At the end of a long day spent fumbling adorably around Los Angeles in sweatpants that are, oh my God, exactly like a pair I have, Jennifer Lawrence pulls out a large bundle of letters from her mailbox.
Since her Academy Award win, offers have been pouring in from all directions to be her new best friend. Jennifer Lawrence, being cheerful and relatable as ever, is personally responding to every one of them. From people long familiar with her work to those only recently jumping on the Lawrence train, the offers range from low-key roles to demanding ones that will push her to the edge.
It turns out that every bitch that’s ever tripped over herself in high heels or made a goofy face at an inappropriate work moment is convinced that she and Jennifer Lawrence would make just the best of friends.
A 37 year-old IT consultant from just outside of Des Moines writes, “I’ve been terrified of Jack Nicholson since I was a little girl, I think you handled that situation at the Oscars really well! Maybe we could grab coffee some time?- Marjorie ” Jennifer considers for a moment whether she will be in Des Moines shooting any time soon (she won’t) and how poorly she got along with the guy that installed her cable. Not a match. A friendly rejection letter is sent and she moves on.
“Dear Jennifer,” writes a 16 year old in West Memphis, Arkansas, “My dad is also a meth dealer that is constantly disappearing on us. I don’t have any siblings but we have three cats that it’s hard to care for without Daddy around to bring in a stead income. Knowing you got through it is what keeps me going. Wanna have a sleepover? LYLAS, Delilah.”
Despite being alone, she gives an exaggerated shoulder shrug with an open mouth smile that seems to say, “Oh jee whiz, I’m just an actress!” But being ever the philanthropist, Jennifer Googles “Rehabs Arkansas” and finds a place called Journeys Home that will accept patients without insurance on a sliding scale. She prints out the informational packet and sends it to Delilah with her best wishes for her, her father, and the three cats. She explains that she’d love to have a sleepover if Delilah is ever in New York or Los Angeles.
After several hours, she has replied to 13 applications but has 391 to go. Jennifer throws herself on a couch covered in money, lets out an exasperated sigh, sticking her tongue out like your average stunningly beautiful and talented goofball. She sets aside time the following day between a photoshoot for Vogue and her regularly scheduled good-natured teasing of a co-star on a red carpet. Her pretty eyes glaze over, and she stares dead-eyed at the ceiling and whispers, “They like me. They really fucking like me.”