Saturday, December 30, 2006

Oprah Has A Big Fake Tree In Her Solarium?

SELLER: Oprah Winfrey
LOCATION: 32nd floor penthouse, Water Tower Place, Chicago
PRICE: $5,400,000
SIZE: 6,500 square feet, 5 bedrooms, 6 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: A mansion in the sky. Newly completed 6,500 duplex penthouse. Incredible vistas of lake, city, and pier from every room. Grand 2-story entry with sweeping staircase to observatory room with 19 foot ceiling surrounded by glass and 2,000 square foot private terrace. Five en-suite bedrooms, 2 fireplaces, theater room, office, magnificent custom finishes and floor plan. Two car garage. Fabulous!

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Your Mama thinks we have hit the mother load here children. We had to pour ourselves a tall, stiff drink when we located this listing. Because babies, Your Mama thinks you are looking at photographs of the inside of Miss Oprah Winfrey's fabled duplex penthouse apartment.

Now babies, some reports say this lady owns four apartments in this building. And some reports say she has combined multiple apartments into one jumbo penthouse. Other reports say her duplex is a whopping 10,000 square feet. And this apartment is none of those things; it is, according to the listing, a single, penthouse duplex with 6,500 square feet of interior space.

But children, ask yourself. Be honest. Who else would have a gigantic fake tree up in her house? Do you know what effort and cost it is to drag all those simulated leaves and branches up to the 32nd floor of a classy building in downtown Chicago? Now babies, we love Oprah as much as anyone else, and we know she does so much good work around the world she's giving Mother Theresa a run for her reputation, but Your Mama is just positive that phony foliage was not a very good decorating choice. We do not think one should move into a 32nd floor of a luxury building and feel like you're the Swiss Family Robinson living up in a damn tree.

Anyhoo, let us tell you why Your Mama thinks this penthouse is the current home of one of the world's richest and most famous women. 1.) Everybody knows Oprah lives in a large duplex penthouse at Water Tower Place. 2.) In addition to the penthouse shown in the photos above, the penthouse next door is also for sale (list price, $5,987,900). And babies, you have to know that Oprah probably owns that penthouse too, right? 3.) How many penthouses can there be in this building, and what's the likelihood two come to market at the very same time Miss Oprah is moving out of her penthouse? 4.) Everybody knows she is indeed moving house into a swanky building over by the lake with her mustachioed man friend. And 5.) That tree.

Some here at the Real Estalker think the furniture looks flavorless, cheap, and not befitting of the filthy rich, chatty billionairess, who also owns a very classy $50,000,000 weekend house in Montecito, California. But it is Your Mama's opinion this apartment has likely been staged and that Miss Oprah has already moved into her new apartment. You know why? Because you just know this lady is not going to tolerate a bunch of snotty rich bitches coming up into her house talking about everything that's wrong with it...like that damn tree.

As always, we'll stay on the story babies and let you know if we're able to suss out any additional information or confirmations. Now Your Mama is tired and we're going to go get ourselves another drink and settle into the sofa for a long night of T.V. watching with our dachshunds Linda and Beverly.

Friday, December 29, 2006

Hell's New Residents

I don't understand this at all, darlings.

All right, we're all on pins and needles awaiting the execution of Saddam Hussein, like a second Christmas in the same week. There's nothing that teaches a godless Muslim about the forgiveness and mercy of the obviously morally superior religion Christianity quite like hanging him. You can't make the point that "Murder is Unacceptable" (or "Thou shalt not kill" to Charleton Heston fans. How sick are they? Don't get me started on Cheston.) any clearer to a mass murderer than by killing him, thus proving that you're a better person than he is, one who would never kill someone. As that great Irish homo Oscar Wilde once said, "What a lesson for him. I trust he will profit by it."

As I sit here dictating this to Little Douglas, it is 6:30 PM PDT, December 29, 2006, and all the news programs are doing the Deathwatch Countdown for Saddy, who at this moment, is scheduled to depart in half an hour, though any air traveller since 9-11, a day of disaster in America that Saddam is being rightly punished for despite his having had nothing to do with it (No one was more disappointed by this than Saddy himself.) knows, departures can be subject to delays.

The only reason Stephanie Edwards isn't on TV at this moment, interviewing volunteers gluing the last few rose blossoms onto the gallows, is because she has been let go by KTLA for the crime of aging semi-naturally. Richard Simmons has been chosen Grand Marshall for the Saddam Death Procession. We have marching bands, helicopters showing us the Death Parade Route, kids dressed as Star Wars Storm Troopers marching about, and everyone just about soiling themselves in excitement over an execution. It's better than the Superbowl. (Which I'm told is great. I've never actually seen one. What do they do at them?)

Okay, drooling with joy over a person being killed I understand. I felt the same way when Delores Delgado drowned. She was a bitch, and Saddy had a number of rather large character flaws also. If he hadn't been a power-mad, mass-murdering, torturing dictator, he'd have made a good Golden Era studio head. I'd love to have seen him handle Bette Davis demanding better scripts, or firing Joan Crawford. Once Joan realized that Saddy was named in honor of sodomy (Oh, look at Little Dougie perk up at the computer!), she'd have been all over him like smog on the Los Angeles Marathon.

Here's what I do not understand: Why has the United States Government declared next Tuesday to be a National Day of Mourning for Saddam Hussein? If we liked him that much, why did we spend so much time, money, and American Lives to kill him? (More Americans have died in the Iraq War now, than in America on 9-11. Congratulations Dubya! You've beaten Osama's record! Good Going! Look out Hitler! Records are made to be broken.) I should get no mail just because Saddy's neckwear was too tight? It might be the day my annual fan letter arrives. My surviving fan (Hello!) isn't a spring tarantula. He or she may not have an extra day to wait for me to receive their love. When my last fan dies, will he or she get a National Day of Mourning, or a funeral at the National Cathedral? I don't think so.

(Speaking of which, why do we have a "National Cathedral"? The last time I looked, we were a secular country, not a Catholic Country. If we have become a Catholic Country let me know, so I can move someplace secular, like Vatican City, which used to be Catholic, but is now run by Nazis, excuse me, Former Nazis. It's not Herr Pope's fault that Heaven is Restricted. So do we have "National" buildings for other barbaric, antiquated belief systems? How's that National Mosque coming? I'm a Christian Scientist myself, except for all the absurd beliefs and practices. Where is our "National Reading Room"?)

On a more positive note, it was nice to see that novelist and Former President Gerald Ford was finally executed for the crime of pardoning Nixon, his specific crime being Watergate Cover-Up Accessory After-the Fact. Prior to usurping The White House, Ford was beloved for his widely-summarised work of fiction, The Warren Commission Report, a novel based on the Assassination of President Kennedy, but coming to a completely fictional conclusion involving an invented villain, like one of those episodes of Doctor Who where the Doctor visits a famous historical event, only to discover that the "Real Villains" were the Daleks or the Cybermen or Lee Harvey Oswald the Rabbit.

With Ford, you see the real difference between American Justice and Iraqi Justice. It took 32 years to convict and execute Ford for his crime. Saddy's gone from rathole-squatter to corpse in only 3 years. In fact, the news has just come through: Saddy's been hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that stabilization soon will be there. (Yes. This will stabilize Iraq. Another victory for Dubya. Will the Shi'it now hit the fan? Sunni or later.)

