ihopeyourewell-blog

[ihopeyourewell-blog]

Dear Harvey Weinstein,

Dear Harvey Weinstein,

It would be so easy to simply write “eat shit and die, you bag of ass” and that be my entire letter to you, but I’ve got a lot to say. I think every woman can pinpoint the first time they became an object in someone’s eyes, that moment they went from being a carefree girl to being a thing that people could objectify. I say "people" to be inclusive, but we all know I am mostly talking about men.

For me, it was at my aunt’s wedding when I was 13 years old. It was the February of 7th grade and my family had flown to Arizona for the nuptials. I wore a simple scoop neck, black dress with a cream cardigan and 2 inch heeled sandals. I straightened my hair and bobby pinned a section in the front straight back because it was 2004 and I was trendy AF. I wore fake pearl earrings from Claire’s and a little bit of eyeliner. I had braces, alternating red and pink banded braces for Valentine’s Day; yes, I used to coordinate the color of my braces with whatever holiday was happening, as I mentioned I was #TrendyAF. After the ceremony we headed into the cocktail hour. It was only a 50 or so person wedding, consisting mostly of family, but there were a few people that I did not know. As I was waiting at the bar for a Sprite with extra ice, I met a couple who somehow knew my aunt. They were older than my aunt, maybe in their 50s at the time (also I was 13 and thought everyone past the age of 26 was ancient, so they very well could have been 38, but in my early teenage eyes they were practically Jurassic). They asked me how old I was, and when I told them they both seemed shocked. The woman said “wow, you look so much older than that!” Really bitch? I have BRACES! The man then said “I feel bad for your parents, you’re going to be trouble if you already look like this.” And I kind of just laughed and walked away, because while my parents taught me to not get in a car with strangers, or to tell them if an adult touched me in my bathing suit areas, no one really teaches their daughters how to handle casual objectification at their aunt’s wedding.

When I was 16 years old I was on a mission trip with my church. It was my second summer doing the trip and I was excited to be back with my best friends doing volunteer work that I truly loved doing. I loved helping to rebuild houses for those in need. I loved building ramps that helped handicapped people get into their homes easier. I loved sleeping on air mattresses with my best friends in the basement of a rec center. I hated how much we had to pray. But looking back, what I should have hated most of all was the full grown adult trip leader who requested to have me on all of his sites, gave me special attention, and on the last night of the trip waited outside of the bathroom while I brushed my teeth and told me that he wished I was older, because he was in love with me. A man in his thirties waited outside of a rec center bathroom to tell me, a 16 year old girl, that he was in love with me. I stood there in shock while holding a Spongebob Squarepants toothbrush and a travel sized tube of Crest. Again. I just kind of laughed it off when I told my friends because, while we were given a packing list for the trip, and were taught how to use power tools, we were not taught how to handle a grown man who was in charge confessing his love.

Do you want me to go on? Or have the stories from the women you've abused been enough for you this week? Every woman I know could fill a book with stories of harassment and abuse they have experienced. We could fill the pages with comments that have been yelled at us by strangers, quietly said to us by co-workers, or casually thrown around by friends. It is a terrifying thing that connects all women. When I think about the men who say and do these awful things, when I think about you, it makes me wonder if you have ever loved or respected a woman. Have you ever even liked a woman? Your daughters, maybe? How could you respect ANY woman when you have abused so many? I don’t care about how many great movies you have helped make. I don’t care about how many careers you have launched, just like I don’t care about how great of a swimmer Brock Turner was, or *insert Donald Trump accomplishment here*, you are all PIECES OF SHIT WHO ARE BAD TO WOMEN.

Sometimes I think about what my life would be like if I were a man. Oh my god, things would be so easy! Actually maybe my life would be exactly the same but I could breathe normally when my Lyft driver pulls away before I open the door to my apartment building when it’s dark outside. How cool it must be to an actor in Hollywood! To walk into a meeting with you and not be worried that you were going to invite me into your hotel room and to watch you masturbate into a plant while showering. To be able to pursue my dreams and not worry about having to politely dodge a kiss from you in hopes of being cast in a film. What luxury! But not a luxury that Gwyneth Paltrow, Angelina Jolie, Ashley Judd, Cara Delevingne, Rosanna Arquette and so many others experienced. Also the women I have pointed out are just the richest, whitest and most successful of your victims. I can’t imagine how many women there are who don’t have the platform or career security to feel comfortable coming forward against a man as powerful as you. How many women did you abuse that didn’t end up getting the roles? Hundreds?

But, I mean, I guess I can’t blame you because you grew up in the 60s and 70s, and that type of behavior was acceptable. Being subjected to your boss jacking off into a plant at a restaurant was as common as bell bottoms and new episodes of The Brady Bunch, you know, just part of the 70s baby!!! OH WAIT! No it fucking isn’t! Growing up in a certain decade doesn’t excuse you for your sexual abuse. Growing up in a different decade doesn’t excuse you for your sexism. Growing up in a different decade doesn’t excuse anyone for racism, or homophobia, or transphobia, or anything fucking else. The only thing growing up in a different decade “excuses you from” is a bad sense of fashion and not being able to name the Kardashians in age order. Growing up in a different decade is never an excuse for being an absolute sack of shit. Repeating the phrase “locker room talk” doesn’t excuse the President of the country for talking about grabbing women by their pussies. You may have voted against him, but you’re no better than him, Harvey- remember that. Everyone needs to be speaking out against you in the same way everyone spoke out against Donald Trump. It is our job as humans to denounce the actions and words of perverts. I don’t care who you voted for, who you donated to- you. are. scum. Being liberal doesn’t pardon you from being a repulsive waste of space.

I, like most women, was not shocked to hear this about you. I am never shocked to find out a man has harassed women. I’m actually shocked when I find out a man is good, only to hear a story from another woman weeks later about something shitty he did to her. So many of you suck, and those of you who don’t personally suck cover up for dudes who do suck (@AllMenInHollywood) which ultimately means they also suck. Vicious circle, huh? And not all women are great, I’ll admit that. Seeing women like Lindsay Lohan and Donna Karan come to your defense is disgusting, because I expect men to not believe women, but women not believing women is soul crushing. But you know what, Harvey? I doubt I am going to see an article about Nancy Meyers masturbating in front of Jude Law at Nobu Malibu while discussing his role in The Holiday. That’s a special thing only men, like you, do. I have so much more to say to you, but I am busy trying to help fix the world, so I guess I’ll just say eat shit and die you bag of ass. Huh, guess I could have just gone with that from the start! I don’t hope you’re well.

Fuck off,

Jacqueline Felker

[ihopeyourewell-blog]

Dear Senator Elizabeth Warren,

Dear Senator Elizabeth Warren,

When I was eight years old, I ran for president of Mrs. Wiley’s third grade class. I was running against a few people, but I knew my real competitor was Scott Balerno. Scott was a boy that our entire grade knew was very smart, because the teachers told us he was very smart. I knew that if I wanted to win the votes of my 31 fellow third graders, I was going to have to give Balerno a run for his money.

