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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Friday
Sep302011

Serge Shout-Out 2

I thought I would quietly dance a little jig after Serge left. Not because I don't miss him, but, you know, HELLO Real Housewives marathons, how YOU doin' quiet, fanless bedroom, nice to meet you crappy dinner of popcorn and Diet Coke.

But you know how you feel when you don't buckle your seatbelt in your car? All loose and jangly, like you're going to fly out the windshield at any moment? That's how I feel in this big ol' farmhouse after the kids are in bed. All ramble tamble, wandering around from room to room, picking up the odd plastic toy, shoe and bottle.

Watching Real Housewives ain't the same without Serge pretending to care about Taylor Armstrong while scouring Ebay for just the right portrait of Abraham Lincoln. I know. Abraham Lincoln. What the fuck? But that's his thing, man. I watch crappy reality TV and he searches Ebay for aged portraits of Abraham Lincoln, Billy The Kid and Jesse James. He hangs them in his bar.

Wait! I haven't told you about the bar in our house? We totally have a bar in our house! I can't believe I haven't told you about it! Okay, tomorrow I'll do that. Complete with photos and everything. It's Serge's room. I mean, I spend a fair amount of time in there but Serge was given carte blanche to do whatever the hell he wants in there.

For now, here's another Serge Shout-Out, a snapshot from yesterday, for our pop who is somewhere near Bilbao, Spain just now.