May 202016

PHOTO Empty Pockets free photoSeems like more and more people have been complaining about being out of money lately. Okay, I get it. The economy sucks. . . for most of us. But when the (formerly?) rich and famous start doing it, you have to wonder. According to TMZ, the latest celeb crying poor mouth (as we say in my home town of Philadelphia) is David Hasselhoff, The Hoff, the former star of Knight Rider, Baywatch and lots of other things. The Hoff claims to only have $4,000 to his name. He’s broke.

Let’s take a look at what it means to be broke. Since Google is my friend, I pulled up a screen and typed in “definition of broke.” Google says:

broke (adjective)  having completely run out of money.

synonyms: penniless, moneyless, bankrupt, insolvent, ruined, down-and-out, without a penny to one’s name, without a cent, without one red cent, without two pennies to rub together.

Penniless, moneyless, insolvent, down-and-out, having completely run out of money. Got it? I know I sure do. Been there/done that/gladly accepted the government cheese.

PHOTO David Hasselhoff

Poor Hoff. He’s broke. Or so he wants us to believe. He only has $4,000 left to his name. In the days of raising my kids, there were many times I had to figure out how to feed them when I only had FOUR DOLLARS left to my name. But, yeah, I know I’m a lowly peasant and not Hollywood royalty, those who deserve an affluent lifestyle due to the worship of the sheeple. (Ooops…sorry. Too early for that degree of snark.)

So. . . he’s broke. Or should we make that cash poor? I still don’t call only having $4,000 cash poor, but, hey, what do I know? And then I read a little farther down the TMZ article and. . . the voice of an infomercial barker resounds in my head.

But wait. . . . there’s more!!! There’s the minor detail of having $1.79 million in non-broke assets, like “real estate, retirement savings, cars, jewelry, art and other odds and ends.” Oh yeah, that’s B-R-O-K-E. We should all be so broke!

Oh, and did I mention that the article says he makes $112,000 a month, but spends $66,000 of that? So he has practically nothing left when he gets done paying his ex, shelling out living expenses and spending his $66K. Poor baby can’t save a penny. What the hell do you spend 66 grand a month on? I won’t go into how many people don’t make that in a year, yet alone count it as chump change.

So what’s a poor, broke actor to do? Petition the court to reduce support payments to his ex, of course!

SURPRISE! She’s not buying it. She says he has lots more than that $1.79 mill in property all over the world. Grab a beer and some popcorn, folks, so you’ll be ready for the bitch fight in court at the end of the month.

You know what’s the worst part in all this? People feel SORRY for someone who came to fame on his looks and the fact that he reads lines well and who now ONLY has $4,000 in cash plus $1.79 million (and possibly more) in assets. THEY FEEL SORRY FOR HIM!!! I just sit here, tapping on keys to make a living, shaking my head.

Hoff, I have some advice for you from a fan, me, one of the real people out there who knows what it’s like to be truly broke.

Have a yard sale, dude!

And just so you know, Hoff is not alone in this phenomenon known as “crying broke.” Congress is currently bitching that they can’t live on $174,000 a year. Do NOT get me started on that.

OBH over and out.

May 192016

OBH Photo TRS 80The somewhat inelegant title of this article is a comment I saw on a social media network when someone posted the You Tube video for the song Brand New Key by Melanie. It was released in 1971.  Which got me to thinking. . . . I know.  Dangerous, eh?

My first thought was, “Whaddya mean you don’t know WTF a roller skate key is?” And then it hit me that it’s probably been a long time since kids strapped on those metal skates and tightened them onto their PF Flyers with a key. Let’s see what else I remember from my childhood days of yore.

>I had an original Barbie doll.
>I had an original Hula Hoop.
>I was married by the time the first Atari ping pong ball jumped the cyber net.
>I was married when Beta and/or VHS movies became *the thing* to watch at home.
>I got my first cell phone at 49.

And the beat goes on.

Okay, okay, I’ve got it. I quality for Certified Old Fart status.

In my own defense, though, I should point out that I had a computer in 1985. It was a Radio Shack TRS 80, lovingly called a TRASH 80 by its aficionados. For what I paid for that machine back then, I could get one today that could run your life, right down to cooking your eggs sunny side up. It used huge 8″ floppy disks (two of them!) and it was slow. S-L-O-W. How slow? Thanks for asking. My old joke was that you could give it a command, go cook dinner, have dessert, wash and put away the dishes and you might. . . . might come back to a finished task.