I made neon green and orange posters that said “Don’t be wacky, vote for Jackie” with a photo of me wearing a backwards Pepsi baseball cap and hung them around the small classroom. I gave an impassioned speech about my plans to make 3B the scholastic utopia we all dreamed it could be. I campaigned at recess, going around to different friend groups asking if I could count on their votes, which was a huge sacrifice because 30 minutes campaigning were 30 minutes not spent reading Junie B. Jones on a bench in the Prayer Garden. It was the longest week of my life. At the end of the week everyone voted for their chosen candidate and Mrs. Wiley made the announcement Friday before we left for the weekend. She proudly announced that there had been a TIE, so Scott Balerno would be the class president, and I would be the vice president. We had the exact same number of votes, and Scott was given a higher position than me. We were not co-presidents. Scott was president, and I was his vice president. I was elated. I felt accomplished. I had won something!

You know, if I am being totally honest, I didn’t realize how messed up this was until about 15 minutes ago while I was showering and thinking about what I was going to write to you about. Now to be fair, Mrs. Wiley may have given us those roles because B(alerno) comes before F(elker) or because she didn’t think it would really matter, but now, sixteen years later, I can’t help but wonder if he got to be president because he was a boy. I can’t help but wonder if he got to be president because his mom came and helped out in the classroom, and my mom didn’t. I can’t help but wonder if it wasn’t actually a tie, but that Mrs. Wiley felt bad that I made posters and wanted to give me a taste of victory. At nine years old I didn’t feel like I was in the position to challenge or question this decision.  At nine years old I didn’t realize that one of my greatest abilities and straight up responsibilities is to challenge and question decisions that are unjust and wrong. At nine years old I didn’t yet know that you existed.

Strong women everywhere worship you and weak men everywhere fear you. Weak men mock strong women for loving you so much, because their piss filled brains cannot comprehend what it’s like to have a real life superhero fighting real injustice for actual humans. Weak men mock groups of united, strong women because they are so afraid our greatness will outshine their mediocrity. The other night, you were literally silenced by not only white mediocrity but white evil. AND not only were you silenced, but Mitch McConnell also further silenced the most silenced population in America, black women, by not allowing you to read Coretta Scott King’s words. You have worked tirelessly to earn a seat at the table, and this week you were basically told “Yeah, but it’s not the same seat. And also, by the way, it’s actually the same chair we use for time out. And your time out starts now. But Bernie can read the letter though.” My blood boils.

Women are so unique and different, but I’m sure we can all think of a time when we have been silenced by a man or an institution. I don’t care whether you are liberal or conservative or whatever Susan Sarandon thinks she is, we can all relate to this. We can all relate to having to act a certain way to appease men, so that we aren’t labeled as troublemakers, or hard to work with, or oh my goodness, god forbid, undateable!!! (Also shout out to you for proposing to your husband! That is for real so cool. I bet he is like, so in love with you and sets up foot baths and cheese plates for when you get home from defending the democracy of the United States of America. I bet once a day he blushes thinking about how lucky he is to be with you, that he cannot possibly believe you chose him. I hope he eats pussy like a champion.) If I have realized anything in the past few years of my life, it’s that I would much rather be a troublemaker than someone who blindly follows the rules just because I am told. I would rather not have recess for a week because I publicly challenged Mrs. Wiley than be some dude’s afterthought vice president.

America sucks right now. People are buying their ways into the most important and crucial jobs in America. Racists are being appointed to positions where the main job requirements should be “not be racist”. Millions of people’s lives are at stake, whether it's the threat of losing healthcare, not being able to re-join their family in this country, the lack of access to education, or simply because of the color of their skin or god they choose to worship. The President of the United States is tweeting at a department store. The Big Bang Theory is still the most watched show on television. It sucks. Every day something happens that makes it suck, but you make it suck so much less. Knowing that you are fighting for justice and excellence every single day, even when you are publicly told to sit down and shut up in your place of freaking work, makes it sucks less.

I cannot even imagine how terrified those men are of you, Elizabeth. These are the same men whose women that they are “okay" working with are Betsy DeVos and known villain and possible robot Omarosa. These are the same men who didn’t want women to be Ghostbusters. These are the same men I want real time facial reactions from when a woman is finally elected president. I want to see their disappointment, much like the daily disappointment so many Americans have felt since November 8th, 2016.

Senator Warren, you are an icon.You are a beacon of hope in a sea of disappointment and I am forever grateful for that. Your persistence is inspiring. I cannot wait for my children and my children’s children to learn about you, and other strong women, in history class, that is if we still have schools by then.

With the utmost respect,

Jacqueline Felker

[ihopeyourewell-blog]

Dear 25,

Dear 25,

My first vivid birthday memory is my 7th birthday party. I didn’t really have “friends” when I was 7, but I did have the girls in Mrs. Hudak’s 1st grade class. Mrs. Hudak was the meanest person I have ever met in my life. She would walk around the classroom and check to see if the inside of our desks were messy, and if your desk wasn’t tidy enough, she would flip it over in front of the entire class, throwing your books and belongings all over the floor. One time a boy’s desk was so messy, she flipped it over on top of him. He was 6 years old. Holy shit that was so fucked up!!! Luckily, she got knocked up and had to leave halfway through the year and was replaced by a straight up angel named Mrs. Hamski.

Even though I wouldn’t have considered any of the girls in 1C my friends (No one under the age of 12 has actual "friends", there are just people you play with. Friendship, much like the Real World, starts when people stop being polite and start getting real.), the trauma of Mrs. Hudak bonded us enough for me to invite all of them to a slumber party celebrating my 7th birthday. I was the first person to host a big sleepover in our grade, which, looking back on it, is insane because I wasn’t really cool enough to make such a bold social decision. I made the invitations on my family’s Gateway computer in some program that had invitation and greeting card templates (it would be so cool if I could remember the name of the program, but I friggin DON’T!). I would run home from the bus stop every day (the bus stop was literally outside of my house, so it wasn’t a far run. I don’t want you to overestimate the work I was putting in. I did have to run up my hilly driveway so there was a bit of effort, but not like a TON of effort. Ya feel?) to check to see if there were any messages on our answering machine from the mothers of my “friends” RSVPing to my party. Ugh I miss the days of telephone RSVPs. An answering machine RSVP was fun, but when it was a live action, directly speaking to someone’s mom on the phone RSVP, I felt like I was goddamn Miles Davis. It was truly a thrilling experience to check “yes” or “no” on the chart my mom had made for the party. Most of the girls had responded yes and I was very excited to show them my basement. My siblings and our Au Pair, Julia from Germany, had been working for months on drawing flags from every country and hanging them on the wall above one of the couches. I can’t imagine anything more exciting to a group of 6 and 7 year old girls than a wall of poorly drawn international flags.

