Monday, October 31, 2011

Does Your Child Read Your Blogs?

My boyfriend and I just completed building a house and we're now decorating it. The following is a popular and frequent exchange, occurring several times a day. 
HIM: "How can you not like that?"
ME: "Because it's ugly."
And blackout.

Through this intense process of producing a house, I've learned that my lover is more anal than I had originally thought.

Case and Point. I bought several votive candles the other day, to put with our framed photographs in our book case. Then, upon seeing the empty mantlepiece with the flat screen television hovering only inches above it (whole other rant about mounting the television over a fireplace) we decided to put the votive candles on the mantle.

He was acting like fuckin' Rain Man, placing eight tiny votives in a straight line. He eye balled them for alignment (thank god because if he got out a tape measure or leveler, I was going to have a stroke). The way he leaned over them, then stepped back to see his handy work, pushing one here, sliding another over there, he looked like fuckin' Rain Man. I had to walk away. I'm not equipped to handle that much OCD.

As soon as I washed Rain Man from my mind, I focused on something that I've been struggling with for awhile now. I'm Facebook friends with my boyfriend's 12 year old son and 17 year old daughter. This means that they can read everything that I write, (including this post) if they choose to.

I thought friending the kids was a good way to see what kind of trouble they might get into, and any inappropriate behavior taking place. That, and I also feel that there's a certain amount of freedom that the kids get by expressing themselves online, and that perhaps I'd learn something about them. Of course there's the dark, ugly and dangerous side as well, which was another reason I wanted to be their friend. I watch Dateline.

I can't imagine if Facebook existed when I was 12 and 17 years old. My parents would've been privy to my kleptomaniac phase in eighth grade and the daily keg parties that we had in high school, when they were out of town (which was often).

All was fine until I started writing articles like, Are You Jealous of Your Partners Masturbation? and Skype Sex because in order to improve my readership, stats and traffic, I post it on Facebook and Twitter. Helloooo Girlfriend Kids!

I haven't been a Girlfriend Mom very long, and this sort of thing is completely foreign to me. I'm not sure if it's my responsibility to monitor what the kids see or read. My boyfriend hasn't said anything, so perhaps I should let it go. Then again, he just asked me if someone moved the votives, so I'm not sure where his priorities are. 

My mother doesn't show my salacious articles to my dad, so that gives you some sense of the content. If it makes my mother uncomfortable, then what affect might it have on a 12 year old boy? Am I being paranoid? Is it egotistical to think that he would give a rats ass and want to read my stuff? I think he's spending his time on more important things like friending the entire cast of The Jersey Shore.

I know that kids growing up in the world today are exposed to a lot more adult related material than I was at their age. However, my parents never hid their pot smoking from me, or as they liked to call it, grass. It's hard to know what should be kept locked in a drawer, and I suppose it's different for every parent.

Speaking of drawers. My boyfriend came to me the other day and said that his son asked him, "Dad, what's Gun Oil for?" I almost seized! The personal lubricant is kept in our nightstand drawer, where most people keep their lubricants, except those of you who don't need the extra help and to you I say, God bless and LIARS!

His son obviously went on a fishing expedition in our bedroom. I'm not sure what I was more miffed at, his son opening our drawers, or that my boyfriend makes no effort to hide the contraband. "What did you tell him?" In my boyfriend's quick thinking wisdom, he told him that it was to oil door hinges.

I'm no blood related mother but there's no way that his son bought that crappy crap. And the fact that my boyfriend believes that he did, shows daddy's gullibility, or a need to prolong his son's innocence before it inevitably fades into Gun Oil, Playboys and Porn (ALSO in the drawer).

"Hey boyfriend, you're going to tell me that he only saw the Gun Oil? Okay, and there's a huge bridge in Brooklyn that went on sale."

I'd like to be a responsible adult and parental figure (right?) but at the same time, I prefer to leave most of the child rearing responsibilities to my boyfriend and the blood related mother. I just know that if I read about my dad's girlfriend's favorite sex trick in bed, whether I was 12 or 45, I'd throw up and then take a shower to wash the image away, just like I did with my Rain Man.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

A Really Intimate Portrait... Of a complete unknown

A parody of Lifetime Television's Intimate Portrait series. A real look at the frivolous, and marginal accomplishments of a nobody, who, by the end of the show, will look like a somebody. A Really Intimate Portrait ... Of a complete unknown poses the question: 'How can you be a has-been if you've never been'?

