shameful respect, if I have had a solid week of proper digestion (which NEVER happens) and I happen to find myself in a bikini sans food baby I need photographic evidence. It makes me hate myself in a big way. Unfortunately not enough to make me take it down because I suck and want to show off what I worked or shit hard for. I GUFFAW at others for their overly filtered, gayly captioned, self-indulgent pictures – but have found myself being one of them on more occasions than I will ever admit. Fuck my life.

LIKES FOR LIKES If I don’t receive double-digit likes within half an hour I will delete my pic which speaks to a deeper issue; my need for approval. I am positive no one has posted and deleted a single photo more than I have… If I post something at noon and I don’t get the likes I think I deserve I will delete and blame it on “poor timing – people must be out to lunch where cellphones aren’t allowed!” and will repost around 6pm when people are home and consuming an alcoholic beverage. The Grey Goose always got your liking fingers feelin loose. The caption is such a crucial part of the posting process. It should be witty but curt, funny but not trying too hard and unisex. My hell is an emoji boasting caption. For example; “Love the life you live <3” just fucking shoot me in the face. Song lyrics simply shouldn’t be allowed as insta-captions because it makes you insta-stupid. Also any saying you would find painted on a plaque your grandmother has hanging in her janky inland empire kitchen shouldn’t be allowed either “live, life, love” #GROSS.

DOUBLE TAP DOWNFALL I’ve said it one I’ll say it again; I am one creepy bitch. Private profiles signify deep-rooted issues for me. I get wanting to keep your photographic moments for yourself but that’s what we call a scrapbook. I understand the thrill and mystery of a private profile, it makes you seem busy and obsolete. With a public setup friend requests are 100x more flattering because when people already have full access to your photos and STILL follow you, it really means something. It’s kind of like a social media promise ring…by Lorraine Schwartz. Being a fan of public profiles, I often peruse distant strangers photos without committing. Ex boyfriends, co-workers, creepy neighbors – you name it! The problem is sometimes when I stumble on a profile I get so excited, my fingers start to twitch and I accidentally “like” a photo from like 2 fucking years ago. You just CANT ever recover from something like that and it has been the black cloud over my usual sunny day for a long time now. This happened a few weeks ago whilst stalking a huge bitch I went to school with who is a total life ruiner. After LENGTHY research I found her profile and began trolling back in time. I was overcome with glee to see that she is living in a place with cottage cheese ceilings and a twin bed when I accidentally gave her the ultimate compliment – a double tap. Even if you immediately unlike something, they will still receive the notification. I learned that the hard way… Her profile is now private.

@JackieSchimmel #shameless

Generation WHY?

I am confused… when did our generation get such a bad rep? We are told we can’t get into good colleges, are bad at relationships, have entitlement issues, can’t make as good of a living as our parents, don’t value love and a whole bunch of other shit I have no interest in doing the research to name (for the record, the only thing I read on the internet is my own fucking blog and my ex boyfriends newsfeeds…duh). Although it seems super convenient to blame our generation for all of these factors the truth is we are all in control of our own lives. If we are ever unhappy with the way things are going, don’t we have full authority to change our course? Instead of complaining about being a victim to the “hook up culture” (whatever the fuck that is) and delusionaly finding solace in dumb articles we read on our newsfeeds why don’t we just look for people who want the same things? Sounds pretty simple right? That’s because it is. Sure I have had a fun night with a guy who drives a bright yellow sports car and gives everyone he meets a double cheek kiss despite the fact that he is from Calabasas not the South of France (gag). Did I think this guy was suddenly going to want to be in a committed relationship with me? Fuck no.

