If you’ve been here more than once you know I’m probably not what most people call “normal”. I tend to do crazy things, or end up in odd situations, things that just don’t seem to happen to “normal” folks. Like the job I had where I drew schematics for nuclear power plants. Or the time I was rescued by Martin Sheen. Or when I dated exiled royalty. I could go on but then you’d just think I was certifiable.
Nevertheless, people that don’t read this blog asked me to play a normal person (well, they called it “playing myself”, but I know what they meant) in a television commercial.
Holy Famosity Batman! It’s true my dear Kernutties, I’m going to be on TV!
And not on an episode of COPS.
I can hardly believe it myself.
Playing “myself”, the first customer at their new store, I recently filmed a 60-second commercial spot for the dealership where I bought my RV. (I really was the first customer at their new location.) The commercial spot is online now at Best of the Bay and will air in September on KRON or ION (September 18 at 10:30 am?). Follow the link to see how much I need a facelift. There are several spots on the website, I’m in the first and last, maybe others.
But wait! There’s more! (‘and it comes with an amazing Ginsu knife…’)
If you don’t share this story, zombies will get you. (Just a little.) . . . → But wait, there’s more! : I’m Not a Normal Person, But I Play One on TV
When we left off in part 2, Martin Sheen and I were parked with driver’s-side windows together, our cars blocking the small neighborhood street. Meanwhile, the stalker in the white pickup was slowly coming up behind my car, most likely realizing I’d just obtained A-list mother-fucking help.
Oh, …and we learned that I’m as bright as a cliff-jumping lemming when panicked.
As the white pickup approaches our cars, he pulls over to the side of the road as – if waiting for me to finish my conversation – so he can then continue on with terrorizing me.
Martin says to me, “Turn your car around and pull up behind me. I got through to the Sheriff’s office and they’re going to meet us at the old Malibu station.” He said ‘US’ !!! Yay Martin!
(It’s important to note two things here: A, The police agreed to come out for Martin Sheen – not when it was just little old, not-famous me calling, but for Martin. And B, The lazy cops still only agreed to meet us so far – at a station closed years before, in an empty parking lot about 15 minutes away from where we were now.)
I do as Martin says, and the stalker also starts to maneuver his car as if readying to make a u-turn like I did.
But then Martin Sheen, A-list megastar and rescuer of blond-haired lemmings, starts yelling at the stalker!!
*swoon* (somewhere a lemming just fainted)
Martin to stalker: “Hey! What are you doing . . . → But wait, there’s more! : Martin Sheen To My Rescue (conclusion)
When we left off, I had just realized I was being followed by some stranger in a beat-up pickup truck with dark tinted windows. If you missed part one you can read it here: The Time Martin Sheen Saved My Life. Part three (the conclusion) coming soon.
Trying to lose the strange vehicle stalking me, I quickly drove around corners and waited for him to pass by. Whenever he realized I was no longer in front of him, he would search the short streets for me. When he’d spot my car, I’d pull out and speed off in another direction. After one such turn, I got stuck in a dead end culdesac with him right behind me! I think it surprised him, too. Oddly enough, he didn’t block my exit, instead backing up to let me out of the narrow dead end.
Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, after passing him I sped down another street.
Thinking I’m safer in this small neighborhood of nice houses, I’ve become afraid to return to the main highway that pretty much goes nowhere for 27 miles. But I’m frantically trying to call the police. Cell service on Point Dume? Damn near non-existent.
My calls to 911 kept getting cut off part way through. Unlike the police in Northern California, the 911 operators in LA just don’t give a shit, probably jaded by the many horrendous calls they get. They made no attempt to call me back when we got cut off. None. Had . . . → But wait, there’s more! : Martin Sheen Saved My Life (For Reals), Part 2
I’ve been promising you all this post since I started this blog up again several months ago. I’ve held off until now because it was a terrifying experience for me, one that’s hard to relive. There’s another reason, too. This event is like a scene straight out of a movie, and includes a very famous actor. Most of you don’t know me personally (not that I hold much back on this blog! heh). So, up until now I worried you’d think I made it up, determine I’m prone to flights of fancy, and potentially even more bonkers than I admit to. But if you’ve stayed with me this far (and through the Holiday Letter From My Cat), I figure you’ll be with me after this. However bizarre it seems, this story is quite true. The Malibu Sheriff’s office probably has some record of it, too. And I’m no more bonkers than I’ve told you outright.
By the way – this is fairly long, so I’ve broken it up into a series of posts. I don’t know how many, because I’m still writing it. (Not quite the pro-blogger you thought I was, huh? <— dripping with tongue-in-cheek sarcasm) I’ll post one every few days or so. Probably ‘or so’.
The True Story of How Martin Sheen Saved My Life (yes, THE Martin Sheen)
‘Saved my life’ might be a bit of an overstatement, but that Saturday night nine years ago I was terrified for my life like I have never been before or since.
All . . . → But wait, there’s more! : The Time Martin Sheen Saved My Life
Do you think he means a 'blow job' at the salon for that hair??
Recently learning Herman Munster is alive and well and selling real estate, reminded me of one of the many jobs I had.
I said job I had, not gave. sheesh No, not had as in got, either. Remember, I’m a woman – I give them I don’t …oh, never mind.
Where was I? Oh, yeah.. jobs.
The kind you get paid for.
I was fairly young at the time I went to work for this insurance company. My boss was named Fred Krueger. I could not making this up if I tried, people. To separate himself from Freddy Krueger The Slasher, he insisted we called him Fred. Just Fred Krueger.
Yeah, that worked well. Calling him Fred totally made me forget his name WAS IDENTICAL TO THE INFAMOUS SLASHER FLICK DUDE.
If you don’t share this story, zombies will get you. (Just a . . . → But wait, there’s more! : The Time I Worked For Fred Krueger and Donna Mills
Malibu Colony #63 from the deck… this was my favorite spot to sit, and where I was when Rob Reiner tried to talk to me. I'm so lame. Sorry Rob. Love your movies!
Several years ago I transferred to Malibu to work as Marc Andreessen’s Estate Manager, overseeing care of the property in the Malibu Colony and managing the staff. It was a great job, for the most part.
Malibu was pretty, and pretty boring for a single gal. Not much to do so I stirred up some trouble. (You can read a bit about Malibu and one of my more interesting exploits here.) I’ll write about some of the crazier stuff later, like when my parents get tired of reading their kid’s new blog (or just give up on my ever achieving greatness, or providing grandchildren. Ya, like a starving dog with a fat bone…).
So instead, I’m going to gossip about celebrities I saw when I was lived in ‘Bu (“Bu” as the locals call it – ’cause they’re special). It’s a random list of my encounters so don’t get too excited. (The stuff I could sell to tabloids for cubic dollars I’m saving for later.)
Breakfast with Spielberg.
If you don’t share this story, zombies will get you. (Just a . . . → But wait, there’s more! : Life In Malibu – Celebrity Encounters
My (Preconceived) Idea of Malibu vs. Reality: You’ve probably seen celebrities profiled on popular shows like TMZ or in the news: They’re always hanging out in Malibu, often getting DUIs, getting into fights, or being “seen with so-and-so”. This lead to my first preconceived idea: Malibu is a hotspot of celebrity activity! . . . → But wait, there’s more! : Once Upon a Time in Malibu
Oh, and to the wasted chick singing and dancing like a drunken zombie when everyone was seated: No more coke for you. . . . → But wait, there’s more! : Billy Joel & Elton John ROCKED the House!