Watch Movie Here


 “Dani Alpert's A Really Intimate Portrait...of a Complete Unknown offered herself as the subject of Lifetime's gushingly soft-focus Intimate Portrait series, which does for women what VH-1's Behind the Music does for rock stars...  She caught the tone of the Lifetime series dead-on, and the friends she recruited to talk about her not-so-famous life (most of them struggling Hollywood actors themselves) were a scream. Alpert may not be famous, but she is funny, and that's enough.” --Chris Kaltenbach, Baltimore Sun

"Comedian Dani Alpert offers a truly inspired takeoff on "Lifetime's Intimate Portrait series", one with shades of that giant of all mockumentaries, "Spinal Tap." Ms. Alpert's success is portrayed as resting on a rather slim reed- mainly her experience as director of the annual high school musical. One of her real-life associates, comic Julia Sweeney, appears as a fawning interviewee." -- Judy Oppenheimer, The Baltimore Jewish Times

“Dani has crafted a sophisticated skewering of the cozy celebrity TV bio, and in so doing manages to be twice as interesting and ten times funnier than the form's typical real-life subjects. Witty, engaging, and sweetly sharp, she's a new comic voice to reckon with.”  
-Don Roos, Writer/Director, Web Therapy, The Opposite of Sex, Happy Endings 

Thursday, October 20, 2011

The Power Of Procrastination

Early rise at 7:00am. The whole day ahead of me. No plans but to write.

I don’t get out of bed until 7:35 because I check my email on my iphone and text a friend birthday wishes.

I get dressed to work out and head upstairs to my Pilates Springboard.

I stretch and work out for 20 minutes. I’m feeling loose and clear headed.

It’s downstairs for a protein shake. I add peanut butter this time.

And then for the next three hours, I sit at the kitchen counter, in front of my computer, with my head up my ass, checking and rechecking FB and Twitter (for what I’m not entirely sure) I send and answer non-priority emails. I Google the name of the Rooster dinner plates sold at Sur La Table to see if they're cheaper somewhere else. I also do a search for clear, plastic, magazine racks.

Lunch time already? I eat leftovers with my lover and vow, if only in my head, that when I’m finished, I will sit down and write. I’m beginning to feel like a poop stain.

I decide that I have to do laundry. We’re going away this weekend and I need my favorite jeans washed. They’ve gotten too loose, which makes my ass look like I've got a load in my pants. I want that, ‘just out of the dryer’ tightness.

I start panicking because we’re supposed to leave at 3:30p and I haven’t begun to pack and I feel rushed. I haven’t written a word.

I go back upstairs to the Springboard to stretch because all of the sitting that I've been doing makes my legs tight and achy.

After another 20 minutes, I head back downstairs to work.

My computer is dragging, freezing, and acting like a petulant child. I fear that I might lose data.

I find my external hard drive and start copying files. What about my pictures? All hell breaks loose (in my head). It’s been a long time since I backed up my iphoto library. I’ve forgotten how to copy my one thousand plus photos. 

It’s another hour and a half before I realize that trying to copy my photos on a computer that’s giving me the finger, is a colossal waste of time. F’it! If I lose my pictures, I lose my pictures.

Because I feel ashamed and humiliated at my ginormous unproductive self, I don’t give a rats ass if all I have to remember my friend's kids faces are my memories.


I swipe my laptop off the counter and head outside to my deck because, while I’ve been posting my boyfriend’s car for sale on Craigslist, the sun has been shining, and the wind has been blowing. It’s a gorgeous day. 

I sit down but I can’t find an area at the table where there isn’t a glare.

When was the last time I cleaned my computer screen? It’s filthy. I go back inside to grab my dry cloth and iKlear. I’m sure I can use something else but I’ve been brainwashed by the Apple mafia.

Crap, I step on the wet mat outside the deck and now my socks are soaking wet.

I wipe the screen and feel a little cleaner. I sit down. I'm ready.

But now the anxiety of having to leave in four hours (I pushed back our departure time for fear that my jeans wouldn't be dry) has taken up precious real estate in my brain. How can I start when I know I’ll have to leave soon.

I need more time. Maybe tomorrow.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011


I'm in a show tomorrow night, Mortified, where I will read from my shameful and angst ridden teenage journals. I just might recite a deep and moving love poem or two. It's sure to be deliciously embarrassing. But I bet there will be a microphone!!

Stay tuned for my reviews.