Ford's real legacy is establishing the precedent of appointing presidents instead of electing them. Gerry Ford was the first president appointed to the office. He got the presidency on a single vote: Nixon's. Yes, we let the man we were hounding from office for his crimes-beyond-number choose his own successor. Even Iraq didn't let Saddy choose his own successor. Had he done so, he wouldn't be swinging today. He'd be fat and sassy in San Clemente, with a presidential pardon and a book deal. (Judith Regan's gotta eat.) Our Supreme Court jumped on the precedent, and in 2000 appointed Dubya to be president, rather than do all that tiresome counting of the votes. After all, if The People were competent to elect a president, they'd be on the Supreme Court.

To be fair to Dubya, unlike Ford, he did receive more than one vote, many more, though still fewer than Al Gore received.

But if you ask me, the real criminal in the Ford Family was that evil bitch Betty. The Betty Ford Clinic is Satan's Cesspool! Trying to stop people from drinking? What infamy! What an atrocity! Get me a rope! And a vodka tonic, heavy on the vodka, just the slightest whisper of tonic. Thank you, darling.

But WHY did they hang James Brown? Papa's got a brand new bag, and they've put it over his head! Is he now the Hardest Working Man in Hell? Whitey has stuck it to the Black Man once again. Well celebrity hangings, like all other celebrity deaths, always come in 3s. And there's nothing on earth I like better than a well-hung man.

Except vodka.

Cheers darlings, those of you who have survived. Hang in there. (Sorry Saddy, but not very.)

Is Oprah Moving Here?

BUYER: Oprah Winfrey
LOCATION: E. Lake Shore, Chicago
PRICE: $5,600,000 (purchase); $5,995,000 (list)
SIZE: 5,000 square feet, 3 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: Benjamin Marshall's jewel with the architectural grandeur of the French "flat" from the beaux-arts period. 5,000 square feet with lake views from the living room, library, and master suite. Meticulously renovated with custom cabinetry, hand painted decoration, quality finishes, 2 bedrooms plus office or third bedroom. Master suite is 1,241 square feet with sunny terrace (6' x 14'). 2 car garage.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Now babies, before we get ourselves all worked up into a lather over this, let us drop this caveat...the Real Estalker can not be 100% sure this is the apartment Ms. Oprah is reported to have purchased. So we're all on the same page, let us tell you how we arrived at this conclusion.

Your Mama was surfing the web and read a post on cele-bitchy about how Ms. Oprah and that boyfriend of hers with the mustache are going to be moving in together. We also read here she would be selling her mammoth bachelorette pad, a 5-combined-apartments duplex at Water Tower Place, and the happy couple would be moving into another, smaller place together. After a little more investigating, Your Mama came across an article by a lady named Virgina Soto on website about Chicago stuff that contained a little more information about the size and location of the apartment.

So we were off and running, frantically searching for more information and photos for all the Oprah loving children. At first Your Mama was thinking this multi-billionaire gabber was snapping up one of the places at the new, posh Palmolive Building where it is said Vince Vaughan recently purchased. But after viewing a few listings and floor plans, we determined this could not be the building.

Next we found an available duplex apartment in a very swank, very old-Chicago-money building. Lahwd children, Your Mama's blood started to race. But alas, this was not the correct apartment. Then, babies, like an angel coming down from the heavens, there it was, right in front of Your Mama's eyeballs.

Located in the very same swank, old-money building as the duplex above-mentioned, was the actual listing for the apartment shown in the photographs above. Right number of rooms. Right neighborhood. Right square footage. Right price. Right sort of building with the right kind of neighbors like design diva Holly Hunt and high-end jeweler Deborah Friedman. And it was marked SOLD for $5,600,000. Bingo!

Your Mama can't be sure children, but we are pretty damn sure this is where the first lady of talk television will be setting up house with her man Steadman Graham. We'll stay on this story babies, and bring you any updates (or retractions) as necessary.

Thursday, December 28, 2006

Real Estate Pornography IV

SELLER: Lachlan Murdoch
LOCATION: 11 Spring Street, NYC
PRICE: $14,750,000 (list price)
SIZE: Mammoth

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: In case you babies did not know, Lachlan Murdoch is the elder son of media mogul/billionaire Rupert Murdoch. The younger Mr. Murdoch bought this property in the red-hot NoLiTa neighborhood, hired a fancy architecture firm, and began to renovate. But before getting very far, this boy/man decided to move back to Australia, putting this building back on the market for a stupefying $9,500,000 more than he paid. His daddy obviously taught him how to make the money.

Your Mama agrees with Mr. Lockhart Steele and our pals over at Curbed who have included this property in their year-end wrap up under the headline "Real Estate Porn of the Year." The floorplans make Your Mama sweaty and weak in the knees.

We think the folks at Curbed did a amazing job presenting and commentating on this property, so Your Mama is just going to sit back, relax, and send you over to their awesome site so you can have a look-see at how the lucky, lucky children of billionaires live.

Wednesday, December 27, 2006

From Bubble Hill to Beverly Park

SELLER: Eddie Murphy
LOCATION: Englewood, New Jersey
PRICE: $14,990,000 (reduced from $22,000,000, which was reduced from $30,000,000)
SIZE: 5 acres, 25,000 square feet
DESCRIPTION: This magnificent home is set on 5 exquisite gated acres in beautiful East Hill Englewood. Convenient to major airports and NYC. The house is beautifully built. Music studio, pool, bowling alley, and much, much more.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Settle down children, Your Mama knows this property has been in the news and on the websites plenty in the past, so we're aware you already know it's for sale. But we thought we'd give it another go around since Mr. Murphy 1.) is having trouble selling this place, 2.) is getting dee-vorced, and 3.) is having trouble with that Spice-lady who has a baby up in her she claims is the seed of Mr. Murphy.

Hunnies, we know it's none of our beeswax of course, but we just can't help expressing our opinion and think this probably is his offspring. You know why? Because it was only days before she announced she was bumped up with a child that Mr. Murphy was declaring his undying love for the Spice-lady in all the papers. So you know they were all up in each others business. Your Mama thinks this man just did not want to have yet another child as he's already got half a dozen to support, not to mention a couple of baby-mommas he's already paying out to.

Anyhoo, we digress. Mr. Murphy's estate, located at the intesection of three streets in the ritzy section of Englewood called East Hill, is known as "Bubble Hill," and has been for sale since sometime in 2004. The listing agent, a very nice woman by the name of Mary Lenk, has been tirelessly trying to unload this place for the beleaguered actor ever since. The massive house sits on 5 manicured acres, includes 7 bedrooms, 9 full baths and 4 half baths. There is a music studio, indoor pool with skylighted roof, a bowling alley, and reportedly a mini-theatre. Some website called ringsurf.com claims the taxes alone for this property are close to $200,000 per year. The asking price started at $30,000,000 and has been reduced several times to it's current asking price.

Now babies, we know all the children are thinking, "Who would pay this amount of money for a house up in New Jersey?" And you know what? You people are probably right. After searching the other listings in the prestigious East Hill area, Your Mama has determined a very nice house can be had for closer to $4,000,000 in this neck of the woods. Ms. Lenk, all due respect girl, but can we see the comparables?

Your Mama was starting to feel a bit sorry for this man...after all he's getting a dee-vorce from his current wife Nicole Mitchell, he's got that Spice-lady on his back asking for a paternity test, and he can't sell this big ol' house. But folks, let's not cry us a river here. Mr. Murphy has himself a Golden Globe nomination for that "Dreamgirls" film, has many, many projects in the hopper, AND still has a mansion up in the super-exclusive enclave of Beverly Park in Beverly Hills...so it can't be all that bad for him.

