|Johnny don't look so dubious. He is brilliant, and a perfectly good choice for a celebrity crush. And listen, pal, nice try with the not-trying. Takes more than that to scare me off.|
In a neat coincidence, we're both poking around in the world of real estate. It really is a coincidence, seriously, I'm not putting any kind of symbolism on this. Do you have any idea how many properties are for sale, always? I do this thing every day, and lately it's been several times a day, which I call "The S***s and Giggles Real Estate Tour". I get out my iGadget, dial up realtor.ca and I check out what's up. I've been doing this for years. I know what the insides of several houses in the nearby town look like. It's borderline unhealthy. But I'm going at it with a new intensity. Please don't ask. I don't consider myself a superstitious person, but I just don't want to blab about anything that might not end up being a thing.
But today, as I take my regular afternoon chill-out therapy time with the dog on my feet, I find out on the internets that our man Johnny is selling his magnificent French estate.
|It's not totally awful, right? We could graze a few critters on that lawn.|
(Still not going to talk about why real estate is such a preoccupation. I will. Later.)
Did you know that after a property is "sold" it is still on the websites as being for sale? That kind of freaks me out. I also didn't know that after a place is sold, agents can still take clients to view it. Whaaaaat. Weird.
|can we get a pool boy too?|
I wonder, every time I look at an ad, what happened. Are the sellers sad to leave their home? Are they freakin' totally ready to get the heck out of there? Did they outgrow it? Why are they selling and moving out?
This was the Paradis-Depp family home. He's selling it with much of his personal belongings included. Wow. Seriously. If we all got together and scraped up 24 Million, we could hang around in the Pirate Themed Wine Cellar OF COURSE DUH and dine in the restaurant and sleep in the old church. It's like, a tiny hamlet. It's a rock star pirate amusement park. There's a freakin' art studio. I mean. Really.
|GUYS I FOUND ALL THE RUM|
I'm pretty sure I could shoehorn a grand piano and a digital console in one of those buildings. And there'd have to be room for two medium sized Appaloosas and a small pony, right?
I know this sounds creepy… Okay, it IS creepy… I just want to go there and look at all his books. Not only because I would love to know what he reads. I just love books.
|Like, I really really love books. And guitars. And candles. I love all the stuff.|
Of course, my writer's brain takes over. I admit, I'm probably more heartbroken over the Johnny and Vanessa split than they are. In my mind, Amber (about whom I have still not made up my mind although I'm leaning towards she's cool) put her foot down, tossed her magnificent blonde mane to one side, and said, "I can't even remember how many homes you have. We have. We should sell something. And then buy a pet velociraptor." Or whatever she would say and however she would say it.
And he's like, "Why is the rum always gone?" Oh wait. That's not him, that's a character. (Or maybe I really do wonder why the rum is always gone.)
So in Heidi's brain, Johnny rolls his eyes, sets his beat up fedora on the arm of the romantically threadbare wing chair he's sunken into, and says, "Fine darling. You're right. We never go there anymore." He looks around the room, at the stuffed bookshelves and candle holders and crystal skulls and taxidermy crows and old macaroni art from the kids, and a bunch of scarves and belts hanging over the door, and the KISS pinball machine, and RDJ's sunglasses (must return them at the next gathering of Heidi's Celebrity Crush Club***) and the gramophone. "Amber?" he says. "Honey? Darling? Sweetness? I really do not want to go over there and pack everything up."
"Sell it," she says, "Put a price on it and make it go away."
He calls up Vanessa.
She takes a break from being a quietly ass-kicking fabulous 40 something year old woman who is not afraid to have a few smile lines on her face, and has a civil conversation with her ex. "I don't want any of it. I took all my stuff two years ago."
"Really? You mean all of what's left is mine?"
|greaaaaat. I aaaam soooo tiiired.|
"Of course, yes, I'll see you there." And they exchange polite air kisses over the phone. And Johnny looks up at Amber and says, "Darling, do you want anything from France?"
And Amber replies, "Baby, I got my rifle and the license plate off my first muscle car. I'm set."
So he puts the place up for sale, lock stock and barrel. Lock church and swimming pool?
I don't need a 37 acre French village. If all goes according to plan, I'll need a place to put a huge amount of recording gear. (Said too much. Please don't ask.) I have nothing against France -- looks lovely -- but I have no need to be there.
As much as I always wonder why a place goes up for sale, I find myself hoping it's all in a good state of mind, that someone is ready to move on and it's okay. I'm ready. I'm ready to let something go and move on.
Just not to France.
*** The Celebrity Crush Club has a new member. You'll meet him later. Right now I need to concentrate on not being superstitious about real estate. Seeya.