Here I am in Malibu, living if only for a moment, the life of a glamorous Hollywood star.
I'm wearing a fuzzy white robe over my cobalt blue bikini, glam eyes, big hair, and my nice flat stomach and shapely legs courtesy of the mystery product I was hired to endorse back when I was rather hefty at the beginning of the year.
The crew buzzing around the ex-bachelorette's mansion where we're on location filming today and tomorrow is ginormous. There's tons of PAs, and lighting folks, there's a director, an art director, 20 extras aka beautiful people who haven't needed the help of little blue pills to get them Hollywood Hill ready, hair & makeup artists and stylists who I only wish I could have subbed out for an all-ENNIS crew, but still, delights to work with...
The mountain we're atop is amazingly picturesque - this whole thing's surreal beyond means. I've been bitten for sure, eh?
(Our product is made in Canada so a big part of the creative and fitness coaching team is a contigency with the real deal accents).
Anyway - this post is on my recurring nomadic thought that were I ever to wind up homeless, mark my words, I'd make my way along Rte 66 all the way out to California. Because LA, even doomed with June Gloom, is one heck of a place to land.
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