Tuesday, December 26, 2006

The House Gossip Bought, West Coast Style


SELLER: Leeza Gibbons / Stephen Meadows
LOCATION: West Hollywood, CA
PRICE: $7,995,000
SIZE: 8 bedrooms, 6.5 baths
DESCRIPTION: Very convenient location, set behind gates, up a long drive on a little over 1 acre of lush landscape. Grand Mediterranean. Completely renovated and remodeled. Reflects original architecture with elegantly applied carved moldings, stone, hardwood, iron fixtures, etc. 2.5 story guesthouse built in 2000 features state of the art studio/office/bedroom.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES (UPDATED): Babies, you know we have to give credit where credit is due. See, Your Mama did the research and put 2 and 2 together all on our own, BUT we soon realized we were not the first to report the sale of the Gibbons/Meadows property...that honor would go to Ben Casselman over at the Wall Street Journal Online.

Anyhoo, this estate, located just north of Hollywood Boulevard, is one of Hollywoods grande dames. According to the listing agent at Sotheby's in Beverly Hills, this property comes with a pedigree as it was once owned by wire-hanger-hating Joan Crawford.

More recently it has been owned and lovingly restored by ex-talking head Leeza Gibbons and her architect/actor/artist/Parabounce inventor husband Stephen Meadows. Before we move on here, Your Mama just wants to say something directly to Ms. Gibbons...hunny, your man is making Your Mama weak in the knees with that mustache of his. Lahwd woman, no wonder you were always smiling at me from the television.

Ms. Gibbons, formerly of Entertainment Tonight, is one busy lady. Your Mama is plain worn down and out of breathe just thinking about how full this lady's plate is. Instead of talking about celebrities on the TV, Ms. Gibbon now talks about them on the radio every weekend on her show called "Hollywood Confidential." Not only does she do this, but she hawks a make-up line on the Home Shopping Network, AND does heaps of good work through her foundation the Leeza Gibbons Memory Foundation. But she does not stop there. Oh no, because in her spare time this gal does life coaching, whatever that is. Mercy child, you're making us all look bad.

Okay, babies, on to the house, which is accessed up a long curved driveway...the kind all the children imagine rich and famous people have. The house itself is just huge with bedrooms and bathrooms of numbers one family seldom needs...even a family with three kiddies like these folks. Your Mama counts four bedrooms upstairs, two for staff on the middle level and a couple more downstairs...and this does not even take the mammoth guesthouse into account.

Your Mama has to admit for the size of the property, we were a little disappointed with the rather puny pool, but that magnificent rooftop deck (see photo) makes up this shortcoming. Plus, according to the listing, the house is loaded with other amenities like a sauna, gym, art studio, sound studio, wine cellar, central vacuum, intercom and on and on and on. After reading a list like that we know the children are asking the same as we are, how many people does it take to keep all this clean?

Now babies, Your Mama has the address to this property and the listing agent has provided a magnificent virtual tour of the property, but we're going to keep this information to ourselves for now. In the meantime, enjoy the pics and the floorplan...a real rarity for the children to see the floorplan for a West Coast property.

Anyone Remember Kwame Jackson?

BUYER: Kwame Jackson
LOCATION: West 123rd Street (near 7th Avenue)
PRICE: $995,000 (listing price)
SIZE: 1,772 square feet, 2 bedrooms, 2.5 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: The listing agent's website has lengthy description of the building with such declarations as, "the WOW factor on entry is overwhelming." And, "The view is priceless." And, "No cookie cutter units here as we have a mix of 1 simplex, 2 duplexes and a triplex."

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: It is the triplex Your Mama wants to discuss here. According to the Josh Barbanel of the venerable paper of record, the New York Times, this Harlem triplex was purchased by Kwame Jackson.

Before we get into discussing the apartment, Your Mama thinks it might be best to remind you who this Kwame Jackson is, because we did not know either. All you reality show mavens and queens out there might remember Mr. Jackson as that handsome black man who lost out to that skinny white fella on Donald Trump's The Apprentice a season or two ago. Incendentally, the white fella (name, Bill Rancik) is recently engaged to Juliana Depandi from the E Network. Lahwd children it just makes Your Mama sad she knows that.

Anyhoo, Your Mama is not sure this Mr. Jackson is really a celebrity, but we're gonna go ahead and tell you a little about him anyway. Apparently this runner up got the booby prize which was being a judge for the Miss Universe pageant. (Good grief babies, just the idea of that makes Your Mama dee-pressed.) Seems Mr. Jackson was fired from this job for greeting the wannabe queens in the lobby of the hotel. Who knew this was against the rules?

So now, according to Mr. Barbanel, in addition to exploring real estate options, this Mr. Jackson goes around giving motivational speeches. About what, we don't know, and if we're being honest with the children, we don't want to. Sorry Mr. Jackson, we don't intend to be cruel and we certainly understand we all have to make a living any way we can.

So kids, this apartment up in Harlem sounds nice and has a decent floorplan but that's about all we have to say about it. What more can Your Mama say? Now that we're way down in this post, we realize, we just don't care about this man, his motivational speeches, or his new damn apartment. Besides, we're hungry and we need to get us something to eat now.

SIDE NOTE FROM YOUR MAMA: Because the world is a funny place and there is so often six degrees of separation or less in the world, Your Mama would like all the children to know that in a former life we had a showroom of high-end products for the home and we provided the first season of The Apprentice with a capiz shell screen for the contestant's living room. And Your Mama would also like you to know, we got no additional business out of it, nor did Donaold Trump give us a call to say thank you.

Monday, December 25, 2006

Michael Jackson in Las Vegas

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: We were not going to post over the holidays, but Your Mama wanted to bring you some late breaking information about Michael Jackson that is starting to make the news and blog rounds.

Apparently this (alleged) child molester has brought himself and his kiddies to Las Vegas. The family flew in Saturday night with plans to make a big Las Vegas comeback. Hmm.

I'm looking for some photos of the house he's moving into that I can post, but in them meantime head on over top Perez Hilton's gosssip emporia for photos he's claiming are of the property the Jackson family is setting up house. Your Mama isn't putting those photos on this site because we do not need to be sued by Mr. Hilton or any of those photo agencies that dislike him so much.

If these photos are accurate, clearly this once cute black singer who has turned himself into a white lady over the years, has flagging finances. Your Mama would think it's sad, but children, we know some folks who worked over there at the Neverland Ranch and because of what we know from them it just makes it difficult for Your Mama to feel bad for this man-lady.

Sunday, December 24, 2006

Horrid Christmas Everyone



Merry Christmas Christians! And the rest of you heathens, pray to be delivered from the tortures of Hell! (Though your prayers are pointless. Everyone who doesn't accept Jesus as their saviour is going to burn forever. Sorry. Those are the rules. The upside is, all the really fun people will be there. If you're in Heaven, you must have been a real pill!) Of course, I'm a Christian Scientist, and Mary Baker Eddy didn't believe in Hell, but then she didn't believe in illness, death, coherent syntax, reality, living by the rules she set for others, West Covina, or drinking alcohol, so she was clearly insane. Anyway, I'm spending Christmas with the spirits of Christmas Past, so while I'm enjoying my stupor, Little Douglas will be sharing with all of us a Christmas Fable from his forthcoming book, My Gruesome Life, the autobiography of 1960s horror legend Guy Thanatos. A lovely man, but never mention Vincent Price to him. This is the story of his Christmas celebration back in 1944, when he, his - ah - friend, never-married producer Phil Ratio, and Guy's homicidal mother Evelyn spent Christmas with Joan Crawford and her family, told in Guy's own words. Do enjoy. - Tallulah.