I feel as a generation we not only allow but perpetuate this vakakta sterotype. Sure getting into school was harder then it was for our grandparents, making 6 figures out of college is almost impossible and finding a guy that doesn’t want to bang you along with 6 other girls may be a struggle. But the more we fuel these stupid labels, the more we validate them. I read an article yesterday that had 4 different scientific studies with various percentages and research to support the “theory of the hook up culture”. It’s not that I entirely disagree with these theories. Guys have always been horny fucks – duh. Monogamy is tough shit. But don’t we have more important shit to take care of? Last time I checked there still isn’t a cure for cancer. I am pretty sure that should take precedent over running a survey on home many douchey fratboys you banged and never heard from again? Here is some groundbreaking conclusions. Don’t seriously date guys that don’t want a relationship. Don’t blame your generation for not getting into the same college as your Indian lab partner with a 4.7 GPA. Don’t find comfort in bullshit statistics and articles written by people who aren’t even apart of our generation and don’t know what tinder is.

This is not a cultural epidemic, not some plague to anyone born in the 80’s-90’s. The only plague spread through that time was Dickie overalls and the butterfly hairclip craze (let’s take about a REAL tragedy, shall we?) Our generations supply of Gerber baby food wasn’t contaminated with anti-commitment parasites that have made relationships any less important then they were 500 years ago. Has no one seen Game of Thrones? There shit wasn’t kosher either. The blame game is convenient, blaming a whole generation is even more convenient. If life is a ship (yes I am going there) we’re our own captain. We can compare our fleet to our elders but shit’s different now. If we hit an iceberg it’s our fault, if we follow another ship’s navigation we may get fucked (figuratively not physically) or end up on a fabulous private island – who knows? I am not entirely sure where I am going with this… I have been trying to work in a “boats and hoes” or seamen joke for about 20 minutes now so I am going to move on. What do you want from me? I didn’t go to college and that I blame solely on MYSELF #underachiever.

All I am saying is let’s not GENERALIZE our GENERATION and take a bit more accountability before we morph into the stereotype willingly.

Sunday Frustrations

Hello, bitches. If I see one more Sunday Funday instagram picture I am going to lose it. Boohoo the weekend is over. Mondays are fucking amazing for two reasons in particular A. It is the day I always allege I am going to start my “2014 health plan” (I should mention this *health plan doesn’t include any form of exercise regimen and only means attempting to not have carbs for every meal of the day #fitness – also, this health plan was supposed to start in 2010 and has yet to be completed) and b. TELEVISION OF THE GODS: THE BACHELORETTE, RHOC, LADIES OF LONDON. It is all too much.

I literally told my mom last week “If Ladies of London doesn’t get a Season 2 I am going to kill myself in front of the whole family.” Andy Cohen, please take that threat seriously… I have so much more life to live and don’t envision myself kicking the bucket before 30 wrapped in a British flag, singing the Ladies of London theme song with a Caroline Stanbury inspired platinum bob – but I will fucking do it. For those of you who have no clue what I am talking about I suggest you do yourself a favor and hit up your DVR stat. After being lured out of my cage and forced to be weekendy social I always start off my week seriously irritated…

Juicy Fruit – What a sad excuse for a gum. Firstly, it loses flavor quicker then the person chewing it loses their dignity and second it tastes like ass, plaster and stale fruit juice. And yes, I realize juice doesn’t go STALE so fuck off vocab police. I also find this is the gum selection of under-achievers and that is a truth you need to deal with. This gum is targeted for the person who doesn’t aspire to minty fresh breath and also doesn’t mind being taken advantage of due to its disappointing taste longevity. Think about it.

Crudités – For those of you living under a rock or engaging in sexual relations with a first cousin – Crudités is an incredibly pretentious word for a veggie platter. I would like to make it clear that anything sold in a plastic tray at fucking 7-11 does not merit a silent “s” or this fancy of a name. I was at a very distant friend of a friend’s house last week when the host kindly offered up some “Crudités” and a huge part of my already nonexistent soul started to die. REALLY?!? Stop. Please.

Pet Birds – I consider myself an animal lover if you excuse birds, reptiles, sharks and most sea mammals out of the equation. Listen, I have been very vocal about my distaste for cats. Many of my best friends love them and Taylor Swift is probably fucking one as we speak. One thing I do appreciate about those assholes is that they eat birds and for that I will be forever grateful. I can say with full confidence if I met Ryan Gosling and he took me home to his gorgeous piece of real estate and I spotted a pet bird I would run for the fucking hills. It takes a real weirdo to select a BIRD as your pet of choice. It’s equivalent to having a pet rat and I just can’t associate with people who think it’s okay. Unless you can advance my career in any way … which in the case I totally love pet birds.

