Barbra Streisand and her husband, James Brolin, are celebrating 26 years of marriage in the home where their love story truly came together. The journey to acquiring their dream home was anything but simple—it took them 11 years to finally buy it.
At 82, Barbra Streisand, the legendary performer, and her 83-year-old actor husband, James Brolin, have enjoyed many years of happiness in their beloved home. The couple, along with their dogs, have created countless memories there. Their dedication and perseverance paid off, making their home a symbol of their enduring love and commitment.
Barbra Streisand first laid eyes on the house when she was living nearby. At the time, she couldn’t make the purchase because her boyfriend didn’t like it, and she also wasn’t able to afford it.
Now, Barbra Streisand and James Brolin live in the dream home that took 11 years to buy. They recently celebrated their 26th wedding anniversary on July 1 in this special place. Streisand shared a sweet photo on Instagram, showing the couple in a side embrace. Her caption read, “28 years today since we met honey… and 26 years today since we married! Love you.
Their Maltese poodles, Scarlet, Violet, and Fanny, are clearly a cherished part of their family. Streisand’s Instagram posts of their birthdays must be adorable! It sounds like their home is filled with love and joy.
In 1984, while living on a ranch down the road, Barbra Streisand first laid eyes on her dream home. At the time, she wasn’t thrilled with her current house, so her real estate broker showed her a place closer to the ocean. This home would later become the one she and James Brolin would spend many cherished years in, despite the long journey to finally owning it.
Streisand noted that the house’s facade wasn’t particularly impressive, describing it as modern gray and somewhat like a “contraption.” However, upon entering, she was pleasantly surprised by its “rustic charm,” which won her over despite its outward appearance.
The Broadway star fell in love with the house right away and wanted to buy it. However, it wasn’t possible at that time, and she had to wait several more years before she could finally make it her home.
At that time, Streisand owned the ranch she had been staying on. Her manager advised her that she wouldn’t be able to afford the dream home until she sold the ranch.
Streisand also revealed that her boyfriend at the time thought the house was too close to the cliff where it was situated. She decided not to purchase it, but she admitted, “I was so forlorn when I found out that it was sold to someone else, and they had started renovating it.”
Streisand’s affection for the house didn’t diminish over time. In fact, she continued to dream about it and couldn’t shake the feeling of longing. She admitted that she had a deep emotional connection to the home she couldn’t buy.
However, some years later, her luck turned around when the couple who owned the house kept her in mind as they got ready to move.
Years later, Streisand’s luck changed. The couple who owned the house remembered her as they prepared to move out, and this gave her another chance at the dream home she had always wanted.
Barbra Streisand was so in love with her dream house that she bought a home one house away just to be close to it. She even became friends with the elderly couple living between her current home and the dream house.
When the couple moved away, Streisand bought their house too. She planned to combine both properties into one large house on the two-acre land.
Finally, fate was on her side. The couple who owned her dream home divorced and lowered the price. Streisand was able to buy the house in 1995 and was thrilled. She was relieved not to have to build a new house or deal with lots of details.
Since then, Streisand has turned her dream home into a beautiful place, celebrating its craftsmanship and making it a special part of her life for nearly 30 years.
The house is set on a big piece of land with beautiful green lawns. An aerial view shows the spacious garden and the pool in front of the house, which faces the ocean. The driveway is located at the back of the house.
To design the interior of her home, Streisand looked at many books and drew inspiration from things she saw while traveling. She really enjoyed this process.
She also added streams to the landscape because she finds water very calming. Streisand wanted a barn because she loves how they are a key part of American culture. Inside her barn, she has hens that lay green eggs.
Streisand and Brolin met in 1996 when they were 54 and 56 years old. Both had children from previous marriages and blended their families together. They got married two years after they first met.
Now that they’ve been married for 26 years and their kids are grown and out of the house, Streisand and Brolin are enjoying a new phase in their lives: being grandparents.
Streisand and Brolin have grandchildren from their adult children, and they always welcome them to spend time in their loving home.
An arrogant customer threw fresh juice at me – but I’m not someone to be walked over, so I gave her a lesson she’ll remember.
When an entitled customer humiliated me and hurled her drink at my face in front of everyone, she thought I’d take it lying down. What happened next was a lesson in why one should never underestimate someone in an apron.
