Nicole 'n' Joel pack up their things and look to change zip codes, while the Jolie-Pitts one-up 'em and perhaps exchange currency and countries. Plus, Jake Gyllenhaal gets into a few compromising positions, and John Mayer embarks on one cruise we know Nicole Kidman wouldn't have a prob with!
Nicole Richie and Joel Madden are gettin’ the ef outta Glendale. Who saw that one coming (besides, ya know, us)? Harlow's mommy and daddy are house hunting in, where else, Beverly Hills. Guess you can take the girl out of the upscale, affluent area, but ya can’t keep the upscale, affluent girl in Glendale. Half of E!’s legal team lives in Glendale, though, so I guess I’d better watch it with that one. Nothing like a Valley-Gal attorney scorned, ya know!
Other celebs in the real-estate game: Desk New Orleans tells us the Jolie-Pitt brood have sold their N.O. home, with all the neighbors more than relieved to get rid of these overzealous, procreating paparazzi-targets. After all, the J-P’s have merely been benevolently slumming, right, helping out tragic towns the way they do underprivileged kids? ‘Course, that’s just the nastiest take possible on these two beauties, not necessarily an entirely accurate one. But this is a goss column, after all, and usually the truth (just like the more negative juice) is almost always subtly tucked somewhere between fact and fiction.
The white, two-storied Brangie abode sits on the same street as houses owned by other Mardi Gras-lovin’ guys Lenny Kravitz and Nicolas Cage, who holds the lease on a messy li'l fixer-upper that locals say has never been completely....well, fixed up. This celeb-swarmed street sits inside the French Quarter, par-tick in the Storyville section—a little locale known as “hooker city” back at the turn of the century, so informs Desk N.O. Oh, how very rustic! Guess now that B ‘n’ A have gone 180 degrees from on-the-set sex to full-time kiddo wrangling, a more wholesome environ is required. Like France.
Oh, very un-Vanity Fair, we shot a Q of confirmation to Angie-babe’s reps but haven’t heard a word back. Nada. Damn, A.J., this isn’t about your damn birth or your bad-girl bed habits, both of which you waxed on and on about to Entertainment Weekly like no one had ever asked ya about either before. Can’t even hit us back with a response about a simple real-estate matter? Or maybe we should just ask Jack Black since he’s the only one spilling these days?
Let’s have a moment of silence for the end of one of H’wood’s golden couples—shimmering, as far as their hair is concerned, anyway. Blondies Reese Witherspoon and Ryan Phillippe are officially and totally divorced as of this week, tho both parties really, in their hearts (and other sweaty locales), had jumped ship before they separated back in '06.
Both R&R appear more than okeydoke with the way things turned out—but we bet Reesikins has def been declared the winner in this battle of the exes. Ry’s got his poor-man’s Reese replacement, Aussie Abbie Cornish, while Witherbabe possesses two of the most coveted men in H’wood: Oscar and Jake Gyllenhaal. The Gyllenspork (are these verbal fusings making you puke as much as we are, yet?) guy ‘n’ gal are still going, against all odds, par-tick all over Hell-Ay. In fact, guess how the amour babes celebrated Reesie’s Big D? Romantic din din at Cut, full of love-nothing’s and well-done proclamations for each other? A night of naughty lovemaking up at the Madonna Inn? Nope.
Yoga. Yeah, R dragged her buff beau to a stretch class at Santa Monica’s YogaHop on a Saturday afternoon. Is this how the supposedly sexiest duo in T-town really breaks a sweat? Either that or she couldn’t stand a single second (or photo op) away from her fella. Our sly exercising source said the celebs, each with their own personal yoga mat, were supercute together, with R.W. keeping Jakey-boy as comfortable as possible for his first yoga class at this peaceful place.
The adorable dolls did their best downward-facing dogs and lotus poses without any PDAs and slipped out early, prolly to avoid the after-class crowd. Wouldn’t be surprised if the BFF babes hightailed it over to the mall for a facial and matching mani-pedi makeovers.
Everyone else might be keeping their attention on Nicole Kidman's barely there bump, but we’re also concerned with a more damning, just as suspicious matter. The fact that N.K. still hasn’t owned up to her involvement in that unforgivable (and as yet, still unexcused) bodyguard attack from March. We can’t believe the whole mess has vanished into thin air, just the way Kidman & Co. want it to, right? Another just as curious disappearing act is the photog agency itself, Flynet, which posted the disturbing body-goon bash vid. The Flynet photo guys were prolly thinking the whole sad sitch was a blessing in disguise, since nothing gets your name more press than having an A-List actress involved in a brutal beatdown. But flynetonline.com hasn’t posted a damn thing, pics or otherwise, on its blog since May 9.
'Course, the agency is still selling photos to other websites, including a recent one of Miss Kiddy and Keith Urban leaving a Nashville Starbucks, but its own HQ seems left for dead. What gives, babes? Did you get some superunder-the-table payday from Nicky to shut your mouths and say buh-bye to your site? Wouldn’t be surprised if Kid-hon's picked up a few tricks from her marriage to Tom.
Billy Zane, breakfasting by his lonesome at ultratrendy Urth Caffé on Melrose Avenue. The Titanic stud scarfed up his early ayem meal in a corner on the patio, while wearing a tight, white tee sans any headgear covering his shiny bald dome. It was a seriously sunny day; let’s hope B.Z. rubbed some sunscreen on his noggin before noshin'. Zaney was confident enough to go it alone without a phone, a book or a friend—what, was his personal assistant too busy picking up his dry cleaning to share a glass of OJ with him? Billy looked buff, but still managed to skeeve out a couple of blondes in the place. Getting less unwanted attention was...
Sharon and Ozzy Osbourne, dining at the delicious Saddle Peak Lodge, a ritzy-yet-rustic wild-game restaurant in the canyons in Calabasas. The quirky couple—who’s still very much together, so effing cute—sat next to the fireplace and had a quiet dinner with two other nonabnormal-looking women. Shar-babe donned her famous dark-red 'do and wore a black sweater with some small, sparkly earrings. No one bothered the British twosome or their guests in the dim, low-key place. Guess everyone was too busy munching on their quail and deer. Give us In-N-Out any day, fer sure. Enjoying sustenance, of sorts, on the East Coast was...
Terry Serpico, sippin’ on some black Buddah cocktails at the Buddha Bar in InWhySee. The Army Wives and Rescue Me star was gabbin’ with an assortment of amigos over veggie spring rolls but steered clear of anything fishy seeing as Ter was overheard saying how he’s allergic to shrimp. Ter-bear was dressed all conservative-like but kept his demeanor all casual as he hung with his chums, keepin’ it simple in jeans and a button-down shirt, quasi-yum.
Tell us, folks, what could be better than basking in the sun on a boat? How about some adult contemporary companionship? John Mayer is once again headlining his own cruise for the second year in a row. Wanna relax in the sun from Hell-Ay to Cabo for four days with Mr. M by your side? Then hurry up and get your ridiculously priced cabin, starting at about $800 per person. Is all that green worth a potential shot of Johnny wearing that bright green Borat mankini the silly singer sported last year? For us, no, espesh when we can get shots of J.M. frolicking poolside with Jennifer Aniston on the internet that are just as good...and we don’t have to listen to Mayer’s music while doing so.
The Mayercraft Carrier sets sail next March, which is far too far away for us to even consider cruising along for the ride. We don’t even know what we’re doing this weekend—who the ef can plan that far ahead? We bet even Jen is holding out buying her ticket for a couple of more months. Smart girl.