I carefully picked out my outfit. I wanted to be cool and casual because I was in my own home, but I also wanted to look like the lost Olsen triplet. I think that's what every girl in the 90s was striving for. I decided on a long sleeve white shirt and velvet maroon overalls with a matching bucket hat. No shoes, just socks. I was ready to party!! Guests started arriving and it was the first time in my life I ever really felt cool. I am somewhat obsessed with being cool now, or just being perceived as cool, and I guess I can pinpoint it to that moment, that first taste of my own coolness. People thought my house was nice, and that my mom had ordered the right pizza and bought the right juices, and don’t forget I was wearing a velvet bucket hat INDOORS! I was a sleepover goddess giving these bitches the night of their freaking LIVES! We watched movies and played games that my mom and German Julia had organized. My brother and sister left us the FUCK ALONE and I wondered what shrine the girls in my class would make to honor the evening this sleepover made them all women.

On my perfectly designed invitation there were 2 options; you could come and be picked up at 9:30pm or you could spend the night (I guess there were 3 options, the 3rd being sucking ass and not coming at all). My mom figured that giving the option of leaving early would boost attendance for my party for the girls who weren’t comfortable sleeping over. I feel like I should mention that my mom got an almost perfect score on the SATs and is straight up brilliant, so of course she figured out how to maximize attendance at a 7 year old’s birthday party. Viva la my mom. At 9:30 half of the party left and the remaining warriors changed into our PJs. I wore a worn-in, white night gown covered in teddy bears, that I am pretty sure you could see my nipples through. I thought it made me look skinny (KNOCK, KNOCK! SOCIETY? You home? That is fucked up that a freshly 7 year old girl thought about how her body looked in pajamas in front of a group of girls. And this was BEFORE social media! Fix yourself please). A lot of girls asked my mom to use our house phone to call their parents to say goodnight. I remember the first time I slept at someone else’s house, I called my mom to do the same and she flat out said “why are you calling?” Damn. We watched a movie and then an episode of the Disney Channel Original Series So Weird. So Weird was kind of a spooky show and a lot of girls got freaked out, and 2 of them ended up calling their moms and going home. Up until this point, I had been so confident about how the party was going, but I began to worry everyone was going to go home. Luckily after the episode of So Weird finished, Christina Aguliera’s music video for “Reflection” from Mulan played on the Disney Channel, and everyone sang along, and I knew the party was still a hit.

The following Monday I went back to school and a few girls mentioned how much fun they had, but I kinda just went back to being the not so cool me. There was no first sleepover shrine built in my honor. Boys didn’t immediately start having crushes on me. No one asked if they could turn any of my replica flags into t-shirts. But it was an awesome birthday.

I’ve had a lot of incredible birthdays. My parents were amazing and threw me parties throughout my entire childhood. For my 9th birthday I had a party at an ice skating rink, and I made everyone watch me skate alone for an entire song. In 2005 my mom threw me a surprise 13th birthday at a kid’s dance club called Beat Street, and she threw the EXACT same surprise 13th birthday for my brother in 2003 and my sister in 2006. For my 14th birthday my mom took me to New York City to see Rent. For my 15th birthday my mom, once again, took me to New York City to see Rent. I had a massive country club Sweet 16 filled with mozzarella sticks and grinding. My 18th birthday was celebrated with a Jersey Shore themed keger in my basement (the wall of flags had sadly been removed by that point). I celebrated my 19th-23rd birthdays with some of my best friends in Chicago at the same restaurant year after year. For my 24th birthday I invited some of my closest gal pals to my apartment for a breakfast for dinner party and made everyone come dressed as me. I have been so lucky to have such incredible celebrations of my life, and even luckier for the people I’ve celebrated with.

I was so excited to turn 24. My birthday is January 24th, so turning 24 on the 24th meant it was to be my Golden Year. I had always thought "everything would happen” for me when I turned 24. I don’t know what I meant by everything, and I don’t know exactly what I thought would happen but looking back on my year everything and nothing simultaneously happened. It was a great year. Even my bad years have been great years.

25, I realize I have never thought about turning you. I’ve never really thought past turning 24. Like I said, I looked forward to turning 24 for my entire life because it was my Golden Year, but I’m realizing now that I never looked past that. I’ve thought about my life after the age of 24, but I didn’t think about turning another age. 25 sounds so much older than 24 to me. I know that sounds so silly, because 25 is still so young, but it’s a bit monumental, don’t you think? A quarter century! It feels steep and kind of weird. I am one of those people who gets a bit weird around their birthday. It’s funny, I love New Year’s Eve because I think the passing of time is so beautiful, but birthdays, specifically my birthday, scare me a bit. I guess I am okay with the world getting older, but not myself. For the week or so around my birthday, I almost mourn the loss of me at that current age. I will never be 24 again. 24 year old me is done. I had 366 days (hey, leap year!) to be 24, a full year to say “Oh, I’m 24”, and now I’m just not anymore. I don’t know why that makes me sad. I have a hard time saying goodbye to things. I have a harder time saying goodbye to people. I have to say goodbye to me at 24 and I’ll miss 24 year old me. And I know I’ll still be the same me at 25, but i just won’t be 24 anymore. This all makes so much sense to me and you’re probably just like “bitch, shut up and blow out your candles”.

This year I will turn 25 just four days after Satan officially becomes president. This year I will turn 25 on a cruise ship, the floating buffet I currently live on. This year I will turn 25 without any of my best friends to hug me or parents to throw me a party. This year I will turn 25 and have, quite possibly, my last year of good healthcare, because at 26 that shit is going bye-bye and who knows what the hell is going to happen. This year I will turn 25 and in 365 days I will mourn the loss of 25 year old me.

I never thought about turning you, 25, but it’s happening, just like every other age I have turned (and also all other humans and animals and trees and every fucking living thing has a birthday every year, even though I sound like an unreal narcissistic, whiney bitch making it seem like I am the only person  who has ever gotten older). It’s a little hard to be excited when our world is in such turmoil. So much is up in the air, and I’m kind of surprised that Mrs. Hudak wasn’t appointed to Trump’s cabinet to go around flipping desks on children throughout America. But even with all of the crap that is currently happening in the world, I am constantly in awe of the goodness within the people I love and admire, and I enter you (that sounds freaky and naughty) with confidence that 25 will be as good as every other year has been.

I hope you’re well.

Xoxo,

Jacqueline Felker

[ihopeyourewell-blog]

Dear 2016,

Dear 2016,

You know, New Year’s Eve is my favorite holiday. People are always shocked to hear that because “making plans sucks”, “something always goes wrong”, and “everything is so expensive”, and while all of that might be true, I still love it. I find something so beautiful in the passing of time. One final evening to put a mark on the outgoing year and create the first memories of the coming. There is something so romantic about it all, as if there is a little bit of magic in the air. I live for magic. Hate magicians though.

Everyone is really excited for you to be over. Ever since David Bowie died it seems like people have been telling you to go fuck right off. I mean, you have been a year. Seemingly every beloved celebrity died, I honestly can’t even remember how many mass shootings there were and Donald Trump was elected President of the United States of America. You were a doozy. It seemed like one bad thing after another, after another; I guess it seemed that way because it was that way, but then again that can be said of any year, not just you. But damn girl, people REALLY hated you.