The moment I stepped into the health food store that morning, the scent of fresh produce and herbal teas hit me like a wave. I breathed it in, savoring the familiar aroma that had become a part of my daily routine over the past year. As I tied my apron around my waist, I couldn’t shake the feeling that today was going to be different somehow…
“Hey, Grace! Ready for another exciting day of juice-making?” My coworker, Ally, called out from behind the counter.
I laughed, shaking my head. “You know it! Gotta keep those entitled customers happy, right?”
But as I said those words, a knot formed in my stomach. There was one customer in particular who always seemed to go out of her way to make our lives miserable.
We called her “Miss Pompous” behind her back, a fitting name for someone who acted like she owned the place every time she walked through the door.
I tried to push thoughts of her aside as I started my shift. I needed this job, not just for me, but for my family.
My widowed mother’s medical bills weren’t going to pay themselves, and my younger sister was counting on me to help with her college expenses. This job was my lifeline, and I couldn’t afford to lose it.
As I wiped down the juice bar, Ally leaned in close. “Heads up,” she whispered. “Miss Pompous just pulled into the parking lot. Brace yourself.”
My heart sank. “Great! Just what I needed to start my day.”
The bell above the door chimed, and in she walked, her designer heels clicking against the floor like a countdown to disaster.
Miss Pompous strutted up to the counter, her nose so high in the air I was surprised she could see where she was going. Without so much as a “hello,” she barked her order at me.
“Carrot juice. Now.”
I bit my tongue, forcing a smile. “Of course, ma’am. Coming right up.”
As I started juicing the carrots, I could feel her eyes boring into me, watching my every move like a hawk. The pressure was so intense that my hands started to shake slightly as I worked.
Finally, I handed her the freshly made juice. “Here you go, ma’am. Enjoy your drink!”
She snatched it from my hand and took one sip. Her eyes widened in disgust and her mouth curled into a sneer.
“Uh-oh, looks like someone’s about to unleash their inner drama llama!” I thought.
Before I could even react, Miss Pompous THREW the entire contents of the cup directly AT MY FACE.
The cold liquid splashed across my cheeks, dripping down my chin and soaking into my apron. I stood there in stunned silence, unable to process what had just happened.
“What is this watered-down garbage?” she screeched, her voice echoing through the store. “Are you trying to poison me?”
I blinked, wiping juice from my eyes. “I… I don’t understand. It’s the same recipe we always use.”
“It’s disgusting! Make it again, and this time, use your brain!”
My cheeks burned with humiliation as I felt the eyes of every customer in the store on me. Tears threatened to spill over, but I refused to let her see me cry.
“Is there a problem here?” My manager, Mr. Weatherbee, suddenly appeared beside me, his brows furrowed in concern, though I couldn’t tell if it was for me or for the prospect of losing a customer.
Miss Pompous turned her venom on him. “Your incompetent employee can’t even make a simple juice correctly! I demand a refund and a free replacement!”
To my horror, Mr. Weatherbee immediately began apologizing profusely. “I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, ma’am. Of course, we’ll remake your juice right away, free of charge.”
He then turned to me. “Grace, please be more careful next time. We can’t afford to upset our valued customers.”
My jaw dropped. “But sir, I—”
He cut me off with a sharp look. “Just get the carrots from the fridge, Grace, and help me remake the juice.”
Miss Pompous smirked at me, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. In that moment, I felt smaller than the carrot peelings in the compost bin.
For a split second, I contemplated ripping off my apron and storming out, never to return.
But then, like a snapshot, my mom’s tired smile and my sister’s hopeful eyes flashed through my mind. I needed this job. I couldn’t let them down, not when they were counting on me.
So, with a heart hardening like steel, I stood my ground.
I forced myself to meet Miss Pompous’s gaze, refusing to buckle under the weight of her contempt. This entitled woman thought she could buy someone’s dignity with her money, that she could stamp out someone’s self-worth just because she was rich.
Well, not this time.
I wasn’t going to let it slide anymore. I wasn’t a doormat, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let my dignity be trampled on without consequence.
You know how they say you fight fire with fire? Well, this was it. A plan began to brew in my mind, bold and risky… but oh so satisfying!
As Mr. Weatherbee turned his back to the juicer and stepped away, answering a call on his cell phone, I made my move.