Christmas With The Crawfords.
by Guy Thanatos.
(as told to Douglas McEwan.)


Richelieu, my newly-acquired chauffeur, drove Mother, Phil and I to Joan Crawford’s lovely Brentwood bungalow [By bungalow, Guy means gigantic mansion and grounds. -Douglas] on Christmas Eve 1944, where we intended to stay overnight and most of the next day.

My dear friend Billy Haines had introduced me to Joan almost as soon as I hit Hollywood. Joan was the sweetest, kindest, most gracious hostess in all of her house, which covered rather more territory than you’d think. When we arrived, she greeted us in the doorway, casually dressed (for Joan) in a $20,000 Orry-Kelly creation of shimmering gold lamé, with her husband, Philip Terry Crawford, whom I believe had some sort of show business connected job [Phillip Terry was a major film actor who appeared in some 67 movies between 1937 and 1972. He starred in The Leech Woman, a film of major importance in my own career, but that’s a story for another day. -Douglas], who was sparkling in a matching gold tuxedo with Christmas green piping, and little Christina in a Shirley Temple hand-me-down gownette by Adrian. I was wearing a $500 suit myself and I felt underdressed.

"Horrid Christmas!" Mother, Phil and I shouted gaily as we climbed out of my understated Rolls Royce.

"Merry Christmas!" Joan corrected, kissing each of us. Joan had mistletoe actually in her hair.

"We always say ‘Horrid Christmas’." I explained, "So, have a horrid Christmas Christina."

"It’s too early to tell." Replied the somber small child.

"Where’s that dear little angel Christopher?" I asked.

"Christopher misbehaved this afternoon and is being punished." Answered Joan in a more serious tone than before.

"What did the poor little boy do that would keep him punished on Christmas?" asked Mother.

"He got a little too excited about Santa Claus coming, and ran around the house this afternoon, laughing and shouting." Said Joan, one eyebrow arched, clearly vexed again at the memory.

"That sounds like every two year old on earth three hours before Christmas." Said Phil.

"Maybe the children of common people," snapped Joan, eyes flashing fire, "But my children will be perfect, and Perfect Children are never loud or obstreperous. Christopher must learn this now, mustn’t he, Christina?"

"Yes, Mommy Dearest!" Christina blurted out smartly.

As the maid took our coats, Phil asked Philip, "Do you go along with that policy?"

Philip’s eyes darted about in terror as he said in a quiet rush, "Joan knows best. Joan knows best."

"Really darling," said Joan, her Gracious Manners mode re-engaged, "I don’t believe it’s asking too much for my children to be well mannered and behaved. After all, they have every advantage over the children of nobodies. Don’t you, Christina?"

"Yes, Mommy Dearest."

"Good, darling." Said Joan, "Now let’s all go in and eat dinner and at Midnight I’ll go down and unchain Christopher, as I promised, and he’ll be up just in time for storytime."

At Joan’s house, at midnight on Christmas Eve the tradition (being inaugurated that evening. A new tradition.) was that the whole family, except servants of course, would sit around the living room with low lights, sipping eggnog, munching a single cookie, and listening while Joan read aloud a family Christmas story she had actually written herself. Until Midnight arrived, we had a sumptuous dinner, and enjoyed each other’s company, ignoring the occasional scream from Christopher in the dungeon.

As Joan went to check on the cooks preparing dessert, Philip, who seldom spoke, or did anything but moan slightly, suddenly perked up. He turned to us in a panic and said, "For God’s sake, flee! Save yourselves! It’s too late for me, but you can still get away!"

Joan entered the room and Philip, eyes screaming, said, "I was just telling the Thanatoses how lucky I am to live with the world’s greatest homemaker."

"Aren’t you sweet, darling?" Joan said, pausing beside her husband and presenting her cheek for a quick dry peck, before marching past behind us towards the hall door, giving my posterior cheeks a strong, surreptitious squeeze in passing.

Promptly at midnight Joan appeared in the living room archway carrying her storybook in one hand and Christopher’s semi-conscious form, with his newly bandaged thumbs, draped over her other arm. We all took seats on the massive sofas that curled around the twenty foot frosted white Christmas tree that dominated the room, with the blazing hearth to our right. Christina and Christopher were popped down beside Joan, who opened her book and began reading the following story:

Santa Saves Christmas!
A Christmas Fable by
Joan Crawford!


Once upon a time, in a fair land far, far away, there lived the most beautiful queen of all time. Her name was Queen Bee, and she was beloved by all her subjects for her splendid loveliness, her mighty wisdom and her graceful graciousness. Every knight errant for a thousand miles sought to win her, but she gave her heart only to her two stepchildren, Little Hagatha and her baby brother, Roquat the Squat.


"Excuse me, dear," said Philip, "But didn’t Queen Bee have a King?"
"Whatever for?" snapped Joan, clearly annoyed to have been interrupted, "When she needed a man, she had her pick of the drones. May I return to the story now, please?"


Although Queen Bee loved her stepchildren with all her lavish heart, they were wicked, ungrateful children, whose hearts were as black as their faces were ugly. They never showed any appreciation for Queen Bee’s self-sacrificing love for them. They treated the queen’s opulent palace as though it were no better than the filthy swampside hovel in which they had been born, common as dirt.


Little Hagatha had a long crooked nose, covered in warts, and a hump on her back, while Roquat the Squat was gap-toothed, cross-eyed and repulsive, yet Queen Bee gallantly ignored their deformities and loved them as much as she would have attractive children, giving them the finest clothes to adorn their misshapen bodies, feeling that people should have something nice to look at anyway.


But the deformities of their faces and bodies merely reflected the deformities in their evil souls. Christmas was coming, and by the gentle leave of Queen Bee, both Little Hagatha and Roquat the Squat had 100 farthings each, to spend on Christmas gifts. Naturally, any virtuous child would want to spend every penny on some perfect gift for their generous stepmother who cherished them so vigorously. But Little Hagatha and Roquat the Squat were nasty, selfish, wicked stepchildren, who lacked the Christmas Spirit. They coveted candy, even though Queen Bee had wisely forbidden them to eat sweets, knowing that candy treats would rot their teeth, thicken their too-plump waistlines, and further befoul their already revolting complexions.


So, instead of buying their loving stepmother a perfect set of pearl earrings, which would have looked elegant with the queen’s white chiffon gown and summer tiara, the two wicked, sordid little children bought candy for themselves, and gobbled it all down.


Did Queen Bee punish these two, nasty children as they deserved? She did not. When she opened her gift box, she found only empty candy wrappers inside. She was so deeply hurt that all she could do was weep. Clearly she should have punished these two spiteful monsters, but the fullness of her heart and the gentleness of her stainless soul made her weak and backsliding, and she allowed the nasty brats to get away with their crime merely because it was Christmas. The appalling children laughed merrily and pointed at the weeping queen, mocking her misery as they romped with the many toys the queen had given them for their Yuletide pleasure. This only deepened Queen Bee’s grief, causing her to fall into a magical sleep, from which she could not awaken.


The children’s obscene and noisy merriment was cut short by the booming laughs of "Ho! Ho! Ho!" that came echoing down the chimney.
"Hooray!" cried foul Little Hagatha and blemished Roquat the Squat, "Santa is here!"