Today’s younguns have grown up on technology. That’s both good and bad. They can run circles around me techwise, but will they ever know the extreme thrill of getting royally pissed and slamming a heavy black telephone receiver down in an attempt to shatter the ear drum of the person on the other end of the line? Can they jump Double Dutch? Do they know what Olly Olly Oxen Free means? Well, quite frankly, I had to look that one up for the exact meaning. . . but my pronunciation was first rate!

And, unfortunately, most of them will never know the thrill of tightening your skates with a skate key and taking off down the sidewalk or the back alley with the wind in your hair. It’s sad, really.

The children of today have all new entertainment, some of it good and some of it not so good. I applaud the new and the good, but I mourn the passing of the old.

Now where did I put that skate key?

OBH over and out.

Nov 222015

They say that our oldest folks remember where they were and what they were doing on the day Franklin Delano Roosevelt died. Younger folks remember where they were and what they were doing on September 11, 2001. Folks in my generation, they say, remember were they were and what they were doing on November 22, 1963, the day President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. I remember.

I was days away from my 11th birthday and I was having a great school year. Why? I had my first black teacher and I was so excited. This may seem a strange statement nowadays, but in 1963 it caused quite a stir in the school district. Many had withdrawn their children from that school because of it. Her name was Mrs. Johnson and she was the best teacher I remember from elementary school. I can still see her when I close my eyes. She was tall and beautiful and, like me, she loved history.

On that fateful day, the PA system crackled as all teachers were ordered to report to the office. We were given an assignment and told to wait for Mrs. Johnson to come back. We all sat there and did our work without a monitor. There was someone patrolling the halls in case of emergency and the doors were left open. My class sat there and dutifully did the assignment. Things were very different back then.

When Mrs. Johnson walked back into class, you could see that she was crying although she was trying to hide it. We were really worried now. The teacher was crying? All we were told, all she was allowed to tell us was that something terrible had happened for our country and we were being dismissed. We were supposed to ask our parents to explain it. There were a bunch of scared kids in that classroom, let me tell you! To this day, I wish she would have been allowed to tell us what was up. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who was imagining the end of the world on my way home.

Because of the unexpected dismissal, no buses were running. My parents were both working and I couldn’t get a ride. So. . . I walked the five miles home. It seemed like it took me forever. I was not the athletic type so it probably did. When I got home and burst through the door, my mom, dad and grandparents were sitting in front of the new color TV my dad had proudly purchased a week or so before. They weren’t even notified that the school had dismissed us. That was the level of shell shock America experienced on that day.

I quickly learned what happened and was very upset, as was the entire country. But I was 11 years old. My upsetment was two-fold. Yes, I was upset that our president was dead. . . . murdered. But there was something else and it didn’t hit me hard until the funeral.

Caroline Kennedy Schlossberg and I share a birthday. She is five years younger than me, but we were born on the same day. Every year since Kennedy’s election, my family made a big thing out of the fact that my birthday was Caroline’s birthday, too. This little girl was less than a week away from her 6th birthday. And there she stood at her father’s casket. I was so upset for her! I kept thinking to myself, “This shouldn’t be! She shouldn’t have lost her daddy days before her birthday.”

I remember being glued to that TV set through the whole funeral, not exactly a fun thing to do for an 11-year-old. And I kept staring at Caroline, wishing her to be okay. John-John famously saluted the casket. He was three. I didn’t think he understood, but I knew Caroline did.

I cried for her that day and for many years after. We are both old ladies now, but I still can see that small child desperately trying not to cry despite the realization that she would never see her father again. And I can still feel what I felt for her on that day, the sadness and the grief that no one who is almost six years old should have to feel. To me, it was okay for the country to mourn, but Caroline shouldn’t have had to.

Fifty-two years have gone by since that fateful day. My memory is not what it once was but, for that brief moment in time, John F. Kennedy’s funeral stands frozen in my mind. And I still think of Caroline. Her dad, mom and brother are now gone. And although I have seen many pictures of the now 58-year-old woman she’s become, to me she will always be that little girl standing in the funeral procession trying so hard not to cry.