I have been reflecting a lot on my 2016 (fuck everyone else’s bad year!!!!!! jk mad love everyone). My New Year’s Resolution was “to be a badder bitch”. That means a lot of things to me and means absolutely nothing to my mom, and maybe it means something different to you. I guess it’s hard to determine whether or not I resoluted (that’s definitely not a word- how do you say you, like, achieved your resolution? Do you achieve resolutions? Are we human? Or are we dancer?). So much happens in a year. So much more than mass shootings, celebrity deaths and the rise of the actual devil. Hell, on Christmas Eve ALONE I went to the beach, sprained my ankle in a low impact hip-hop dance class, clogged a toilet and found out that my #1 crush is “kind of talking to a girl” (also what the fuck does that mean? Kind of talking? What is it, broken English? How do you “kind of” talk to someone? None of these questions are rhetorical, please email me answers at BoyWhatIsYourDeal@sbcglobal.net)

You may have sucked, but you also kinda ruled. I traveled all over the world. I visited friends and made new ones. I was hired for two new jobs at companies I've dreamed of working for. I realized that dream jobs are still jobs, and jobs sometimes blow. I danced at my friends’ weddings. I did drugs. I ate so many chicken fingers. I did improv shows with my best friends for complete strangers. I cut 13 inches off my hair. I lost weight. I gained weight. I moved into my own apartment. I touched literally thousands of flowers. I voted for the first female Presidential Candidate. I was heartbroken when she didn’t win. I lost a friend and watched other friends lose the same friend and it was the worst. I swam in the ocean. I protested. I spent nights when I could have been sleeping sitting around backyard fires in uncomfortable chairs. I kissed a boy (only one? wtf? that’s actually the most fucked up thing about 2016). I ate eel that I bought from a man on the street. I spoke up when people wanted me to be silent. I was silent when I should have spoken up. I failed. I sometimes won. I read books but, like, not enough books. I saw movies I loved and movies I kinda didn’t like but pretended to like because movies are so fucking expensive it almost feels like you're betraying yourself if you hated a movie because you can’t get that money back. I laughed a million times and I cried a bit too. I spent too much money. I told people I loved them. I was scared to tell people my feelings. I regretted things. I celebrated my 6th year in Chicago. I struggled more than some and worlds less than others. I missed my family and my friends. I peed and pooped. I held a baby. I used my oven 5 times. I wrote about holding a baby and then followed it up with a sentence about using my oven an realized how strange it was to put those things next to each other. I was a badder bitch.

I made it through the year. I made it through you. When I think of all of these things, good and bad, I will think of you. You are the year that gave us Lemonade as well as the tough truth that even Beyonce can be cheated on. You were good and you were bad. 2016, I hope people find the good in you, even if it is hard. But also, maybe some people can’t find the good in you, and that’s okay too. Not everyone has to like you, but I really hope people stop blaming things on you. Most of the bad things that happened this year were things that other people did to each other- they need to take the blame, you’re just the house the bad things happened in. People are excited for 2017 because she’s not you, but a different number at the end of the year doesn’t change anything if the people living in the year don’t change themselves. I hope people recognize that.

I will miss you, but I am ready for 2017. I can already feel the magic of the 31st dancing in the air. I don’t know what my resolution is, or if I’ll have one. I just want to make it through another year. I want to fail and succeed for 365 days for the chance at 365 more. I hope to travel and laugh and fight for what’s right and I hope to kiss more boys, or kiss the right one a ton of times (or not, but really I should be getting kissed more than I am right now). I always end my letters with I hope you’re well, which seems kind of dumb because you’re a year and you’re about you be over and also who the fuck cares, this is a blog only my Facebook friends read. I hope you’re well.

Jacqueline Felker

[ihopeyourewell-blog]

Dear Hillary Rodham Clinton,

Dear Hillary Rodham Clinton,

Girl. My gal. Hillary! No!!!! No!!!!!!!!!!!! Girl!!! What??! No!!!! Hillary!!! Ugh. Oh my god. Okay. I wish I could hug you right now, and not like one of your post speech, quick, business hugs that Chelsea gets- I’m talking a big time, arms wrapped around each other, cheek to cheek, tight, full body hug, where we hug for so long that we unknowingly begin to lightly sway, and to an outsider it may look like we are slow dancing one last time before breaking up because the looks on our faces are sad but still filled with love, because the timing just wasn’t right. Have you ever had a hug like that? I want to give you one. Hillary. NOOO!!!!!!

These past few days have been so hard for me, I can’t even imagine what they’ve been like for you. Hillary!!! I said to some people that I honestly feel like you are my friend, my friend going through a loss and I just want to bring you cookies, pizza, and a heating pad. I want to hold hands on a couch while we talk about the good memories from your campaign and laugh and cry and sit in silence. Even though I would be there to comfort you, you would sense that I was also sad, and you would tell me what Beyonce’s hands feel like, because you’ve met and touched Beyonce. I feel like we are in mourning. This loss, this unimaginable loss, is weighing heavy on so many hearts and it fucking sucks. It physically hurts me for you to think that this pain is your fault, because it’s not. This was out of your control. As you mentioned in your bye-bye-for-now speech (I don’t want to say concession, but I guess I just did), you have been our champion, and I could not have asked for a better champion. 

You are so cool. People can say all the bad things they want, cause haters are gonna hate. I like to imagine, that much like myself, you welcome haters. I hate the way some of your haters have treated you, though. You’ve been dragged through the mud, had the worst possible things said about you (I think some people were excited a woman was running for President because they got to say “cunt” more), and you’ve handled it all with immense grace and poise. And you’re not perfect, you know that. I’m sure there are some things you wish you could take back. Wouldn’t that be nice if we just had a button where we could take things we regret back? Based on some people’s judgement of your actions from their high horses, it seems like some people already have that erase button. This past Memorial Day Weekend I ran away from all of my friends because I had to pee and went to the bathroom on someone’s sidewalk. I thought I had pulled my romper “out of the way”, but I actually just pissed all over it and was covered in my own urine, so I ran all the way home dripping in my pee, threw my romper in the washer, took a body shower, and acted like nothing happened when they got home with drunk pizza. So yeah, I wish I had a button to take things back.

I wish you were going to be the President. I wish you shattered that glass ceiling. I wish that women, people of color and members of the LGBT community felt safer. I wish so, so many things. I think people make fun of me, because even though I am pretty guarded and cynical at times, my favorite thing in the world is watching people’s dreams come true. I love watching award shows because I get to see people win awards for living out their actual dreams. I love watching championship games for sports I don’t even care about. I sometimes watch YouTube clips of Kelly Clarkson winning season 1 of American Idol. Seeing someone’s face when their dream comes true is priceless and heartwarming. A true celebration of their hard work and talent paying off. While watching your concession (gulp, I said it again) speech, I realized that there’s a reason they quickly take the cameras off the losers at award shows, why directly after the World Series, reporters don’t rush to interview the losing team, and why Justin Guarini didn’t have to sing a song after Kelly won- because watching people realize their dream didn’t come true is soul crushing. In what was probably the most gut wrenching, disappointing, and lowest moment of your life, you came out and gave a beautiful, uplifting, inspiring speech. I truly admire your grace. I once told my friends to “never fucking talk to me again” after losing bar trivia (not really a moment I would take back though, my friends are painfully bad at trivia and need to get their shit together).