Indeed, a moment later, that jolly old elf, Santa Claus himself, came bounding into the room from out of the fiery hearth. "Merry Christmas children!" he bellowed.


"What have you got for us, Santa?" asked the two greedy, repugnant children.


"Something so special that even your good queen couldn’t provide it for you." Said Santa, eyeing the children closely, "You know I’ve given toys and treats to all the good children of the world tonight, and now I have time to punish the wicked ones! Ho! Ho! Ho!"


Santa stuck Little Hagatha in her own Christmas stocking while he attended to Roquat the Squat. "Since your greed for candy has made you so plump," Santa snarled at Roquat, "You must be thinned down." Santa then took a box cutter and sliced Wicked Roquat open from forehead to toes, and peeled back his flesh and organs, layer by layer, while the boy shrieked, begging for the merciful relief of death.


Once Roquat was still, Santa Claus turned his attentions to Little Hagatha. "Just because you’re a filthy little delinquent, doesn’t mean you should die a virgin." Said Santa, as his belly shook like a bowl full of human-flesh jelly. "Guess I’ll have to give you one for Christmas." Then Santa made a woman of Little Hagatha underneath the Christmas tree, treating her like the infantile slut she was. When Santa’s pleasure was sated, he chopped Little Hagatha up very fine, and fed her to his reindeer.


As Hagatha expelled her final, agony-laced breath, Queen Bee’s eyes opened and she sat up. "Whatever has happened? I feel refreshed."
"The evil enchantment your wicked stepchildren had laid on you has been broken by their severe correction." Said the merry Saint.


For Queen Bee, because she was so good, Santa left a faultless gift: two new, perfect babies who would grow up grateful and well-mannered.
"And don’t worry," yelled Santa from his sleigh as he rode out of sight, "If those two turn bad, there’s plenty more where they came from."


And the beautiful Queen Bee had a Merry Christmas, a perfect life, and lived happily ever after.


The End.


As Joan closed the book, she took a moment to wipe the copious tears from her eyes, so deeply moved was she by her reading of this disturbing fable. Tears were flowing from Christina and Christopher’s eyes as well, as they clutched each other and shivered in terror. Only the still greater fear of what would happen if they had, kept them from soiling the sofa. Phil was wide-eyed with shock.


Mother was suppressing a tiny smirk and I was making a note to inquire later about the film rights to Joan’s tale. I’d heard that Joan’s tale was usually to be had quite cheaply.


"Well," said Mother, "Charles Dickens had better look to his laurels. There’s a new author in Christmasland."


"Thank you, Evelyn." Said Joan, "What enchanting praise, and from an angel. Well, time for bed." At Joan’s command, we all scurried off to our bedrooms.


"Pay no attention," Joan said, as she locked and bolted Phil and I into our room for the night, "To any odd sounds you may hear during the night. Sometimes the children get restless in the middle of the night. Just ignore all sounds."


Around three AM Phil and I were abruptly awakened from a brief but intense and unpleasant dream in which I was eaten alive by a revolting, bug-eyed monster who only said to me, "Hush. Close your eyes and pretend I’m Robert Taylor," though I know Robert Taylor smells much differently, to the sounds of children screaming in either extreme terror or pain. It was hard to tell which. We could hear Joan’s voice also shrieking, but the thick walls rendered Joan and the children unintelligible. The only thing worse than being forced to hear other people shrieking, is having to hear them but not understand what they’re saying.


Eventually the noise, which now included banging and thumping, moved downstairs and out of earshot, and we got back to sleep.


The sound of the song Jingle Bells amplified loud enough to fill the Hollywood Bowl brought us out of sleep Christmas morning and we hurriedly put on pajamas and robes for a nice, casual Christmas morning gift opening. Downstairs we found the living room almost drowning in colorful wrapped gifts. There was a riot of ribbons, mounds of holly, and bowls of candies and cookies. Philip Terry was there, and a small camera crew was setting up, but there was no sign of Joan or the kids.


Philip warned us, "Hope you don’t mind the cameras. Joan always films Christmas morning for her fans to see in the newsreels. The cookies and the candy are just for show. It’s worth your life to eat one."


"Where are Joan and the children?" I asked.


"In the dungeon. The kids are being punished. There was an incident in the night. Best not to mention it. They should all be up soon." Philip retreated to a corner sofa and didn’t speak again for sometime.


Finally the cameras were ready and Joan, Christina and Christopher made an entrance. We were all in our PJs and robes. Joan was in a negligee and morning jacket that probably cost close to what the house had, and was wearing more jewels than Queen Elizabeth at her coronation. Christina was wearing another Shirley Temple ball gown, while Christopher, only two years old, was in a tuxedo. "Merry Christmas everyone" said Joan at her most mannered, "How lovely to see that we’re all just casual this morning. I just crawled out of bed."


"She sleeps in all those jewels?" asked my mother out of the corner of her mouth into my ear.


For the next two hours, we watched as Christina and Christopher sat still in chairs before the camera and unwrapped one gift at a time, carefully, so the wrapping paper could be used again by the less fortunate. The maids handed the gifts to the children while Joan struck poses around the room, downed cocktails, and watched the children like a hawk for any unseemly display of gratuitous excitement or exuberance. The children opened each gift, exclaimed in a restrained manner how delighted they were by the gift, made a note of who gave it for their thank you notes later on [The children were expected to write a personal thank you note for every gift. Joan had given them 50 gifts each herself, and they were required to send her 50 thank you notes each. Christopher was only two and couldn’t write at all. This was not considered an excuse. "You’re never too young for manners." Said Joan - Douglas], set it aside and went on to the next. When they were done, Joan made a little speech about how the happiness of her children was what Christmas meant to her. Then the camera crew left and the movers arrived, packing up all the gifts again to haul away to the less fortunate. The kids got to grab one toy each to keep, but they had to snatch fast.


Then we went into the dining room. At five of the place settings a lavish Christmas feast was laid out and waiting, at two places there was a somewhat less appetizing meal waiting, two week old steaks crawling with mold and maggots.


"Those are Christina and Christopher’s plates," explained Joan, "They still haven’t finished their dinners from two weeks ago, and they don’t get fresh food until they’ve cleaned those plates. Waste not. Want not."


"But," asked my darling Phil, "Wouldn’t that old, rotten meat make them sick now?"


"Please" cooed Joan, "You make it sound like I’m serving them Bette Davis. That meat was fresh and delicious when it was first given to them. If it makes them a little sick now, they’ll learn to eat their dinner when it’s fresh."


"You’re awfully strict, aren’t you?" asked Phil, "I mean, it is Christmas."


"You mustn’t judge me too harshly," Joan said, "I may seem cruel, but I’m cruel only to be mean."


While we gorged on the palatable food, the children sat and stared at their plates. Christopher tried a bite of his foul former meat and puked on his plate. Joan simply called for the maid and went on with her story of how she’d taught John Barrymore some new tricks while they were shooting Grand Hotel. "He may have loved that Garbo slut on camera, but off screen, I had the key to his pants." She said, "He was a real man, not like some married men I could mention."


Philip just stared at his plate and ate his ham faster.


"I forget," said Mother, "But wasn’t Mister Barrymore married when he made that movie."


"Possibly," said Joan, "He often was. What’s your point?"


After dinner, Joan got out her checklist. "Now let’s see. We’ve hung the stockings by the chimney with care; we’ve read a soothing Christmas fairy tale to the children; we’ve punished the children for last night’s little incident; we’ve opened gifts; we’ve taken the children’s toys away from them; we’ve eaten dinner. What haven’t we done? I know. How about a game?"