Nov 062015

OBH Sparkling BoobsMost folks associate the word sparkling with champagne, right? Not boobs. Not hardly. Up until recently, I did, too.

It was time for the annual boob squish. I dutifully made my appointment and, on the day appointed, headed over to the diagnostic imaging place. The lady who called me back was very nice, professional yet sweet, and answered my questions.  She even explained about the fancy, schmancy new, 3-D machine she was going to use, how it worked and she showed me how it was so much better than prior models.

And then we got down to it. She had me as delicately placed as one can be between the killer plates when I hear her gasp. Hey, wait a minute! She didn’t even take any pics yet. What gives?

I hear a giggle and then I hear, “Carla, you have sparkling boobs.” I’m like. . . . HUH? She is still giggling as she comes over and gets me out of the machine. She brings me back behind the screen to show me the preview and, sure enough, there are little glowing spots all over my boob!

She asked me if I had used any perfume with sparkles (on my boobs?), or maybe sparkling bath stuff. I’m not exactly the Sparkle Plenty type, so I told her no. We couldn’t figure out what was going on, but we had to get the mission accomplished. She sent me into the bathroom with wipes and instructions to wash thoroughly. I washed. The pictures got taken, sans sparkle.

When I got home, I just HAD to know, so. . . . off to the bathroom I went testing all my bath products.  Not a sparkle or a glow in any of them.  Since it came off in the wash room, it definitely wasn’t my sparkling personality. What had I used?

And then it hit me. Body spray. I love body spray. Sure enough, under the light I saw very minute sparkles in the body spray. I sprayed my hand and put it under the light, just to make sure. Busted!  It was the body spray.

Word to the wise: Before going for a mammogram or any other imaging study, I would think, do NOT use anything that has any type of residue at all.  It will show up on the film.  And, after all, who the hell wants sparkling boobs?

Pass the champagne, please.


Aug 282015

Pic of Zendaya from her instagramThe magic of social media has brought us many great things, like the ability to keep in almost constant touch with family and friends. Sadly, it’s also brought out a whole load of people who should seriously be seen and definitely NOT heard. Cyberbullying has become a problem of epic proportions. People hide behind a keyboard and say things they’d never ever dream of saying to someone’s face. It’s ugly.

Fans of Dancing With the Stars will remember last season’s champion, Rumer Willis, tearfully recalling how she was called vile names in the press because she was not as pretty as her mother, actress Demi Moore. She related how all three of the daughters of Moore and Bruce Willis had terrible, hateful things said about their looks. It should be noted that Rumer has a body that some would kill for; however, she doesn’t have the face to go with it and, therefore, she is open to criticism and hate. One must have it all in Hollywood, right?

The latest instance of internet hate came to light this morning, once again, via the beautiful and talented Zendaya. What can you call Zendaya out on? The former Disney star and all around fantastic performer doesn’t leave much to criticize. So. . . . they went for her parents. Her parents? Oh, yeah.

Zendaya is the daughter of Claire Stoermer, who is white, and Kazembe Ajamu, who is black. They are teachers, both very tall and. . . . shock, horror, gasp!. . . don’t look like Kardashians or whatever is thought to be beautiful today (and which could easily change tomorrow). One photo was captioned, “They made a gorgeous ass child lol.” That was one of the nicer ones. Most called them ugly and one tweeter ever went so far as to say he or she “would cry” if his or her parents looked like Zendaya’s.

Zendaya loves her parents and her parents love her. They were in the audience every single week as she danced on DWTS, cheering her on. They have been with her every step of her journey, even giving up good careers of their own and moving so their baby could have the best. Here’s what the lovely (and smart) Zendaya shot back at her parents’ detractors.

“While you’re so concerned about what my parents look like, please know that these are two of the most selfless people in the world. They have chosen to spend their entire life, not worried about trivial things such as looks and insulting people’s parents on Twitter, but instead became educators who have dedicated their lives to teaching, cultivating and filling young shallow minds.”

She followed this up with, “Please, log out, go to school, hug a teacher and read a textbook…and while you’re at it, go look in the mirror and know that you too are beautiful, because such hateful things only stem from internal struggles. Bless you.”