I have so much more to say but don’t really know how to say it. Your hope in our country gives me hope, because if the person who was the face of this loss can move on and fight, then so can we. I hope everyone comes together to make this country the best it can be for all Americans. I hope people continue to fight like hell and listen to your words that our fight is worth it, because it is. I hope you get to see a woman become president, and I hope a black woman becomes president, and I hope we have an Asian president, and a Jewish president, and a Muslim president, and a gay president, and a trans president, and dog president. Jk about that last one, but I hope in the future, our list of presidents reflects the diversity of this country, and not just a certain percentage of it. I hope that we have enough bandaids to go around when all of the glass has been shattered. I hope. 

Now girl, go ahead and file for divorce and sign up for a singles cruise, because you deserve it! I don’t hope you’re well, I know you’re well, because you’re Hillary Rodham Clinton, and you will always be well.

Sincerely,

Jacqueline Felker

[ihopeyourewell-blog]

Dear Kim Kardashian,

Dear Kim Kardashian, 

Okay, first of all, I am so sorry I didn’t include West at the end of your name in the title, it just looked better without it. I know you and Kanye are incredibly detail oriented so I hope that you understand the omission for visual pleasure. Pleasure is the most disgusting word and I am so sorry I have already used it twice in this letter. I’ve also already said “I’m so sorry” twice. Ugh. I really am awful at keeping a blog- it’s just not for me. I was never good at keeping a diary or keeping my room clean or keeping secrets...basically anything that starts with the word keeping except for keeping up with the Kardashians- you, you are the Kardashian(s)- and gal I’ve been keeping up! 

Including this one, I have written six open letters. One of those six has been to Kanye West (know him?? lol), one has been to Taylor Swift about you and Kanye, and now one of your very own. So 50% of these letters have been to/ about your family. I am very single. But also I just friggin love you guys! I am trying to stop using the word “guys” as much when addressing groups of people because hi gender bullshit!, but I really couldn’t think of a better way to say that. Once again, I know your detail oriented self will u n d e r s t a n d . But I really do love you. I think you’re a bad bitch through and through. Assuming you read my letters to Kanye and Taylor (you did right?), you know I admire your work ethic and think that people who hate on you are jealous turds who need to get over themselves. 

I love your show (can’t get into Rob & Chyna though). I bought 8 middle finger Kimoji pins for my girl gang. I have an app section on my phone labeled “Kardashians”. The only issue of Vogue I’ve ever purchased was your cover with Kanye (sorry Kendall). The day your family played Cards Against Humanity on snapchat (and then later on KUWTK) my heart pounded for hours (I write for CAH... bragging!!!). I love you!

Early Monday morning you were tied up, gagged, held at gunpoint and robbed by intruders guised as police officers in Paris. How fucking TERRIFYING! I saw the headline and my heart hurt for you and your family. My biggest fear is someone breaking into my home (studio apartment). And bridges- I hate bridges. But I truly cannot imagine being in your position. You thought you were safe! You sent your bodyguard to be with Kourtney and Kendall who were out in Paris to make sure they were safe! Who knew this would happen. I am so glad you are okay.  

Obviously the news coverage of your horrific experience has been nonstop. It’s everywhere: CNN, Rolling Stone, People Magazine, and, my personal preference, Perez Hilton. Along with the media coverage there has also been a predictable amount of garbage ass clowns with access to a computer and hatred in their fingertips chirping away. I really do hate the internet sometimes, but not as much as some people hate women. That just made my stomach turn. The idea that I can hate the silly, dumb, at the end of the day meaningless internet less than someone hates our entire gender. Damn. 

I think, much like Taylor Swift’s lies about Kanye, you getting tied up, gagged, held at gunpoint and robbed by intruders guised as police officers in Paris (that word repetition was deliberate and I am not sorry about that), is reflective of a bigger systemic issue, specifically the way internet trolls have reacted. Okay there is so much I want to say so I need to break it down by a few points. Ay yi yi I am getting warm while wearing my The Future Is Female sweatshirt. Okay. 

1. I want to quickly address the people who think this is a publicity stunt- eat ass, freaks! You don’t need the publicity. People who think this was for publicity are the same people who told their friends that Santa Claus wasn’t real the second they found out and then acted like they had never believed in him in the first place but secretly cried themselves to sleep that night. These people are magic-less, sad dumps who live in constant fear of being duped and I truly don’t care to comment on them anymore. 

2. THIS SHOULDN’T HAVE HAPPENED IN THE FIRST PLACE! PEOPLE SHOULDN’T BE TIED UP, GAGGED, HELD AT GUN POINT AND ROBBED BY INTRUDERS GUISED AS POLICE OFFICERS. So many people have said “well why wasn’t there more security? why was she alone? why did she have so much jewelry on her in the first place? why why why why why?” I was talking to my friend Julia Weiss™ and we both agreed that this is equivalent to asking “well what was she wearing? hadn’t she been drinking?” after a woman has been assaulted. This shouldn’t have happened to you. Period. Also it’s Paris Fashion Week- of course you had a ton of jewelry. People are so ignorant. 

3. The most upsetting thing about all of this are the people who say they wish you had been killed. That they cannot believe these male intruders didn’t rape you while they could. Kim, in case you forgot, you are a woman who should have been raped and killed! You’re also a CEO, an entrepreneur, a reality TV star, a spokesperson, an advocate, a mother, a sister, a wife, a friend, an aunt, a daughter- but NEVER forget that you are a woman that should have been raped while you were tied up, gagged, held at gun point and robbed by intruders guised as police officers- because to some people that’s all you are. 

I know that famous people have this weird thing where they know that people, people they’ve never met, are constantly hating and loving them, commenting on their every move. People often forget that celebrities are also just people. I do it myself sometimes. When I read people’s comments saying that they wish you had been raped and killed, I didn’t read that as them wishing the idea of “celebrity Kim Kardashian” had been raped or killed, I read it as these fucking assholes wishing that a human woman had been raped or killed, because that’s what was said. 

People hate you because they think you’re a girl with no talent, but people also hate you because you are married to a black man. And because your children are mixed race. And because you are Armenian. And because you are unabashedly sexual. And because you’re a woman. If some of those internet trolls were to read this letter they would probably say “woah, woah, woah I never said any of that, I was making a joke about a chick on reality TV show”, but saying someone should have been raped is never a joke, and hatred lives within these people’s souls. 