"A game! A game!" The children clapped and cheered, until Joan froze up.


"Christopher!" Joan snapped at her most severe, "Christina! Is anyone else jumping around and squealing? Do you want the Thanatoses to think you’re ill-mannered little brutes?"


"No, Mommy Dearest." The two suddenly terrified children said in unison.


"Then why are you carrying on like uncivilized little hyenas?" Joan asked, "I think we’ll have to pass on the games and make another visit to the Dungeon."


The children began screaming in horror. As Joan dragged them off shrieking through a door marked Playhouse Of Pain, Philip poured himself a tumbler full of straight bourbon with a shaking hand, and Mother, Phil and I slipped out the front door to the driveway, where Richelieu was waiting to drive us home.


During the leisurely motor back to Maison De Thanatos, Mother sighed and said, "That Joan is weirder than the Pope’s bar mitzvah. But that was the nicest horrid Christmas I’ve had in years."


"How so?" I asked Mother, who may have had a fault or two (or not) but who was truly a saint compared to Joan.


"For once I didn’t have to lift a finger." She replied, "Joan made it all perfectly horrid on her own.


"Horrid Christmas Mother," I said, " and a ghastly new year."


© Copyright 2006 Douglas McEwan

Saturday, December 23, 2006

Happy Holidays to all the Children

Babies,

Whether you celebrate Christmas, Channakah, Kwanzaa or whatever, Your Mama would like to wish all the children a happy, safe, and peaceful couple of days.

We probably won't be posting for a couple of days, but babies, please come on back and see Your Mama on the 26th or 27th when we'll be back posting and yakking.

xoxY.M.

Another Britney Post


OWNER: Britney Spears
LOCATION: Beverly Hills, (The Summit)

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Okay babies, Your Mama is plum tired of hearing about this girl, reading about this girl, and writing about this girl and her new damn house. But Your Mama knows all the children need to be fed so here you go.

We over here at the Real Estalker have finally caught up with technology a little bit and can now bring you better overhead photos. So we went and got a photo of this girl's new house up in Beverly Hills.

Now, the more Your Mama thinks about this purchase by Miss Spears, the more we think this residence is only temporary and that she'll be moving out shortly after her place in Malibu sells. Let Your Mama tell you why.

1. She just wants to be closer to the nightlife scene. While it is true Britney had been house-hunting the previous weeks, it appears to Your Mama all she was really looking for on the day she looked at this house was a dressing room closer to the bars and clubs. See, this girl went to look at this property very late in the day and brought five or ten of her partying posse along with her. (We know celebrities often travel in a pack, but this was a little out of the ordinary.) Then, after having a cursory look-see around, Britney proceeded to use one of the upstairs bedrooms to get herself ready for a night on the town. Who does this? I'm sorry girl, but this is just plain rude. Nobody needs you up in their house spraying your hair, staining their vanity with the bronzer, and leaving your dirty things on the floor. Didn't Your Mama teach you any manners? Lawhd.

2. It was an impulse buy. Miss Britney purchased this house on the spot, bought most of the furniture along with it, and asked the owners to be moved out in a matter of days. (Your Mama thinks she remembers hearing they moved to the Beverly Hills Hotel or maybe the Bel Air Hotel.) Anyhoo, Miss Britney was clearly looking for a quick fix. Maybe to get out of Mali-boo and away from the white rapper. Maybe because she didn't feel like dealing with furniture shopping or a gay decorator. Or maybe, Your Mama speculates, Britney was kicked out of her beachfront Malibu Colony rental by it's owner, that shabby chic gal Rachel Ashwell, and needed someplace to go quick?

3. There is not enough privacy. If you children were to be knowing the landscape where this house sits, you would understand when I say that despite the gatehouse at the bottom of the hill, there's not enough privacy and security with this property...The back of the house does not look down into a canyon, but rather up the side of an undeveloped hill (well, there is one house at the top). You know the crazed and fantatical are going to be hiking up on that hill soon enough trying too look into this girl's windows. Add to that all the houses being pressed up against each other and you know she will need to go find herself someplace with more privacy.

Phew. Are we done talking about this girl now? Thank goodness, because Your Mama needs to go take a nerve pill now.

Friday, December 22, 2006

The Passion of the Elf

by Inclement Clarke Morehead

'Twas the night before Christmas, all through Morehead Heights
Not a creature was stirring, 'cept deep in my tights;
My pantyhose hung by the chimney with Nair,
In hopes that Huge Jackman soon would be there;
The vodka was nestled all snug in my head,
While visions of sugar-tits made my legs spread;
Like me in my turban, the brave with no head,
Had just gone to sleep, or perhaps we were dead.
When outside my skull there arose such a clatter,
I fell out of bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I crawled like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up my hash.
Then mooning my breasts from my new-fallen pants,
Gave the luster of porn to my sagging implants.
When what to my blurry red eye there appears,
But some really big gay, and eight quite tiny queers,
And a little old driver, so drunken and glib, son,
I knew in a moment it must be Mel Gibson.
More rapid than virgins, his coursers they came,
And he humped them, and shouted, and cursed them by name;
"Now, Flasher! Pole Dancer! Fag Prancer, you Vixen!
On Slutty! On Trampy! On Scrotum and Nixon!
To the top of her porch! To the top of her house!
Now dash away! Dash away! Tear off her blouse!"
As dry heaves that before the wild hurricane barf,
I can’t get these stains off my lovely headscarf.
Up to my house-top they flew just like Krypto,
With the drunken old fool who made Apocalypto.
And then, in a flash, I heard on my ceiling,
The horrible sound of my juices congealing.
When I stuck out my butt, to show my endzone,
Down my chimney Mel Gibson came hard, with a groan.
He was painted bright blue, and was covered with gore,
And he smiled and he laughed and he called me a whore;
A bundle of buttplugs was flung on his back.
He was stinking of gin, my aphrodisiac.
His eyes -- how they watered! His dimples -- how sexy!
I don’t know why he gives the Jews apoplexy.
His wet drooling mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as yellow as snow;
The stump of a leg he held tight in his teeth,
And the blood it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face, narrow mind, and round belly,
That shook when he raved, like petroleum jelly.
He was skinny and drunk, a right smelly old elf,
I got damp when I smelt him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his knob,
And his purple-eyed warrior started to throb.
He spoke not a word, but just started to jerk,
And soon stained my poster of Young Captain Kirk.
Then shoving his finger inside of his nose,
And giving a prod, up my chimney he rose;
He soon gave his team a quite mean disemboweling,
And then filmed their deaths, as they all lay there howling.
Last I heard him exclaim the incredible news,
"Happy Christmas to all. Now go kill some Jews."



Cheers darlings!

McConaughey Moves On (Updated 02/11/07)

SELLER: Matthew McConaughey
LOCATION: Nichols Canyon, Los Angeles
HOUSE #1
PRICE: $1,499,000 (reduced from $1,600,000)
SIZE: 3 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: One story contemporized mid-century adjacent to (redacted address). Behind gates with an easy living open floorplan, opening out to a very large yard and motorcourt. Kitchen opens to dining area and den. Open living room. Three bedrooms en suite with spacious bathrooms. Bathrooms and kitchen with stone countertops, wood floors, high ceilings and beautiful vistas.

HOUSE#2
PRICE: and $3,299,000
SIZE: 4 bedrooms, 5 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: Single family Hacienda style property located high in Nichols Canyon. Four bedrooms, 5 bathrooms, den, office, living and dining room. Detached parking, heated pool with cabana, lanai, valley and canyon views.

