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Hot Pockets / Hot Men

Okay, here we go. I have long been seriously considering leaving Los Angeles and recent events have presented this as a very real possibility sooner rather than later. Getting the heck out of LA will greatly benefit my movie. How so? Crazy as it is, economical and enthusiastic film resources are so much easier to come by outside of movie meccas. Also, I need to fundraise for my film via getting a decent non-stressful job providing excellent benefits and ample days off. What better than a career in federal service? Moving my operation to DC-DELMARVA means that I can also find free or low-income housing complete with daily home cooked meals. Really, I am trying to look on the bright side. And I don’t mind, so long as the move serves art.

Also, I am very much missing contact with people who use their brains, care about their communities, accomplish things, are changing the world and draw a blank on the name “Suri Holmes-Cruise.” [non-sequitor, as I am writing this, I am eating a Hot Pocket, the first one I’ve ever tasted. They came out with a non-meat version. My impression is… a combination of interesting/gross. Remember that episode of Deadliest Catch where the fisherman threw a fit because breakfast wasn’t ready and they had to calm him down with a Hot Pocket? So great.]

How strange, too, when you realize that your parents just may be onto something. Growing up I never thought much of Maryland. I considered it “average” at best. Returning, whoa, what a gem. Especially the historical parts. Great schools, ample community funding, beautiful nature, nice architecture, excellent public transportation, superb road maintenance and places to WALK. Bright folks, too.

Maybe this is my desire to learn speaking but I always consider people who are outside the scope of my participation to be supremely interesting beings. Scientists? Rock. Librarians? Cool. Alaskan Fishermen? Unbelievable. Lawyers? Thank you sir, may I have another!

Precisely why I’m trying not to blow it this time around. I went to a holiday party a few years ago, shortly upon returning to the States after working / running around France on That Ridiculous Television Show. A very impromptu party as the original guest list was scrapped due to a freak blizzard. Other backup guests were a family that I have known since I was a wee lass. This family is very nice if freakishly waspy to the Nth degree. All-boys private school with future Senators waspy. Socks to match their preppy stylings wasps. Sister school rejected Chelsea Clinton waspy.

So apparently I am staring at their older son, thinking, man, what a hottie he’s turned into when I realize he’s smiling at me, in his kind, quiet, way. I get embarrassed for so blatantly ogling him that my only other recourse is to (instead of talking to him) strike up a conversation with the hosts’ 300 pound 11-year-old son about a chewed up dog toy on the floor.

In retrospect, this highlights the huge difference that exists between the sorts of people I grew up around and the sorts of people currently I interact with. I googled him the other day and as it goes, he recently became a lawyer, joined the Army and works overseas in JAG. Totally hot.


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