I say, “Right on, Zendaya!” Her parents did indeed make a “gorgeous ass child.” What’s more important, though, is that they made a smart child with her priorities in the right place and a good dose of common sense.

And this isn’t the first time Zendaya has come under criticism. Zendaya wore her hair in dreadlocks for the Academy Awards last February and Fashion Police’s Julia Rancic took exception to it, saying that Zendaya’s hair must have smelled of “patchouli” and “weed.” Zendaya came back on that one, too, and quite respectfully put Ms. Rancic in her place, garnering an apology. You can read that beautifully-crafted response HERE.

Something I’ve often wondered. . . where is it written that the internet gives you permission to make fun of people for whatever you feel is the issue of the day? Zendaya and Rumer Willis live in the public eye so it’s right out there for all to see. But what about all the everyday people that suffer these slings and arrows daily? Do they fight back? I’m sure some do. What about the ones who keep getting trashed and hide? And what about the ones who do the unthinkable? And for what? Someone else’s opinion of them?

Folks, if you stop and think before you shoot your mouth off in public, try and do the same before you get a case of diarrhea of the fingers online. They used to say sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never hurt me. NOT TRUE. Words hurt, and oftentimes more than physical blows.

Can we start showing just a little bit of class out there?

QUOTE SOURCE:  People magazine

Aug 172015

MicrophoneI read an article this morning about a gun range in the back of a church. The article opened with the words, “Praise the Lord. . . . and pass the ammunition.” All of a sudden, the old WWII song of the same name flooded my brain and now it’s stuck there. I’m old, but not quite WWII vintage.  Where did that song come from? It didn’t take too long to remember.

My Grandmother.

I grew up with my beloved Grandmom singing to me. She sang the songs she knew, songs of WWI, WWII and the world she grew up in. I got lots of strange looks in elementary school when I would walk around quietly singing How you Gonna Keep ‘Em Down on the Farm After They’ve Seen Paree?

(Where’s Paree, Grandmom?)

In fact, until I was an adult, it never dawned on me that Over There was a WWI song (along with Paree). I just thought it was one of those great old songs I saw in the black and white movies I enjoyed with Grandpop on the weekends.

The memories are flooding back now.

Grandmom taught me about the Easter Parade and wearing a proper bonnet.

(What’s a frill, Grandmom?)

She taught me all about a bicycle built for two, although I’d never seen one in my childhood. Not the most coordinated of young girls, I had enough trouble learning to ride a bicycle built for one.

(Why would I look sweet on a bicycle built for two, Grandmom?)

She taught me about being short with blue eyes. My Grandmom was short with green eyes, barely 4’8, actually, but I always thought that beautiful song about the 5 Foot Two dame was written for her.

(How do you coo, Grandmom?)

When she sang about those horrible Depression years, I always wanted to run and get her a dime. I knew I could spare it even if Buddy couldn’t.

And guess who was probably the only first grader in 1950s Philadelphia who could beast the Charleston? We did that in the basement on rainy days.

Grandmom’s been gone for a while now. I was so blessed to have this remarkable woman in my life for 51 years. Few are so privileged. Most of the songs she taught me are also long gone, except when they live briefly in the old movies on AMC and TCM.

Most adults today wonder what the hell I’m humming when the memories come over me. They don’t know.  I do.  I remember. And that’s when the better parts of my childhood, in the guise of a very tiny tiny lady with blonde hair and green eyes, overtake me.

I miss you, Grandmom.  But don’t worry.  I’ll always Keep the Home Fires Burning for you.

Until we meet again. . .

Sep 222014
Naked Legs with Panties

It seems there’s a new scandal about some sweet young thing’ with leaked nude photos just about every day. While I’m sure it’s disturbing to these (usually) young women as their property has been stolen, let me give you a few pointers here.

People Want To See Your Hot Ass

If you’re famous, have a nice ass and decide to have it photographed, those photos are going to command a high price in cyberspace. Guard them well. Go sending them around willy-nilly and guess what? Somebody’s gonna snag ‘em and make a nice, tidy profit. Talk about ridin’ your ass!

If you’re proud of your body. . . I mean, hey, you set up the nude photo shoot, right?. . . then you’re going to get lots of attention and good publicity from this breach of private etiquette.