I genuinely dream about the day safety is a reality for women. I hope that your daughter North knows that day. I hope that you and I know that day. I hope for a day when people look at a terrifying situation like yours with only compassion and sympathy instead of hatred and cynicism. I hope that mother fuckers stop wishing women were raped and that even bigger mother fuckers stop raping women. I hope that violence towards women and people of color stops. I hope that this world gets better because we both know that it has so much more potential than the shit show it currently is.

Kim, I hope you’re well, and I am so sorry this happened to you.

xo

Jacqueline Felker

[ihopeyourewell-blog]

Dear Taylor Swift

Dear Taylor Swift,

You know, one of my New Year’s goals was to write an open letter every week for the entire year. I did 4 and then stopped. It’s so crazy how things like that can happen; that we can be so determined to do something and then it just kind of fades out. I usually write to celebrities who have had some weird, profound impact on my life in a positive way. I like to thank these people for being a part of my memories without even knowing it. My third letter was to Kanye West- heard of him? Yeah, that’s right! Me, a privileged white girl, wrote a letter to THANK Kanye West for being a part of my narrative- not to condemn him for ruining my GD life- isn’t that fucking insane?!!?! Ugh. I joked about writing this letter to you and that I really need to get a life, but your ignorance has made me write this. This blog was a comedic, goofy thing I started, but I genuinely don’t like you and I at least want you to know why.

First of all, as a woman, I commend you for your success. As an artist, I respect anyone who is able to turn their art into money and make “creating” their straight up career. Congrats to you! Your music is sometimes fine. Okay, those are the nice things I have to say.

You are probably a person who says “if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all”; well you are going to friggin hate me, because I am about to be REAL and real isn’t always nice. The second Kanye dropped that song, and you were mad, and he said he had called you, I knew he had called you. Why would he lie? That would be so dumb to lie! Why did YOU lie? That was so dumb to lie! I was very much on #TeamKanye from the beginning.

When Kim posted that Snapchat, I had just finished a hip-hop work out DVD in my studio apartment while wearing see-through white spandex shorts and a too small sports bra. I was red faced and dripping sweat and the second I began watching my girl Kim’s snap, I had goosebumps all over my body. I knew what it was the second I saw a grainy video of a grainy video of Kanye West. I audibly said “holy shit” to no one (I live alone in a studio- am I bragging about my studio too much??), because I knew that my pop culture world was about to go goddamn insane. I crafted a text that I copy and pasted to 9 of my closest friends. I started to receive texts, tweets and tags about The Situation (it really sucks that that guy from Jersey Shore named himself that because I like the use of it as a proper noun for this matter). 

Kim was a complete savage for posting that Snapchat. And I mean savage as an incredible compliment. That was DOPE. I love Kim. I don’t know why people hate on her. She is cool and hard working and has provided jobs for so many people with her multitude of businesses. I think that is amazing. I love Kanye. I recognize that he is flawed. I think that you can be offended by the word “bitch”. Personally I am not offended by the word, and Kim shouldn’t have said that she’s surprised you were offended by it. Although, I think that if I had gotten approval for a line about having sex with you, I would have assumed you would have been okay with the word bitch. But you can be offended by being called bitch. I am not mad about that. 

I am mad that you lied about the phone call and kept changing your story. I am mad that you painted yourself as an innocent victim to a black man. Kanye West is so earnest and kind in that phone call. He says that his responsibility to you as a friend is more important than a punchline in a rap song. The bad boy of rap music called you to check about a line!!! NO ONE DOES THAT! Do you call all of your ex boyfriends/ex friends to check in with them before you reveal intimate details about break ups and fights before releasing songs? LMK.

I am mad that even when this video was released, you still played victim. All of your “squad” members were so quick to defend you and were disgusted by Kanye West when the song was released, and they were just as quick to dismiss the unmasking of your trail of lies by telling people to focus on “bigger issues”. By bigger issues did your friends mean the persecution of black men in America? Because if so, they need to look no further than their friend, Taylor Swift. Also is squad American for “rich, skinny, white women”? LMK.

I really went back and forth about writing this, because I was like “do I really care this much about a celebrity feud”? I was sitting at my desk, and I started thinking about how unfair it was that you painted a black man out to be a monster when he tried so hard to do the right thing; and maybe he didn’t do the right thing perfectly, but he really tried. While thinking about this, I had this sudden flashback to being a freshman in high school and reading To Kill A Mockingbird. I remember being 14 years old and crying while reading that book because I realized the unearned, undeserving, gross power I had just for being born white. That if I wanted to lie about a person of another race, people would most likely believe me. I sat at my desk at work today and started to tear up for you, because you haven’t realized that yet. You don’t recognize your privilege. You probably cannot even BELIEVE that people are saying YOUR character assassination of Kanye West is about race. But that’s exactly what it was. As are the actual assassinations of Trayvon Martin, Sandra Bland, Eric Garner, LaQuan McDonald, Tamir Rice, Alton Sterling, Philando Castille, and, unfortunately, so many others. There are so many videos of black people being wrongfully killed and somehow those white murderers are still found innocent. After this video was released, you still tried to make Kanye West out to be the criminal here and remain that you were the victim and maintain your innocence. People may think it is insane to draw comparisons of these situations, but I bet people also think it is insane try to compare reaching for a gun to reaching for skittles. This world is just that- insane. So yeah- I DO really care about this celebrity feud. And so should everyone. 

I usually end these letters with “I hope you’re well”, but Taylor, you’re not well, and I hope you get better. 

Sincerely,

Jacqueline Felker

[ihopeyourewell-blog]

Dear Menendez Brothers,

Dear Menendez Brothers,

Can you guys read tumblr in jail? Really hope so! For as long as I can remember, I have been obsessed with murder- not that I would ever commit murder (weapons SCARE me), so maybe it's better to say I have been obsessed with murderers. When I studied abroad in London, I took a course on Jack the Ripper. Getting away with murder used to be so EASY! You guys got away with it for a while, but in 19th century London, you def would have been smooth sailing. But, I am not writing to you to find out why you brutally murdered your parents, I am writing, because you have unknowingly been connected to some of my fondest memories.

Much like you, I attended a private prep school in Princeton, New Jersey. We were rivals- ah! Don't kill me!! While you attended Princeton Day School, I attended The Hun School. I am sure you both were on the campus at some point- nice right? PDS is nicer though tbh. After you guys killed your parents, fled the state, and were later convicted of murder, there were still a lot of assets to be dealt with. Your beautiful home on Mountain Lake road in Princeton became a place that you could rent for private functions called "Mountain Lakes House". They don't advertise that it is former your home, but we ALL know. My friend Molly had her Sweet 16 there. I danced so hard at that party that I broke the strap of my sandal and had to leave the party with one shoe. I remember that it was the first party I ever attended with a driver's license. Wanna know something wild? I failed my driver's test twice- third time really was a charm for me! The first time was a full on fail, the second time was rigged.