@MileyCyrus – Listen I am guilty for being totally into this twerking train wreck that is Miley Cyrus. Her vakakta front teeth, creepy as shit dad, and her little dykey haircut. I get it – she’s a “genius” (why does everyone say that?) I realize she is laughing and probably air humping all the way to the bank. COOL. Last night I unfollowed Miley on Instagram and truly have never felt more liberated in my life. If I had to see one more picture of her ravey and weird as fuck arts and crafts projects I was literally going to lose my mind.

Life Lessons From Paris Hilton

I don’t know if many of you followed Paris Hilton’s music career circa 2006 but I sure as fuck did. I was especially taken by her classic hit “Jealousy” which boasted the thought provoking lyrics “Jealousy, jealousy, jealousy… it’s such an evil thang”. Rumor had it the song was about Nicole Richie. Despite her skunky highlights and dabbling in heroine, I always knew Nicole would end up on top. You go girl. Paris, passive aggression is never a cute look … neither are your Ukranian extensions, vakakta fold over mini skirts and disgraceful display of embroidered halter tops. Get your shit together already.

Yesterday, I had a really fan-fucking-tastic day. Professionally things have really come full circle and shit I only imagined in my delusional head are actually coming to fruition. Don’t get an ovary boner… I haven’t started adapting the principles of “The Secret” I still think that shit is DUMB AS FUCK. I solely attribute recent happenings to hard work, restraining order worthy persistence and a huge dose of luck. Like any bitch, when great things happen to me instead of having internal pride and feeling full with a sense of accomplishment, I turn to Instagram. Because let’s be honest what’s the point of doing anything great in life if you can’t share it with 650 people you haven’t seen since high school?

Naturally when you put yourself out there (like I always obnoxiously have) you become susceptible to not so fabulous feedback. As a repercussion to my actions, I received the following email “Stop bragging. Everyone knows you either have your daddy help you or had to bang a producer to get anywhere in life.” This shit really ticked a bitch off. Firstly, my father is in real estate and proven to be only a liability to my career as he insists on having his lawyer look over anything I’ve ever had to sign  (even if it was a fucking field trip form) and likes to make awkward office visits while he snaps pics on his phone of me candidly “working” so he can show friends and family. Like look! My daughter dropped out of college against my will, has been delinquent with her electricity bill so she can buy Loboutins but at least she is working! I have pics to prove it! What a jew. Secondly, I have banged a producer and it gotten me fucking nowhere. So fuck off.

I called my gay Sherpa and read him the email. “She is obviously just jealous.”  I hate when people just assume people are “just jealous”. Maybe you are an uptight bitch, self-righteous mother-fucker or are a huge asshole? We should make a vow as females not to automatically think people who are rude to us are simply jealous. Perhaps a bit more internal soul-searching is due before we concede the culprit be jealousy because you might just really suck. I get that may be a tough pill to swallow but the good news is it goes down easier with a stiff dirty martini. I may be a lot of things; socially insensitive, perpetually constipated and painfully delusional (I blame my mother for telling me I looked like a young Kelly Russell when I was in middle school. In reality I looked like ET with lethal jew frizz, braces and cloak of false self-confidence) but I have just never been a jealous person. I am sick in the way that I take on anyone I loves personal victories as my own and genuinely make myself believe I am a key factor in their success.

Bitches who are intimidated by you, will speak poorly of you in hopes of tarnishing your sparkle to others. Whether it be jealousy (ew), insecurity, genuine dislike or just way too much time on their hands, bitches best be making their hatas their motivatas.And aren’t we all just too busy to give a shit anyways? Bitch Bible Prophecy: Playas they gonna play. Hater’s they gonna hate. Ballers they gonna ball. Shotcallers they gonna call. That ain’t got nuthin to do, with me and you. That’s the way it is #3LW and also Nicole > Paris … always.