YOUR MAMAS UPDATE (02/11/07): It seems the scruffy stallion with the large pectorals has not had such an easy time unloading this property. Recently the price was reduced and the listing agent threw up another couple of photos of the exterior. We're guessing the interior is too ugly to post photos. Does no one want to sleep where so many random women have slept before?

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Your Mama hopes you appreciate this post because we had to bend over backward and pull in a favor or two to get you some of this information. Certainly it is easier to find a photo of Mr. McConaughey's nipples than to find a photo of his house.

Anyway, these two properties, located up in the twisted roads of Nichols Canyon, are both owned by Mr. McConaughey and sit right up next to each other. It will come as no suprise to McConaughey fanatics that the twisty and hilly Nichols Canyon is a favorite street for joggers and cyclists in Los Angeles. There are heaps of rich and famous in this neck of Los Angeles and of course all you babies interested in art know David Hockney's 1980 painting of this road.

Naturally, Your Mama has the street addresses to both these properties, but we can not be responsible for sending a bunch of sexed up teenage girls and horny gays up into his hood hoping to see him parading around 80 percent nekkid the way he likes to do.

Your Mama has it on good authority the Mister lives in the Hacienda, and if that is true, all the children want to know what goes on in that other house? Well, we think we know, and you probably do too, but that's just speculation.

It seems the Hacienda has already gone to contract according to The LA Times Hot Properties column last week. When you look over the accoutrement of sex and romance this property has (fireplace and steam shower in the master, outdoor shower, jacuzzi, sauna) we have to wonder, why ever would someone like the Mister, someone sorta famous for his prowess and conquesting abilities, want to sell this property?

Thursday, December 21, 2006

Brits New Beverly Hills Pad


BUYER: Britney Spears
LOCATION: Summit Circle, Beverly Hills, CA
PRICE: list price $7,200,000
SIZE: 7,400 square feet, 6 bedrooms, 6.5 baths
DESCRIPTION: The enchanting Italian Renaissance Villa blends traditional old world charm with today's state-of-the-art amenities. With over 7,400 square feet, the expansive floor plan features 6 bedrooms, 6.5 bathrooms, foyer and living room with 2-story high ceiling and a minstrel like balcony, an office, media room, den and attached maid's quarters. The master suite opens to the romantic balcony that gazes out over a lush yard. A comfortable family room opens to gourmet chef's kitchen comple with an inviting breakfast nook.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: As you all know from our previous posting (Britney moves to Beverly Hills) and various other reports plastered all over the web and tabloid pages, Miss Britney Spears has vacated her Malibu mansion and decamped with her babies to a new home in the Hills of Beverly.

And finally Your Mama has located a few more photos of Brit Brit's new home. We managed to track down the listing for the property which was through Coldwell Banker in Studio City. While everyone here at the Real Estalker is thrilled that Miss Spears in moving on from that KFed person (if not from her well-documented white trash ways), we have to say, we're a little disappointed really. For this amount of money we were expecting something a little less upscale Bakersfield tract home and a little more fading pop star princess palace.

We have the actual house number for this property, but given the amount of paparazzi that follows this poor gal around, and the number of freaky "fans" she has tailing her, Your Mama thinks it's best we just keep it to ourselves.

It's being rumored now that because of all the vagina flashing and public drunkeness Miss Spears' own mama is thinking it wasn't such a good idea to leave the wannabe white rapper. Your Mama maintains getting away from this resource drain was a good thing. But Britney, girl, please, now that you have this new home, please stay in it with your babies every now and then. Invite your gay dancer boyfriends and that party-friendly Paris Hilton over for an in-house soiree. This way if you feel like showing everybody your hoo-ha or getting upsettingly drunk and smoking 42 cigarettes, no one but your pals will know and there will be no photo documentation in the tabs. You need to get smart about this girl or you're going to start running through your money like that ex-husband of yours.

The House Booze Bought


SELLER: Edgar Bronfman Jr.
LOCATION: Amagansett, New York
PRICE: $15,750,000
SIZE: 6 bedrooms, 7.5 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: (much shortened from the listing agent's website) ...The main house was completely renovated in 2000 and has every modern convenience...The gourmet eat-in-kitchen has everything a chef will love...The spacious living room is fabulous for entertaining and leads into the formal dining room...media room...amazing master suite with his and her offices and baths...full basement with large media/billiard room and two full bathrooms...heated gunite pool and patio...beautiful guest cottage and an attached garage.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Now, all Your Mama's educated children out there know that while the Bronfman family became rich by selling booze to everybody, this Bronfman, whom friends calls "Efer," has branched out into more creative fields and endeavors. Not only does he head up Warner Music, he has produced Broadway shows and Hollywood films. But the most interesting side-job Efer has is as a songwriter. This scion of American big business has written songs for the likes of Celine Dion and Barbra herself.

So really, booze didn't by this house, but Your Mama thought it was a catchy headline.

Anyhoo...According to forbes.com Efer also has yet another side-gig in real estate. Seems he's bought and sold several high-end properties in the Hamptons in the last couple of years including the purchase of a $31,000,000 Bridgehampton property. Lahwd children, Your Mama gets dizzy when thinking about such big numbers.

Efer bought this property down on Indian Wells Highway only in the Spring of 2005 for $12,500,000 and has already put it back on the market. Guess this is what the uber rich do instead of renting a summer house. They buy 'em, live in them for the summer, and sell them on at a huge profit. In this case it's looking like a $2,500,000 profit.

While there is a gorgeous 42-foot pool tucked back in the corner that is perfect for sunbathing in the nude, guest house, fancy gardens by an award winning garden designer, and it's just a 2 minute walk to the sand, Your Mama wants the children to note there is no tennis court for the sportif minded.

Real Estate Pornography IV



SELLER: Donald Trump
LOCATION: 502 Park Avenue (Trump Park Avenue), New York
PRICE: $30,000,000, soon to be $42,000,000
SIZE: currently 5,284 square feet, 5 bedrooms, 5 full and 2 half bathrooms
DESCTRIPTION: Duplex penthouse sitting on the 31st and 32nd floor of the Trump Park Avenue (formerly the Delmonico Hotel). The lavish apartment has views in all four directions front dozens of windows. A sweeping double staircase connects the two floors with the lower floor being devoted to private bedroom quarters and the upper floor comprising a massive, loft like living/dining/library/study. The apartment inlcudes a private elevator and two massive terraces on the 31st floor.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Babies, there are just so many things wrong with this apartment it is no wonder Donald Trump has, according to Braden Keil of the NY Post's Gimme Shelter column, decided to blow the roof off this penthouse, add a few thousand square feet and (hopefully) rearrange the layout in hopes of finding a high-flying buyer.

Let's point ourselves at the good first. Your Mama loves an apartment that is located high in a building, has loads of glass and requires you wear sunglasses while having your morning coffee. We love the private elevator because some nights there's just not enough left in our body to climb stairs. We're also appreciating the his/her (or his/his, her/her) bathrooms in the master. And of course the terraces are divine.

Now for the bad children. Your Mama is well aware that when you get up in the towers and penthouses of these old buildings, the floor space often gets squeezed and awkward with all the elevator shafts and stairs taking up space. But seriously now, Mr. Donald Trump had plenty of money to have his people do better than this.