Molly's sweet 16 was not the only soiree I attended at your old abode. My friend Noel's mom threw her a surprise 18th birthday party there. I did not break a shoe at that party, but I did eat a piece of cake on the toilet because there was limited seating and my legs were tired. I also attended an event there for a non profit organization that I was on the student board for. The organization planned alcohol and drug free events for middle and high school students, to discourage them from partying. As part of the student board, I signed a year long pledge not to drink or do drugs while I was an active member. From what I hear, you guys were total party boys, so I am sure this was not your scene. During this visit to Mountain Lakes, I actually looked around at bit more and wondered which rooms were yours. I assumed that much like Regina George, you had made your parents trade you for the larger rooms. At this event I was volunteered to be hypnotized. It was really wild, especially because I had gotten high your driveway before I walked in…. I never said I was an angel ;)

While Mountain Lakes gave me some great times, there is another special place that was my sanctuary in Princeton. Yes, I am talking about Chuck's Spring Street Cafe, affectionately known as Chuck’s. Lyle, after you ended your parents life and started recklessly spending their money, you actually loved Chuck’s so much that you freaking BOUGHT it- now that is pimpin. Chuck’s is famous for their buffalo wings and dirty atmosphere, a place that screams "shoot your parents and buy me!!!". When I started high school, my brother was a popular junior. He and his friends often went to Chuck’s after football and baseball practices, and because he was my ride, I often had to to tag along. They would make me sit at a table on my own, but they would also buy my food- they were basically sweet and sour chicken. I didn't mind though; I would eat my wings on my own and think about which of my brother's friends would ask me to prom ** none of them ever asked me to prom **.

After I got my license, my best friend Megan and I began going to Chuck's on our own, about once a week. It was really known as more of a boy hangout, but that is fucking stupid- ya girl loves wings. There were 4 employees at Chuck’s, and only 3 working at any given time. There were two Asian students from Princeton that alternated working the register. One was cooler than the other because he would always give us free "baby tacos", which were mini hard taco shells filled with some unidentifiable brown goo that was good AF. There were 2 Guatemalan cooks who LOVED Meg and me. As I mentioned, mostly dudes hung out at Chuck's, so I think they were always excited to see us. Meg and I, two 17 year old girls, could HOUSE wings. We always say that we are perfect best friends because I like the drumsticks and she likes the wings, and there are never any arguments. We would walk up to the back counter and our Guatemalan friends would says "amigas!!!!!! cincuenta?". Not sure who much spanish you guys know (I am not jumping to any assumptions based on the last name Menendez), but that is translated to "friends!!! Fifty?". That meant that these 2 cooks saw my best friend and me, and automatically knew that we wanted 50 buffalo wings. Surprisingly, we did get asked to prom at this time in our lives. Lyle, did you hire these cooks? If so, you did something right- incredible guys, who still remember me every time I come in. I am insulted, however, that even when on I'm my own, they say "cincuenta?"… I hope this is more of an inside joke, rather then them thinking I can/would eat 50 wings on my own. If they're mocking me, I guess I can count on you guys to take care of it? Lol jk I could definitely eat 50 wings, and please stop murdering!

I don't know if you guys are still partial owners of Chuck's (not super familiar with the law), but if you are- can you have that bathroom renovated? Or like at least put a light in it? Other than that, it is a perfect establishment.

In a recent SNL sketch, Vanessa Bayer announced that you were the first boys she got horny to. I can't say that I ever got horny to you, but a few weeks ago I did some research on you guys, just to keep tabs on my WINGmen (lol), and it seems like a LOT of ladies have gotten horny to you. You have both been in multiple serious relationships WHILE in prison. I can't even get a dude to take me out for a McFlurry, let alone have multiple suitors visiting my murdering ass in jail- but hey, I can't knock the hustle.

All in all, thank you for allowing my friends and I to get low to Lil Jon and the Eastside boys in your childhood home and for the best wings in the world. But okay I held off long enough- WHY DID YOU KIL YOUR PARENTS?? I really hope they aren't the brown goo in the baby tacos.

I hope you're well.

Jacqueline Felker

[ihopeyourewell-blog]

Dear Kanye West

Dear Kanye West,

K A N Y E  W E S T … woah baby. Our future president!!! I actually hope you don't win, because I think you would quickly learn that you would not have time to create dope music, design fashion lines and also be the leader of the free world, but god do I love your spirit. I was recently talking to someone about how if people say they really love you, they have to be all in. (Do you watch Bar Rescue? That's where I fell in love with the phrase "all in") They can't be like "yeah I love him, but I don't support this"- when it comes to you it is an all in situation and, Kanye, I am ALL IN. I have gotten into fights over you, because people can hate on me all they want (for real people start hating on me- trying to get some more haters in 2016) but I will freaking fight someone if they start hating on you. One day I had to walk away from a lunch with my boss because she kept running her mouth and I was about to quit or be fired, and ya girl has gotta pay rent.

I remember the first time I heard your music. I was 12 years old and I had just seen "You Got Served" starring Omarion, in theaters, and my dad and brother had come to pick me up. My brother was very big into making CDs at the time from all of his illegally downloaded music from LimeWire, and, I remember this moment so vividly, we were pulling out of Oxford Valley Mall when my brother put on "Through the Wire" and told me that you had recorded the song while your jaw was wired shut- savage move. I once broke a finger and required a Vicodin prescription, so I really admire anyone who can do something while in pain- let alone record an absolute banger. My brother said that you were about to blow up, and a few weeks later The College Dropout was released, and blow up you did. Remember when Dionne from Clueless was in the "All Falls Down" video? So cool.

I had always "liked" rap music, but you were the first guy that made me think "okay maybe I should release a mix tape?". I remember trying to be able to rap as fast as Twista (ps where are you Twista, like what's up??) while singing along to "Slow Jamz". I remember trying to physically follow along to the lyrics of "The New Workout Plan", not knowing what "give head" meant (what a workout lol). I remember the small controversy "Jesus Walks" created at my Catholic school when people would sing it and teachers would make them stop. Kanye, you really shook up St. Andrew's School in 2004 and boy, did we need some drama!!!

The first time I ever got drunk in public was when I was 16 years old. My friend Danielle and I snuck vodka into Gatorade bottles and drank it on the way to the Glow in The Dark Tour. I think I faked being drunker than I actually was, but don't hate the player, hate the game. There was a moment in the concert where you legit just laid on stage for 25 minutes, loudly breathing into the microphone. People started complaining and I got pissed and said "relax guys, he knows what he's doing". Nothing particularly amazing happened after your on stage nap, but I picked up every pair of those (in retrospect dumb) plastic Kanye glasses people had left on the ground and walked out of there happy as hell.