Not A Girl Not Yet a Woman…

Being a woman of the arts, I try and only follow my own blog to keep my view uninfluenced – plus I only try and garner hits for myself #duh.  I may be privy to scamming Buzzfeed here and there but I sure as fuck will not be taking a quiz on which Disney Princess or Imported Cheese I would be anytime soon (at least not publicly #imaburrata). This morning I was drawn to a particular article I saw being shared like a mofucka all over my newsfeed. The article is called “10 Signs You’re Dating a Woman – Not a Girl” written by Paul Hudson. Articles like these are usually ALWAYS written by men and make women’s ovaries explode like fireworks on the 4th of July. Let’s keep shit real – unless you spend a week bleeding and cramping monthly, have had a brazilian bikini wax or spent one night out in a pair of 6-inch Louboutins it’s hard for me to take any man writing about the inner workings of the female psyche and reasoning seriously. Why do we wear 6 inch heels that make our feet bleed? Because they make our legs and ass look amazing and flats can only take you so far… fucking duh. I doubt any man understands this logic therefore I sure as shit don’t care you assessment on what differentiates a “girl” from a “woman. Here are the 10 “obvious giveaways” to tell the difference – because ALL women are just so one dimensional that we can all be classified by bullet points…

1. Girls like to dress in revealing clothes because they think they look sexy – women know they look sexy no matter what they wear. I mean… seriously? I wear revealing clothing when I want to feel sexy and confident. As far as I am concerned my boobs will never be perkier or my thigh gap wider so if I feel like wearing a skanky dress OR feel it’s socially acceptable to wear pajamas out and about who cares? Sexy is in the eye of the beholder. Shut up Paul.

2. Girls expect their men to know how they feel and what they’re thinking – women use their words. I believe in many situations silence speaks more words. This article is proof that you can use a thousand words and not really be saying anything of importance. Communication is a luxury, one that women excel at. Perhaps boys aren’t worthy of such gifts and therefore get the silent treatment.

3. Girls expect you to pay the tab – women are financially independent. You can be a female zygote and be financially independent. It’s called chivalry dumbass.

4. Girls go out and get wasted – women can hold their liquor and know their limits. You can mess with my revealing outfits, predict my finances but NOBODY puts baby on a liquor limit.

5. Girls can’t wait to update their Facebook status to “In a relationship” – women forget they have a Facebook. Perhaps you have never had a woman be proud enough to publicly declare your union? Really?

6. Girls watch junk TV – women read. OH NO HE DIDN’T. Pardon me? So know you are not a woman if you watch junk tv? We as human beings have a RIGHT to escape into the mindless world of reality television. If I want to do literary analysis of Edgar Allen Poe OR want to watch Teresa Giudice flip a table it ain’t nobodies business.

7. Girls talk about trivial matters – women know how to hold a stimulating conversation. Gag me.

8. Girls eat salads – women eat whatever the hell they want. Really? So. Fucking. Stupid.

9. Girls stick to what they know – women are always searching to widen their horizons. I feel like this is an extension of the above “giveaway” I am sure women eating whatever the hell they want are definitely widening their horizons.

10. Girls need guardians – women don’t need anybody but themselves. So basically we should be alone, eating a rib eye, reading a history book, wearing a turtleneck and widening our horizons (whatever that means) and we can all be women – hear us roar bitches.


This is the dumbest shit I have ever read. Ladies… please stop posting articles like this. According to the author of this post, sharing this article actually makes you unwomanly because real woman don’t even have TIME for Facebook… ironic no?

I am not some feminist pioneer woman but I find it degrading and mostly just stupid that we would even define ourself as a real “woman” because we eat fucking salad and don’t update our Facebook page? Maybe a bitch just wants to get ready for bikini season and shamelessly stalk a sexy coworker? Pretty sure I have done both of these girl branding activitiesand according to my Rabbi, I have been a woman since 13… bitch.