The Casting Couch Must Be Alive And Well

And I guess the big point is. . . why do you need nude photos of yourself? Is the casting couch still alive to that degree in today’s Hollywood that a beautiful woman has to show it all to get a part? Today’s clothing is pretty skimpy. Not enough dimples showing in that see-through outfit that’s already cut up to Kansas?

Grandma’s Gonna Blush?

To be perfectly honest, a lot of younger women ARE proud of their bods. Nothing wrong with that! If you’re willing to bare it all for a photographer, why do you care if someone else sees the pics? Afraid of them getting back to your parents or grandparents?  Your old teachers? Your pastor? Once they’re snapped, m’dear, it’s already too late to worry about that.

Yes, There Is A Moral Here

The moral of this story is plain, old-fashioned horse sense. If you want the contours of your T&A to stay secret, then don’t bare them for a photographer or anyone else as a commercial enterprise.

If you’d like your body parts to circle the globe, then leak ‘em and claim they’ve been stolen. Get the vapors as you wail, “I have leaked nude photos!” It’s great publicity and you can then flaunt those boob and butt shots with style!

Sadly, though, you can’t have it both ways.

But what do I know? I’m just Old Busted Hotness.


Sep 192014
PHOTO DB Toledo in Purple

“WHY IS THAT WOMAN STILL IN MY HEAD?” I shrieked, as I threw my vividly purple and very expensive pocketbook onto the car seat. All I heard was my mother’s voice, in her trademark sneer, saying, “Don’t you think you’re a little too effin’ old to be carrying a bright purple pocketbook?”

I’m editing as not to offend. She had a mouth worse than two ships full of sailors.

“No, Mom, I don’t”.

Gone But Not Forgotten

My mother passed from this earth eight months ago. Her legacy is still with me, I’m afraid. The legacy of me being fat (true), ugly (debatable) and no good for nuttin’ honey (WRONG-O!). I can still hear her like she is standing next to me. It still hurts like hell, too.

A Time To Forgive

When I knew she was dying, I realized what I had to do. I had to find a way to forgive her. Did I want to? HELL NO!!! I screamed, cried and cursed quite creatively in multiple languages all the way home that day. But I knew it had to be. I had to do it for me, the one who would go on and not for her, the one who was leaving.

Back I went the next day. I stayed outside for a long time, not wanting to go in. After a while, I steeled myself and headed back to her bedside in the ICU. I’m pretty sure she was conscious, but it really didn’t matter.

It took me a few times to get the words out and mean them. I felt like Fonzie in the old “Happy Days” show, you know, the guy who could never say he was sorry. Finally, I looked straight at her and said, “I forgive you.”  It was one of the toughest things I’ve ever done.

The last request she made of me was to sign the papers to put her in hospice. I did what she asked. She died two days later.

Sister, Sister

The really hard part was that till the day she died, she never had a kind word for me or my sister. We never knew how she played us off against each other almost from the beginning. There is an eight-year age difference between us so early relationships weren’t close. We never found out the extent of her games until it came time to bury her. Now we are trying again. We can’t get all those years back, but we can try to create new ones. . . as sisters, not enemies.

Things Left Unsaid

So, yes, Mom, you’re forgiven. I really DID mean it that day. However, there are a couple of things I still want to say to you.

Mom, I like purple. You’ve always known that. At some point, you decided to buy everything in purple and rub it in my face. Okay. I can accept that.

Yeah, I like Dooney & Bourke pocketbooks. It’s my one cave-in to irrational spending. You liked expensive things, too.  Lots of them. Daddy made sure you always had what you wanted.  I can accept that.

What I can’t accept is how you ran up $30,000+ in debt to copy me and everybody else and then just didn’t pay it. Now they come after me for it, even after you’re gone. I send them to the cemetery. They’re welcome to whatever they can collect from you there.

I still hate all those names you called me, Mom. Your mother is the one who is supposed to love you when nobody else does. Okay. I’ll accept that, too. I often wonder, though, how you taught me to be compassionate, kind and loving while being a hateful, spiteful bitch. One of the mysteries of the universe, I guess.

Now that I think about it, it really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of the universe. You’re gone and we’ll be here for however many more years we have to try and rebuild what you tore apart. What does matter is that I am going to work harder than anything I have ever worked at in my life to rid myself of your voice.

Mom, one of your common rants was that I never listened to a word you said. You were wrong. I heard every. single. word.