When I was a college freshman in your hometown Chicago, I somehow found myself in the club scene for a wild two weeks. My friend Teresa had met the prince of Dubai (he was not the prince of Dubai but his family was very important and we were very ignorant) and he used to take us clubbing. The first night we went out with UAE royalty, my 19 year old friends and I searched our closet for clothes that we thought were club appropriate. I chose a navy and turquoise cotton sundress from Anthropologie and my only pair of heels which I had previously worn to my high school's Cotillion. I was ready to party. We were served way too much alcohol in a dark, sleek room surrounded by men wearing liters of Acqua Di Gio. I learned what bottle service was and became friends with a bathroom attendant who allowed me to take an entire basket of lollipops back to our table- even at this moment I was still not carded. I was very drunk and attempting to pretend to be less drunk than I was, man how the tables had turned! A 34 year old french baker proposed to me and I walked through the streets of Chicago barefoot. A lot of these decisions were bad, but the memory that sticks out most in my head from my club days is riding through the streets of Chicago in a white Hummer, standing out of the sunroof while listening to "All of the Lights", feeling like I was going to live forever. "All of the Lights" has remained my favorite song since that night. I later slipped a disc in my back from throwing up so violently the next day… must have been all of those lollipops.

You have been a part of some of my wildest life moments, and I have defended you through many of yours. Interrupting Taylor Swift? All in. Wearing sunglasses indoors for 3 years straight? All in. Calling yourself a creative genius? All in. Creating a fashion line that basically consists of sweatshirts with holes and nude spandex? All in. Marrying Kim Kardashian? ALL in. Naming your children Saint and North West? All in. Kanye 2020? A L L IN.

Now please release your album #swish. I hope you're well.

Jacqueline Felker

[ihopeyourewell-blog]

Dear Amanda Bynes

Dear Amanda Bynes, Girl. I can't believe I am writing a letter to Amanda Bynes; I actually think YOU taught me what letters were during the "Ask Ashley" sketches on All That. And now writing this has really taught me the meaning of the phrase "coming full circle".  You don't know me (at least I don't think so....? Let me know if you do though), but you've taught me so much. I know you were taking some fashion classes at FIDM but if those don't work out, you could consider a career in education. When I was younger I was obsessed with 3 things: WWE Raw, Sour Warheads, and becoming a cast member on All That. I had a hard time making friends as a kid, and in the second grade I remember tearfully begging my parents to either allow me transfer schools, put me up for adoption, or let me audition for All That. I was dramatic and clearly meant for show biz. I just knew that if I auditioned for All That I would finally have a friend, because I would get to meet you. You were the friend I was waiting for. My parents were hesitant because, well, I was 7 years old and I was in no way ready to be a sketch comedian. Transferring schools wasn't an option because my Italian grandparents were alive and I had to receive a Catholic education, so adoption was looking like the best bet- but my parents had already printed the Christmas Card for that year and it would take too much explaining. I continued to be persistent- I wanted a change so badly, so I convinced my au pair (both of my parents worked full time so I was partially raised by foreign teenagers) to let me film an audition tape for All That. For the tape, I acted out a "Ask Ashley" scene, did an impression of Macy Gray (that's what the producers were looking for from a white second grade girl, right?), and did this thing where I chugged a Slim Fast weight loss breakfast drink, can't remember what the premise was, but I'm sure it crushed. She never hit record. She was in cohoots with my parents. I didn't find this out until years later. Ans from Belgium, if you're reading this, I forgive you. I continued longing to be your friend during the Amanda Show. Your character that only said "maaa-haaaa" and had weird teeth is the height of comedy to me. I loved you in What A Girl Wants - you must have had such a crush on your smoking hot movie dad, Colin Firth. I remember secretly hoping that there would be a plot twist and he wouldn't be your dad so that you could kiss. I am sick. In 8th grade I saw She's the Man, and like every girl my age, thought you were the ultimate cool girl. I still watch it and wish I was your friend. You kissed Channing Tatum before the world knew they wanted to kiss Channing Tatum- HOT! Clearly I'm all about kissing. I am sick (but chill). Then things started to go not great for you. The media harassed you, paparazzi stalked you, and Twitter demolished you. And you know what? I partook. And I'm sorry. I spent so much of my life wanting to be your friend, and then I turned on you when everyone else did. Bad, bad, bad. This sounds crazy- but you taught me a lot in that moment too- to be a better friend to my friends and not to turn my back on people. I am sorry I wasn't a better wannabe friend. You are still the ultimate cool girl to me. You were the first person that influenced me to love what I love. You were, and I'm sure still are, comedy gold. I hope you're well. Xoxo, Jacqueline Felker

[ihopeyourewell-blog]

Dear Joshua Jackson

Dear Joshua Jackson, Woah, I can't believe I've finally worked up the courage to write to Joshua Jackson... I mean you. Oh boy. I know this sounds crazy because we hardly know each other, but I love you. Oh gosh, am I coming on too strong? You must get that all the time. Okay... Let me explain... I recently went back east to spend the holidays with my family. I love going home because the east coast has the best friends, the best bagels, and the best cable provider- my parents. My parents have big time cable, I'm talking ALL the channels. So many channels dedicated to just soccer (do they call it futbol in Canada where you're from? I could google that, but I'd rather hear it from you). So while flipping through OnDemand, I decided to binge watch The Affair. You are so good in it!!! What is Alison thinking? I can't imagine anyone could ever stop loving you or any fictional character you played, and while watching the show, I realized I have been in love with you my entire life. Charlie Conway, the boy you played in The Mighty Ducks, was my first crush. I even watched D3 (which is not good, I'm sorry, but you KNOW) just to watch Charlie get kissed. Ps what was it like working with young Keenan Thompson? Did Kel ever hang around the set? Let me know when you write back. But your portrayal of Charlie Conway was how I knew I liked boys. When I was a sophomore in high school I did a persuasive speech on why D2 is the best movie in the trilogy. My main argument was how cute you were in it! I got an A- thanks for that, cutie pie! "The face that launched a thousand (1) A's" - fun memoir title for you. I didn't think life could get better than Charlie Conway, and then you go ahead and play Pacey Witter. Are you friggin kidding me?? Pacey!!!! You are so cute, Josh, forreal. Dawson was a straight up chump compared to you. I was too young to watch Dawson's Creek when it was originally on air, but I watched the entire series during the summer between 6th and 7th grade. I think my left boob is bigger because my heart grew so much that summer because of Pacey Witter, and that coincided with my puberty boob growth. When I heard you were dating Diane Krueger, I was crushed, although, how could you say no to the female lead from the National Treasure series? What's it like knowing your gal has made out with Nicholas Cage? Probably awesome. You guys are a visually beautiful couple and I love your stance on marriage. Yes, your fictional characters have drawn me to you, but your interviews have made be like "okay hello I am in love, this is love". And that brings me to The Affair. Cole is part sweetie, part nasty boy, and that is my favorite recipe. Your voice has a gorgeous tone. Does that run in your family? If so, can't wait for family dinners haha. I don't know what I've done in my life to deserve being able to watch you bang a woman on the hood of the car with a nice shot of your good ass butt, but what a gift. I love Cole. I love you, Josh. You are my number one crush, and if you and Diane don't work out, I would love a shot. I truly think that if we met, it would be magic. But I didn't write to ask you to love me- that would be pathetic. I am writing to thank you. Thank you for the butterflies for the past 20 years. You've given me more giggles, blushed cheeks, and sighs than I could every truly thank you for. I love you, Joshua Jackson. I hope you're well. Love, Jacqueline Felker