Olivia Culpo paid tribute to her longtime friend and real estate agent Barry Peele, who passed away at the age of 61.
The actress from Griselda put together a sweet Instagram slideshow with pictures of the couple taken over time.
“@barrypeele [heart]U, my life will never be the same without you,” she wrote as a caption for the picture.
The cause of Barry’s passing is still a mystery.
In comments, followers of 51-year-old Sofia have been sending the real estate agent their condolences.
internet following his demise.
“It saddens me greatly to inform you that our dear friend and colleague Barry Peele has unexpectedly passed away,” Christian said.
“Barry served as the company’s committed and informed representative for a considerable amount of time. He will be remembered as a lovely person who lived life to the fullest and cherished the time he spent with his closest friends, many of whom were also his clients.
Many of you have worked right next to him. Without a doubt, we will miss him. I hope you’re at peace, Gary.
Barry was a producer as well as a real estate agent who first rose to prominence in that field.
He contributed to the 2005 documentary Rize, which won the Golden Kinnaree Award for Best Documentary.
Furthermore, he made a contribution to the 2008 movie I Am Because We Are.
My Neighbor Kept Hanging out Her Panties Right in Front of My Son’s Window, So I Taught Her a Real Lesson
My neighbor’s undergarments became the unlikely stars of a suburban show, taking center stage right outside my 8-year-old son’s window. When Jake innocently asked if her thongs were some kind of slingshots, I knew the “panty parade” had to stop, and it was time for a lesson in laundry discretion.
Ah, suburbia—where the lawns are pristine, the air smells of fresh-cut grass, and life rolls along smoothly until someone comes along to shake things up. That’s when Lisa, our new neighbor, arrived. Life had been relatively peaceful until laundry day revealed something I wasn’t prepared for: a rainbow of her underwear flapping outside Jake’s window like flags at a questionable parade.One afternoon, I was folding Jake’s superhero underwear when I glanced out the window and almost choked on my coffee. There they were: hot pink, lacy, and very much on display. My son, ever curious, peered over my shoulder and asked the dreaded question, “Mom, why does Mrs. Lisa have her underwear outside? And why do some of them have strings? Are they for her pet hamster?”
Between stifled laughter and mortified disbelief, I did my best to explain. But Jake’s imagination was running wild, wondering if Mrs. Lisa was secretly a superhero,with underwear designed for aerodynamics. He even wanted to join in, suggesting his Captain America boxers could hang next to her “crime-fighting gear.” It became a daily routine—Lisa’s laundry would wave in the breeze, and Jake’s curiosity would stir. But when he asked if he could hang his own underwear next to hers, I knew it was time to put an end to this spectacle. So, I marched over to her house, ready to resolve the situation diplomatically. Lisa answered the door, and before I could say much, she made it clear she wasn’t about to change her laundry habits for anyone. She laughed off my concerns, suggesting I “loosen up” and even offered me advice on spicing up my own wardrobe. Frustrated but determined, I came up with a plan—a brilliantly petty one. That evening, I created the world’s largest, most garish pair of granny panties out of the brightest fabric I could find. The next day, when Lisa left, I hung my masterpiece right in front of her window. When she returned, the sight of the massive flamingo-patterned undergarments nearly knocked her off her feet. Watching her fume while trying to yank down my prank was worth every stitch. She eventually caved, agreeing to move her laundry somewhere less visible—while I quietly relished my victory. From then on, Lisa’s laundry vanished from our shared view, and peace was restored. As for me? I ended up with a pair of flamingo-themed curtains, a daily reminder of the day I won the great laundry war of suburbia.
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