But maybe. . . just maybe. . . you’re finally right.

Sep 182014
A 13-year-old was asked to remove her Virginity Rocks tee shirt in middle school.

There’s a story in the news this morning about 13-year-old Chloe Rubiano, an Arkansas middle school student, who was asked to change the tee shirt she wore to school recently. What shocking message did this shirt convey? “Virginity Rocks.” Her school considered it disruptive.

Middle Schools Today

Really?  A message of virginity in middle school is adjudged to be disruptive? The school claims it would lead to discussions of sex. I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but lots of things can lead to a discussion of sex in middle school. These kids are what, 11 to 13? Hormones are awakening, folks!

BTW, middle schools hand out condoms and help students get abortions. And you can’t even mention the word virginity? Does it cut down on the condom business?

What’s The Dress Code?

Now turning to the school’s side, it they have a dress code which prohibits the wearing of any message tee shirt, that’s a different story. If that’s the case, they were right in asking her to remove it. It should be noted that Chloe, being the good girl that she is, changed into a gym shirt at the Vice Principal’s request.

A Fix For The Problem?

Maybe the answer here is to just side-step the question and prohibit all message tee shirts. Some schools in my area do it. A lot of public schools now wear uniforms, too.  Problem solved. But is it, really?

Would “Virginity Rocks” disrupt class?  Maybe.  Maybe not.  I haven’t been 13 in many, many years so I’m really not sure.

Our World Is All Sex, Sex, Sex

However, with the emphasis in our culture on sex these days, why is someone prohibited from an opposing viewpoint?  And, come on, this kid is 13! Yes, I’m an old fart. Sorry, but I do NOT believe 13-year-old kids should be doin’ it.

Am I trying to squelch their sexual freedom? No, not really. I just think you need to understand a bit about what you’re doing, not simply insert Tab A into Slot B.  I feel that there’s too much at stake for a child’s mental state at this age if you throw the sex thing into it.

At 13, I was still more concerned with friends, sports and music than sex.

But what do I know? I’m just Old Busted Hotness.


Sep 172014
Crazy Lady (227x340)

AARP is announcing that they have designed a tablet especially for apparently stupid Baby Boomers. It’s called the AARP RealPad Tablet.

Not Enough Tablets In The Market?

How many tablets are out there on the market right now? I have no idea, but I know they are made by Apple, Samsung, Acer, Asus and my favorite, the MS Surface 2. I have seen them as cheap as $49 so I’m sure there are many more.

AARP says the RealPad Tablet is designed for the over-50 customer who is a “more apprehensive technology user.” Really? I know lots of over-50 folks and they are pretty technology savvy.

What Makes This One Special For Boomers?

The RealPad Tablet has built-in tutorials which are supposedly designed to help educate users, as well as adding a “RealQuick Fix” feature which is a trouble-shooting menu. And if you still don’t know what happened, there will be phone/online 24/ support. No word yet on if this support is included in your purchase or it comes at an additional charge.

Should I Be Insulted?

Maybe I’m reading this wrong, but I’m sorta kinda insulted by this. I never had a tablet until last summer. I got an iPad Mini. It ultimately wasn’t what I wanted, so I traded up to a MS Surface 2. Guess what? I figured out the iPad Mini and then I figured out the Surface 2.

And the Surface 2 had the dreaded Win 8 on it, too, something I never used before. No problemo! Took me about 15 minutes to get around on it.

I am a pretty average computer user. I know my way around my computer and a variety of laptops, including a Chromebook and now the Surface 2. And. . . GASP, HORROR, SHOCK. . . I’m over 60! While not a complete technoeejit, I don’t consider myself particularly technically adept either.

I can, however, figure out which buttons to push, be it on a laptop, keyboard or touch screen. Is it that hard that we need a special tablet that screams OLD FART???

Deets If You Want One

However, if you feel the need, the RealPad Tablet will sell for $189. You can pre-order it now or wait for a few more weeks. It will be on sale at Walmart in mid-October, complete with a one-year AARP membership included.

Technical specs:

  • 1.2GHz Intel Atom processor
  • 16GB memory
  • Android 4.4 KitKat OS
  • 7.85-inch display
  • 5.0 megapixel rear camera
  • 2.0 megapixel front camera