SELLER: Reggie Bush
LOCATION: Viewsite Terrace, Los Angeles, CA
PRICE: $5,099,000
SIZE: 4,831 square feet, 4 bedrooms, 5.5 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: Explosive 360 degree jet liner views set the stage for this urban oasis. The ultimate in LA lifestyle & perfect for a celebrity, this 4 bed 5.5 bath masterpiece is sited at the end of a prime sunset strip cul-de-sac. The Incredible sexy master suite is on its own floor with his and her bathrooms, and a closet fit for a king. Elevator, 4 outdoor plasma TVs, glass pocket doors, plush state of the art Movie Theater & smart home technology is only the beginning of this 4831sf entertainers paradise.
A few weeks ago Kim Kardashian put her condo on the market with an asking price of $1,099,000 and two days ago Reggie also listed his Los Angeles residence with an obviously similar but much higher asking price of $5,099,000. Not surprisingly, the two properties are listed by the same real estate agent from Hilton and Hyland, the high-toned brokerage owned by Paris Hilton's father that employs folks like Coley Lafoon–otherwise known as ex-Mister Anne Heche–and Million Dollar Listing's hairtastic Chad Rogers.
According to several sources his pad is pretty Ghetto fab.... Junebug called it "campy" and went all wild-eyed with flabbergast over the red-suede elevator carriage that has Mister Bush's initials stitched in gold colored thread on the back wall. Now that is klassy with a "k" if I ever saw it. Karla Worthington, another informant with intimate knowledge of all things real estate in the Sunset Plaza area, sniped that Mister Bush's day-core screams "high ghetto." Now that is not a very PC thing to say about Mister Bush's taste in furniture and decorative accouterments, but we can well understand how those zebra print wing back chairs with short silver leafed feet in the living room could provoke strong emotions in the decoratively sensitive. If we're being nice, which we sometimes are, we could say that the day-core smacks of a self-consciously pseudo-sexy high-roller suite at a mid-range Las Vegas hotel that would like to expand their clientele to wildly rich young people easily impressed with shiny objects, nightclub lighting and plasma tee-vees.
Anyhoo, according to Junebug–who has been inside this house–the front door opens directly into the living room area–meaning no entry way whatsoever–where one is immediately confronted by those eyeball punishing zebra print wing back chairs with the short silver leaf legs that have been paired with a chunky mirrored cube coffee table, a silver leaf chest of drawers with a plasma tee-vee mounted on the wall behind it, a tufted white leather sofa, and a nappy looking white shag area rug. The cramped looking living room area has double height ceilings, a corner fireplace–on top of which sits Mister Bush's Heisman Trophy–and opens directly onto the back yard through paneless wood framed French doors.
The dining room also opens to the back yard, has a large glassy chandelier that looks like something straight out of a Holiday Inn banquet room, and flows into the over-processed kitchen outfitted with grey cabinetry, a myriad of stainless steel appliances including side by side fridge and freezer–which we like– and a work island with a semi-circular breakfast bar where four bongo drum shaped bar stools sit on top of a red, rainbow shaped rug. Seriously folks, this mess is almost beyond words. Also on the lowest level, according to Junebug, is the black and red velvet theater room about which I do not have the energy to muster a comment.
The second floor has a glass floored mezzanine area over the living room–which could be a bit pornographic for any ladees or drag queens standing up there in a dress–and two bedrooms with private poopers. We do not even want to know what "fun" Mister Bush and Miss Big Booty have had with this glass floor. Seriously, don't go there children, it's nothing but ugly. The master suite, according to listing information, occupies the entire top floor and includes a somewhat triangular bedroom and sitting area with a fireplace, his and her poopers, a gigantic custom fitted walk in closet/dressing room and walls of glass that glide open to a wrap around terrace with gorgeous and glittery views of the carpet of lights that is LaLa Land below. One side of the master bedroom opens to a large deck that floats over the city and where, not surprisingly, Mister Bush installed a pool table and a wall mounted plasma tee-vee.
The petite but flat back yard consists of a pill shaped swimming pool and spa with flagstone coping sunk into a patch of grass surrounded by a deck that hovers over the hillside (and the house below). A fire pit has been sunk into the deck, there is a built in barbecue center, and three plasma tee-vees have been mounted on the back wall of the house. Honestly. This is the sort of backyard about which some people would probably use the word party as a verb as in, "Let's party over at Reggie's place." Listen by little butter beans, as far as I'm concerned the word party is a noun or an adjective and not a verb regardless of the dictionary claiming it can be used informally as a verb. Three plasmas mounted on an exterior wall seems like exactly the same thing as using the word party as a verb.
Fortunately Mister Bush is not selling his crib furnished because this very well may be a case where one must sift through the shit to find a diamond. The house is clearly not without its drawbacks and shortcomings such as the lack of a proper entry and that vulgar glass floor mezzanine bizness, but the location is convenient if you can stomach Sunset Plaza Drive after a few cocktails, the views are simply outrageous, the pooper to bedroom ratio is lovely, and it's a total bonus to get this much flat space for a backyard in the hills above Sunset Boulevard. My husband wouldn't dream of moving over there especially if you have a family. It's horrendous and party city which would leave me to conclude that Kim and Reg are definitely hearing the sound of little pitter patter of feet and smelling diapers soon.
Perhaps they're looking for a family friendly house in Calabasas? Or maybe they're considering packing up and moving to New Orleans? Who knows. Whatever they're going to do, I would not be at all surprised to see it all aired on some tawdry and terrible reality television program just like the uninspiring lives of all the other "K" named Kardashian ladees–namely Kourtney and Khloe–that currently infect the boob-toob.
