Just like when my mother died, the whole shock of it wasn\u2019t just about losing her<\/em>\u2014it was the end of an era<\/em>\u2014no more constant trips to New York, no more thinking up ways to entertain my little mo all the time, no more house I grew-up in, no more seeing all my east coast buddies all the time. Half my life had changed forever.<\/p>\n And so it is for so many people with the recent death of Hugh Hefner\u2014no more Playboy Mansion, no more big dinners and parties, no more mystery surrounding the legendary location. The real<\/em> story on that crumbling edifice is about to come out. Everywhere! But here<\/em> first!<\/p>\n I was a semi-regular there for a little bit about twenty years ago. But I had visited the Mansion a few times before then.<\/p>\n The long entrance from the gate to the front door of the Mansion.<\/p><\/div>\n The very first time I laid eyes on the Playboy Mansion up close and personal was when I had just returned from half a year living in Malta. I was due to be in a movie on that Mediterranean island, but I was in a rib-cracking car accident instead.\u00a0 But one of the people I made friends with over there was Kate Feiffer, the daughter of playwright Jules Feiffer, so when he was having a party at the Mansion, Mr. X and I were included.<\/p>\n I put on my amazing Norma Kamali dress, which was basically a bunch of red strings with a shiny bikini bottom, and headed on over, so excited.\u00a0 But even then, as a young girl, I was a bit disappointed in the dinginess of the place.\u00a0 But I was thrilled to be there, in general, and felt that my introduction to the Playboy Mansion meant that I had\u00a0arrived<\/em>\u00a0in LA!\u00a0 And, when one of the bartenders recognized me, (even though this was before<\/em> I started doing my television show,\u00a0Karen\u2019s Restaurant Revue<\/em>, and thus, being somewhat famous,) that really cemented the deal for me!\u00a0 (He had dated a short-lived pal of mine, and had asked me out behind her back, so he better<\/em> have known it was me!)<\/p>\n My second visit kept-up the \u201cred\u201d theme; we were each required to have our photo taken on a red couch, which was placed outside for the occasion.\u00a0 Anything went, in the attire category, but most of us were dressed-up.\u00a0 I wouldn\u2019t repeat my red Kamali, of course, but I had lots of scarlet in my wardrobe at the time, so I was all set. (As opposed to what color dresses are in my closet these days\u2014black, to look thinner, and blue, to distract everyone away from the other parts of my anatomy that are not<\/em> my eyes!)<\/p>\n After that night, Mr. X was done with the place forevermore.\u00a0 I assumed that I was, as well, but then a few years later, at the height of my television popularity, I was invited back.\u00a0 Repeatedly.\u00a0 For Sunday \u201cDinner and a Movie\u201d nights.\u00a0 And I went.\u00a0 Repeatedly.\u00a0 Not for the company, (which was basically loathsome, of course,) and shockingly, not even for the food, which was almost as horrible as the creepy old men there.\u00a0 You\u2019ll never in a million years guess why I went. Ready? For the sound system in the screening room!!!\u00a0 It was the best!<\/p>\n The entrance. The intercom is that “hole” in the rock on the left.<\/p><\/div>\n So, this is how those nights worked:\u00a0 After we rolled up to the giant fake rock in front of the gate, upon which is a semi-hidden microphone that we state our names into, (which I still get a kick out of doing,) we were let in. And then we entered the moldy, smelly, run-down Playboy Mansion, by which I was actually repulsed.\u00a0 Even though I was still young, skinny, and according to many, sexy, I always wore baggy almost-clown-like clothing because I didn\u2019t want even one<\/em> of those gross, old, far-from-gents to try to hang with me.\u00a0 And guess what\u2014they did not<\/em>!\u00a0 Not a one of them!\u00a0 While most normal<\/em> guys in this town thought I was cute no matter how<\/em> I\u00a0dressed, those disgusting perverts had eyes for only the near-naked tramps.\u00a0 I loved it!\u00a0 There was actually not even one person there\u00a0with whom I was ever<\/em> interested in speaking!\u00a0 I realize now how sad that situation was.<\/p>\n Hefner never even knew I was there.\u00a0 He was all about himself<\/em>, and thinking he was all that.\u00a0 He\u00a0did<\/em>\u00a0join us for dinner, on occasion, but usually showed-up just in time for the film.\u00a0 So, the rest of the assemblage had a giant group dinner, either in the dining room or the garden; I was always happy when it was outside<\/em>, to avoid the \u201cgrandparents\u2019 house smell.\u201d\u00a0 Very rarely there would be someone I knew and at least sort-of liked, such as James Caan and Art Metrano, who were both very nice and fatherly to me, since we had a mutual lovely movie star friend.\u00a0 But that was it.