It may or may not be true that New Yorkers do not cook in their kitchens. What is true however, is that either way, we want functional suburban-sized cheffing stations. If for nothing else, the caterers need some room to move. No doubt this kitchen is well equipped, but babies, it's just 9 feet wide. You get Your Mamas big 0le butt up in there and there's no room for anyone else.

And the terraces. Well, as we said, they are divine. But do the children notice that you must access the larger of the two through a bedroom? That's just not right in this price range. What happens if you want to BBQ? Do you traipse all through this place with a cookie sheet loaded down with ribs? Do you lower the meat down on a rope while hanging out one of the upstairs windows near the kitchen?

As for the master bedroom, well hunnies, it's lovely with it's double exposure and yards of closet space, but don't you think it's a wee bit small? Yes, Your Mama does too.

Note to Mr. Donald Trump: Now that your gearing up to re-work this place, we over here at Real Estalker think you've seen the error of your floorplan ways and would like to applaud you for taking the steps to remedy the wrongs with this, up-until-now, unsellable penthouse.

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

A Note of Thanks

Your Mama would like thank to Fenton Bailey and the folks over at World of Wonder (creators of television shows like Million Dollar Listing and films like The Eyes of Tammy Faye) for writing up a nice post about the Real Estalker on their funny and cool website.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Miss Diana Ross


Seller: Diana Ross
Location: Greenwich, CT
PRICE: $39,500,000
SIZE: 12,562 sq. ft., 11 bedrooms, 8 bathrooms.
DESCRIPTION: (much shortened from the lengthy description provided by the listing agent) The stonewall enclosed property is tucked away in a private gated enclave amid confident old estates yet minutes from downtown Greenwich...Terraces lead from each room to broad lawns that gently roll to the waterfront...The living room with its 18th century paneling is a fine example of the work of design firm Parson's and Wait. A spiral staircase where Rembrandts have adorned the walls swirl from the basement to the third floor...The grounds and gardens are complete with tennis court, pool, and two carriage houses. A Pastoral Haven and a once in a lifetime opportunity to purchase her.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Children, give Your Mama a moment, because we are just exhausted by listing agent Kathryn Clauss' extremely thoughtful description.

This property is located in the community of Belle Haven, the richest and most exclusive corner of Greenwich. You may remember Belle Haven as being the part of town where Martha Moxley was murdered by Kennedy cousin Michael Skakel.

This is also the neck of the woods that George Bush The First grew up. Now babies, we know what you're saying, but let Your Mama give you a little history lesson. Those Bushes like us all to think they're just some down-home folks from the prairies of Texas, but in reality, their roots are in Belle Haven, Connecticut, one of the most outrageously wealthy communities in the whole of the U.S.

More recently, Greenwich in general, and Belle Haven in particular, has become a hide-out for spectacularly rich hedge fund managers. So perhaps it's no wonder Miss Ross is looking to move on now that the "new" money is moving in.

All that aside, the only thing Your Mama has to note about this property is thank Gawd the houses around this estate are "confident" and "old." Because, you know people, there is nothing worse than living next door to an insecure, new house.

P.S. Your Mama would apologize for the lack of photos, but, all due respect to Miss Clauss, the listing contained only fuzzy, blurry, black and white pieces of shit.

Really Rich Real Estate

Note to the Children:

Babies, if y'all are reading this blog, then you probably already know this, but VH1 has a newish reality series called Really Rich Real Estate. This show follows some of Los Angeles' most successful and powerful agents from the Westside Estate Agency as they show property to well-to-do Hollywood types like Cindy Margolis, Frankie Munoz, Pauly Shore, and Tom Arnold (whose ex-wife Shelby is an agent at Westside.)

Run by super-brokers Stephen Shapiro and Kurt Rappaport, the Westside Estate agency is celebrity central in the real estate world. Yes puppies, this is the brokerage rumored to have been given the "pocket listing" for Candy Spelling's mammoth mansion in Holby Hills (see earlier posting: The $150,000,000 Pile). They currently have the listing for Sharon Stone's flip (see earlier posting: Sharon Stone Flips Out). Also on their website is the "is it, or is it not for sale" home of producer Brian Grazer (see earlier posting: All This for $27,000,000). Your Mama has also heard through the grapevine this is one of the agencies soon to be dee-vorced Britney Spears contacted about the sale of her Malibu estate.

The series is playing tonight on VH1 starting at 10:30 pm EST, but check the times in your locale on the website . Tune in children. You know where Your Mama will be tonight.

Real Estate Pornography III



SELLER: Your Mama does not know, but if you do, please let us know. We promise to keep your name quiet.
LOCATION: 27 Beverly Park Terrace, Beverly Hills, CA
PRICE: $29,000,000
SIZE: approx. 20,000 square feet, 10 bedrooms, 15 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: This 6 acre estate features a 40 foot high entry with a center hall plan and city views. Huge living room. Two story panelled library with fireplace. Family room opens to hand cut mosaic pool and spa. Pool pavillion has his and her bathrooms and a full outdoor kitchen. Private tennis court. Huge master with his and her bathrooms. There are 6 bedrooms in the children's wing. Huge playroom in a finished attic. 2 maid's rooms and a guest bedroom. 3 car garage and a limo garage. Truly unique.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Okay babies, as promised. Here we have some information on the only house in Beverly Park that Your Mama knows is up for grabs. The listing agent for this property is none other than uber-agent Susan Smith of the Westside Estate Agency, one of the premier brokerages in Beverly Hills. The website has this property listed at $35,000,000, but Your Mama is guessing it's been reduced because it's listed on L.A.s multiple listing service for 29.

This home is perfect for someone who has, or wants to have, a half-dozen children. Here at this mountain top palace, you can house all them kids in a separate wing and keep them from driving you crazy by sending them out of earshot to the attic playroom. Of course, all these kids might want to use the pool sometimes, so fortunately there is a pool house so they won't be dragging that chlorinated water into your house after your girl has scrubbed and mopped the floors to a mirrored finish.

Seriously though, Your Mama is no stranger to luxury, but we still have a tough time getting our itty bitty minds around this kind of glamour and extravagance. We've said it before (and will say again when appropriate) do you know what it costs to maintain a house like this? Lahwd, it just boggles the mind.

Beverly Park


Children, Your Mama has some meetings to attend this morning so I'm going to leave y'all with an interesting tell all article about the ultra-posh enclave of Beverly Park. This gated community, located way up in the hills above Beverly Hills, is basically a tract for extremely large and lavish homes...some in the 30-40,000 square foot range.

There are 64 lots in Beverly Park and while plenty are owned by big name Hollywood types like Sylvester Stallone, Sumner Redstone and Denzel Washington, many are owned by the unknown super-rich whose lives afford them extreme luxury, security, and privacy.

There are a few residents like Jami Gertz and Reba McEntire whom Your Mama would not have guessed lived in a place like this. Who knew these gals would want to live in such seclusion and opulence? And while we LOVE Jami Gertz, who knew this child had that much money?

As Your Mama writes this, we are aware of only one property in Beverly Park currently on the market. More often than not, these properties are shopped around privately by high-end brokers. 27 Beverly Park Terrace, on the market for an astounding $29,000,000, sits on 6 acres and includes six bedrooms in the "children's wing," a master suite, guest room and two staff bedrooms. I'll post a wee bit more information and the couple of photos I have of this property later today.

In the meantime, we hope you enjoy this article from the New York Times. And of course, Your Mama would love to know what all the children think of this article and Beverly Park so send us some email and post some comments.

Note: photo above by J. Emilio Flores for The New York Times.