Hollywood Called…

So I asked a teething-related question of one of the younger Drs. Sears on the CBS hit show “The Doctors”, while T expressed himself. On TV. Here we are in a photo, goofy and giddy in Hollywood.


You can view the clip here:

The Drs. Clip

Truthfully? I have no idea if “The Doctors” is a hit show, only that it’s lasted long enough for our episode to air. That hunky ex-“The Bachelor” doctor hosts and SAYS MY NAME. T enjoyed the sound boom waving over his head during the taping. And everyone was extra nice to him because the sound boom guy and the camera guy had kids too.


It’s funny how we’re introduced as “via home video”. That’s not my son’s bed we’re sitting on, not our shelves, our books. We’re deep in a labryinthine Hollywood studio, in one of the rooms of a faux house that was so neat and tidy I wanted to move in. Ah, well. Truthfully? Although the studio was fascinating and decorated in Miami glass and the Green Room was stocked in bottled water, bagels and chocolates and furnished like a better-end hotel room, the location was across the street from unpleasant, typical Hollywood grunge.


That’s it for Hollywood for us—about two seconds of fame. Perhaps 14 minutes and 58 seconds are still waiting for us somewhere. Perhaps T and I will be the first mother-son team to climb some snowy, formidable mountain, or the first to stamp red Mars dust from our special planet-exploring shoes. Hm. Probably not.


You, too, can be on the CBS hit show “The Doctors”. They need “real people” to ask questions of Dr. Lisa, the gorgeous OB on the show. Apparently she’s very famous in OB circles. I turned down the opportunity to ask her a question via home video in my faux Hollywood living room. Truthfully? I don’t want my 15 minutes of fame to include asking Dr. Lisa questions about my intimate areas. Nor do I want my son to have tape on me when he’s old enough to know the meaning of the word “blackmail”. Say he wants his buds to come over, but doesn’t want to clean his room before they arrive. Ah, but mom, he’ll tell my stipulating self. I’ve got the clip of you and Dr. Liiiiiiisa on my super-compact- nano-granno-spaceage-computer! he’ll say, brandishing the blackmail. One press of my spaceage button, mom, he’ll say, and you’re all over the In. Ter. Net.

Oh, noooooooooo, Dr. Lisa, noooooooo. I won’t be asking.

So goodbye Hollywood! We’re back in the real world of colds, no lipstick and baby food smeared on the duvet.

But it was fun while it lasted.

3 Responses to “Hollywood Called…”

  1. PB says:

    PB–just because Hollywood is next door doesn’t mean you have to answer the phone! What are you, a stage-mother-in-training? Remember Gary Coleman! Remember that kid who played Dennis The Menace! Remember all the forgotten child- actors, bless their adult hearts! Don’t answer the phone, PB! Don’t answer the phone!

    Unless, of course, Elmo calls. Then Go, PB! Take your son and for the love of god, go!

  2. Meredith Mcminn says:

    Well, Opie didn’t turn out so bad… But then there’re all those other kids… Neeevvver mind.

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