I casually reached into the fridge behind the counter, my fingers bypassing the neat, uniform carrots until they closed around the biggest, ugliest carrot I could find.
It was gnarled and tough… exactly what I needed.
I locked eyes with Miss Pompous, making sure she was watching.
“One moment, please,” I said, my voice sickly sweet. “I’ll make sure this juice is “perfect” for you.”
Miss Pompous watched with narrowed eyes as I fed it into the juicer.
The machine groaned and sputtered, struggling with the oversized vegetable. Juice began to spray everywhere across the counter, onto the floor, and most satisfyingly, all over Miss Pompous’s designer purse that she’d carelessly left too close to the danger zone.
Her shriek of horror was music to my ears.
“My bag!” she wailed, snatching it up and futilely trying to wipe away the orange stains. “You stupid girl! Look what you’ve done!”
“Oh no! I’m so sorry, ma’am. It was an accident, I swear.”
Her face turned an impressive shade of purple. “Accident? You deliberately ruined my three-thousand-dollar purse! I demand compensation! Where the heck is your manager?”
I could feel laughter bubbling up inside me, threatening to burst out. Struggling to keep a straight face, I gestured vaguely towards a group of customers browsing the aisles.
“I think I saw him helping someone over there,” I said, my voice wavering slightly with suppressed mirth.
As Miss Pompous turned to look, I took the opportunity to slip away, ducking behind the stockroom door.
From my hiding spot, I watched as she gave up waiting and stormed out of the store, clutching her dripping bag close to her chest, leaving a trail of carrot juice in her wake.
The bell above the door jangled violently as she slammed it behind her.
I let out a sigh of relief, but the knot in my stomach told me this wasn’t over. Miss Pompous wasn’t the type to let something like this go. I knew she’d be back, and next time, she’d be out for blood.
The next morning, I arrived at work with a swirl of dread churning in my stomach.
Barely an hour into my shift, Miss Pompous burst through the door like a storm cloud, making a beeline for the counter.
“Where is the owner?”
Before I could answer, Mr. Weatherbee emerged from the back room, his face pale. “Mrs. Johnson? Is there a problem?”
“I want to speak to the owner. Now!” she snapped.
As if on cue, the owner, Mr. Larson, appeared. He was a kind-faced man in his sixties.
“I’m the owner,” he said calmly. “What seems to be the problem?”
Miss Pompous launched into a tirade, her voice growing shriller with each word. “Your incompetent employee ruined my expensive purse yesterday! I demand she be fired immediately, and I expect full compensation for my loss!”
Mr. Larson listened patiently. When she finally ran out of steam, he simply said, “I see. Well, let’s take a look at the security footage, shall we?”
My heart skipped a beat. I’d forgotten about the cameras. Oh no.
We all gathered around the small monitor in Mr. Larson’s office. As the footage played, showing Miss Pompous throwing juice in my face and my subsequent “accident” with her purse, the room fell silent.
Finally, Mr. Larson turned to Miss Pompous. “Ma’am, I’m afraid I can’t offer you any compensation. What I see here is an unfortunate accident that occurred after you assaulted my employee. If anyone should be considering legal action, it’s us.”
Miss Pompous’s jaw dropped. “But… but my purse!”
“I suggest you leave now, Mrs. Johnson. And please don’t return to this establishment. We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone who mistreats our staff.”
With a final glare of pure hatred in my direction, Miss Pompous stormed out, the bell over the door clanging violently in her wake.
As soon as she was gone, Mr. Larson turned to me, his eyes twinkling. “Well, Grace, I hope it was just an accident.”
“Yes, sir. It was! Why would I intentionally ruin a customer’s belongings?” I lied.
Mr. Larson nodded and walked away. As I hurried back to the juice bar, Ally gave me a high five. “Way to go, Grace! You stood up to the wicked witch!”
I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in months. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
Well, that was justice served, with a side of carrot juice! Sometimes, what goes around comes around in the most unexpected ways. And let me tell you, it tastes pretty sweet.
That night, as I recounted the story to my mom and sister over dinner, I realized something important: standing up for myself hadn’t just taught Miss Pompous a lesson, it had reminded me of my own worth.
So, have you ever dealt with entitled people like Miss Pompous? I’d love to hear your stories in the comments. After all, we’ve all got to stick together against the “Karens” of the world, right?
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