\u00a0 I just always made sure not to sit at a table with any super<\/em>\u00a0lowlives, such as the degenerate who ran something called\u00a0Screw Magazine<\/em>.\u00a0 (I feel that I need to take a scalding hot shower now, for just typing<\/em> that title!)<\/p>\n The dining room, looking its absolute best.<\/p><\/div>\n Then we moved into the \u201cscreening room.\u201d\u00a0 It was far from the traditional sense of the concept, which is a private mini-theatre.\u00a0 No, this was just basically a living room, with mattresses and couches that were all revoltingly soiled, so that those aforementioned repugnant old men could canoodle with the young half-naked women.\u00a0 There were just a couple of single chairs, and, no matter how uncomfortable they were, I always left dinner early to make sure I arrived in that room with time to claim one.<\/p>\n As soon as the movie was over, I was out of there. And that was that. Except for one Easter, when I was more than happy to join that<\/em> fete! I love a good Easter E-word Hunt, and I knew this would be a phenomenal one. How could it not<\/em> be when the e-words were hidden on the grounds of the Playboy Mansion?! But for me, it quickly devolved into an unfair contest. Being the competitor that I am, (and the all-around fun gal,) I wound-up finding the most e-words, of course. And let me tell you\u2014it was thrilling.<\/p>\n But Hef didn\u2019t really know me, except to say hi, (because he wasn\u2019t the one who personally<\/em> invited me there all the time\u2014his minions did that task for him,) so he didn\u2019t want me to win, because the prizes were\u00a0big\u00a0<\/em>ones, like TVs! He wanted to give them to his close pals. So, he let couples and families combine their finds, and crowned one person in those groups as the individual winners, which\u00a0I<\/em>\u00a0really was! It wasn\u2019t fair, but them\u2019s the breaks. Hugh Hefner was as creepy as his surroundings.<\/p>\n The grotto.<\/p><\/div>\n Which brings me back to finish describing the condition of the Mansion to you. I had always heard about the \u201cgrotto\u201d and the \u201czoo,\u201d etc. The zoo was just a bunch of smelly empty cages, but the grotto was at least pretty. There was blue water, and you swam into a closed-to-the-sun area. It was nice, but I felt even it<\/em> was a tad foul, just because everything else was.<\/p>\n One more word on the ramshackle Mansion itself. There were a bunch of rooms with dirty shabby furniture, which was usually a mattress, a chair, and a small table on which stood a dim lamp and\u2014get ready for it\u2014a box of tissues!!! Not for if you sneezed<\/em>, but if you had to wipe your hands (or anything else) after sex! It was all so odious that I can’t even portray it to you in all it\u2019s full sleaze.<\/p>\n So, there you have it\u2014an honest<\/em> portrait of the Playboy Mansion. Sure, it might have been something else in its heyday,<\/em> and that might have been fun to witness. And I have a feeling we\u2019ll never see the likes of it again. But I hope that the new owners will fumigate the entire property, even before they tear it down, (which is what I\u2019m predicting they will do. And soon<\/em>!)<\/p>\n Here\u2019s my penultimate\u00a0note on the topic:\u00a0 While looking for pictures of the Mansion on the internet, to accompany this story, I came upon this well-written, well-expressed article which I feel you all should read.\u00a0 It\u2019s an interesting take, and maybe part of the reason I did not like the man, whose house I was so frequent a guest at:\u00a0www.elle.com\/culture\/a12638096\/exactly-what-kind-of-sexual-revolution-did-hugh-hefner-inspire<\/a>. \u00a0And it will explain why I couldn\u2019t title this column Hugh Hefner, RIP<\/em>.<\/p>\n And now, my very last note on this once-glorious estate: I just could not bring myself to publish pix of how bad it had gotten in that house. But if you are curious about it, here\u2019s a good article to take a gander at: www.vice.com\/en_us\/article\/dp4b8a\/i-went-to-the-playboy-mansion-and-it-was-kinda-depressing<\/a>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" MY TIMES AT THE PLAYBOY MANSION Just as I began writing this, a publicist asked if I could share some of my memories of the Playboy Mansion with a writer for the Los Angeles Times!\u00a0 I agreed, but with a bit of trepidation because what I had to say was less than complimentary.\u00a0 And I<\/p>\n![\"Playboy](\"http:\/\/itsnotaboutme.tv\/news\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/10\/playboy-mansion-31.jpg\")
<\/a>So, what follows are my private thoughts on my many times at the Playboy Mansion.\u00a0 [Note: This is not one of my\u00a0tributes<\/em>\u00a0to a deceased person I\u2019ve known, in this case Hugh Hefner, because I was not a fan, and I can’t be phony.\u00a0 So, it\u2019s just a\u00a0story<\/em>\u00a0instead, to at least commemorate<\/em> his death.]<\/p>\n<\/a><\/a><\/a><\/a>