Celebrity Interviews: http://www.bluntreview.com Blunterettes , I lead a truly strange life as film reviewer and celebrity interviewer Emily Blunt of BluntReview.com...this is true. In the a.m. it's off to interview a celeb, and by the afternoon, I am dining off The 99 Cent Store products, in the evening - it's gowns and petit fours among the "elite." Oh, this double-life that's mine. You wanna know what I'm up to? Sure, here you go.

Saturday, April 23, 2005

Ya Know I've Moved For Less Than This!

It's early for me...yet I'm up. I stayed up late last night watching a special on C.S. Lewis - figuring I could nest like a turtledove among my 102864 blankets till noon if I wished, as I had no plans to speak of.

But, no. The McLouds downstairs (who I also accuse openly of laundry detergent theft) are bowling for midgets or something in their bedroom - which is directly below me! What on this great Earth could be making that sound? They don't have murphy beds! Hell, there's not even a real bed in there - I happen to know this, because they proudly shared their rooms with me (immediately after moving in- and I couldn't say, "No Tha..." fast enough and was looped into the tour-from-hell; though I do so love to see how other people live :) ), when I saw - & I shit you not - two twins or mini-twins beside each other - in that 1950's TV version of a couple ( folks that did not happen - it was the ratings folks that made poor Laura snuggle beside Rob with a bit-o-room 'tween them...). But here it/they is/are - live....now I have to question my very existence - but that's a different story altogther.

I threw a down (sound blocking-style) pillow over my head and pretend it's a bad dream...but Mr. McLoud, who has the bellowing decibels of a injured hippo- starts some kind of puking/gagging fit somewhere in the small dwelling (and it is shaking the walls) - and it'so loud I am again awakened from my slumber. Even my dog, Taylor, glances back at me with a , "What in the H -E - double hockeysticks is that guy doin'!" look. I coddle him while I hear the other dog arise-n-shake on the day from the couch. I knew now there would be no rest. Once Clyde awakens - it's a mad dash to the walkiwoowoo of the morn. We've known each other for 15 years. Each morning I beg him to let me at least have a cup-o-coffee and brush my hair. But, he cries and pouts until I am rushing out the door hair askew and shirt usually inside out and backwards.

Needless to say, the neighbor kids are none too keen on me. I've seen them do the "other side of the street for safety" routine. Admittedly I often don't even get a chance to look in a mirror before the walk- and after I myself think, "This broad looks nuts!" But, on the East Coast, no-one really minds if your "morning self" isn't quite your post shower self. Here in Los Angeles? My fellow dog servants look as if they've just been fed, burped and diapered by an Academy approved team of stylists before they saunter forth to pick up poo.

As I try to sneak back in Loudmouth Bill stops me, "Mornin' How are the doggies?" I resist a verbal assault and pretend I didn't hear him...like I do EVERY morning...take a hint fella.

I need a small guest house in Malibu with a private entrance in the quiet - quiet hills.


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