Monica Bielanko
A chronicle since 2005 of my marriage & move to Brooklyn in my twenties; becoming a mother in my thirties; moving to Pennsylvania and learning to amicably coparent after divorce in my forties while living 3 doors down from my ex-husband in a small country town.
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Wednesday
Jun302010

Nostalgia is dead

We had a yard sale for two days last week. I'm pretty much a yard sale professional now. I can stage junk like a motherfucker and can bargain like a dude selling knock-off purses out of a trunk in New York City. Actually, Serge is the stager and I'm the money handler. I was bargaining with folks while Serge was creating sections and displays so as to better display our crap lovely items for sale. Seriously, he was strutting around the yard, ordering me to help him move a table here, a chair there, was fanning out rugs then stepping back, hand on hip, to view his handy work. If all else fails, dude has a future at IKEA or some such joint where quaint displays are all the rage.

We unloaded a ton of stuff. Good stuff. Several people remarked on the quality of goods at our sale and I felt stupidly proud. Like I hammered together the armoire or wired the television we sold myself. We did sell good stuff, though. Couches, chairs, televisions, tables. Stuff I was using right up until we moved to Mom's place.

It feels good to get rid of stuff. Over the past year I've probably halved my wardrobe. I just don't want so much crap, man. It clutters my closet and my brain. And I'm not really nostalgic about it the way I used to be. I came across a lot of sentimental stuff from ex-boyfriends and I just tossed it. Didn't give it a second thought. Stuff I like, too. Artwork, t-shirts, that kind of thing. Nothing struck a chord with me the way it used to.

A holiday barbeque was held at work today. Free food at work is always interesting because I like to eat so much! Like, at home with Serge around I wouldn't think twice about swan-diving into a plate of six or seven tacos but at work I have to pretend like I don't eat like Anna Nicole Smith, God rest her soul, at the height of her fat days. Gotta properly time my trips to the spread of food, not load up too much, pretend to be dainty when all I really want to do is shovel two or three hamburgers and a plate of Doritos into my gaping gob. I don't eat because I'm hungry, I eat because it tastes good. Man, I'm a fat chick waiting to happen.

That is all for now. I have many important things to impart to you and I will do that shortly, just not right now. I will leave you with video of another exemplary parenting moment courtesy of former rock'n'roller Serge Bielanko.