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Monica Bielanko
That's What She Said
Just A Junk Drawer Dream
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Monday
Oct272014

And Then We Met

Monday
Oct272014

Becoming Strangers

I’m told my divorce will be final mid-January. I accept the news with equanimity that belies the truth: this knowledge rocks me to my core.

I don’t know what to do with still another influx of chaotic emotion so I mentally scrunch it up like a trash-bound piece of paper, smaller and smaller, until I can just throw it away. It’s how I’m handling most things these days and whether that’s the healthiest approach is certainly debatable — but I don’t care. For months now I’ve listened to my music so loudly it rattles my soul and I expect to pull away bloody earbuds. I’ve gone on epic bike rides and kept pain at bay by pushing myself physically. Whatever gets me through, man. Whatever gets me through. Balling up emotions, deafening music and beer. Lots of beer. Oh, shut up. Let me medicate myself without your judgment. Like I told a friend the other day; I’m probably due for some sort of awesome public meltdown. For now, all this is working.

To read the whole thing click on over to Babble.
Friday
Oct172014

I Don't Want To Be The Me You See

In a relationship, who your mate sees becomes who you are. I don’t want to be the me you see.

That sentiment has been lodged deep in my mind for years, I just wasn’t able to articulate the concept. It’s why I felt so goddamn terrible during my marriage. His view of me doesn’t feel like the real me. Maybe I displayed a particular trait during year one or two or five of our marriage and that view of me overshadows who I am now. He took a snapshot of my personality during a specific time in my life and, for him, the photo is who I am and always will be.

Click here if you wanna read it all.
Thursday
Oct162014

Charlie Max: 7 Months

Monday
Oct132014

I'm The Prettiest

Guess where I'm going this weekend? Isn't that the fucking worst, by the way? When someone seriously wants you to guess something you have, at best, a mild interest in hearing about and/or no idea what the answer could possibly be? Guess who called me last night? Guess what I just ate? Guess what I just bought? Too bad, though. You will hear about where I'm going this weekend and you will be fascinated. Or mildly interested. But maybe my digressive foray into annoying people traits has served to ratchet your mild curiosity into the fascination realm? We can only hope or the five more minutes it takes for you to read this post will be like trying to orgasm and not quite getting there.

On Friday I'm headed to the greatest city in the world, that's where. God, I love New York City. I spend most of my time strolling purposefully/aimlessly, grinning like a lunatic because the electricity gets all up in my body and shocks me into feeling alive like it just ain't possible to feel while walking anywhere else in the world.

New York City is a looming character in the story of my life. We've had to break up a couple times due to distance, but we never stopped being in desperate love and the happy ending of our relationship involves me dying within its ramshackle embrace. I fully plan to be a drunk, old woman lugging a laundry cart filled with groceries - half of them shoplifted - Gwen Stefani red lipstick smeared onto teeth and bleeding into the deep creases of my face, wild, white hair joyously dancing in the wind whipping off the Hudson River/East River as I talk/curse loudly to myself and anyone within a 30 feet radius and God help any motherfucker who dares mess with a drunk, old lady because I will wield my cane ferociously and should anyone try to call me out on my bullshit I will immediately feign helplessness, tearfully explain I'm lost and need help finding home.

I started this site more than ten years ago when I lived in Brooklyn. Fun fact: didn't own a computer then. I had just married, lived in Williamsburg and could barely afford my rent, let alone a new computer, so I relied on my job at WABC in Manhattan for computer time and when home I'd scribble all my blogs on paper and run up to the Internet cafe on Bedford and type the posts onto the site at an exorbitant per-minute fee - the blogging equivalent of using a rickshaw to commute an hour to work. And even after all that effort only one person was reading back then and no, it wasn't Mom. The one person who was tuning in to read about my life in New York city was and is my most loyal reader and I certainly returned the favor, reading everything she's ever written online and developing a debilitating obsession with her that continues to this moment. So I'm headed to NYC to meet up with Serge's ex-girlfriend from London. After a decade of online shenanigans I am going to meet her in person so we can figure out once and for all who is the prettiest. We've rented out a boxing ring at Chelsea Piers and are filling it with Jell-O so we can finally wrestle. She's screwed. I pull hair, twist nipples, poke eyes, whatever I gotta do. Her refined British sensibilities put her at an immediate disadvantage. For those of you newish to this website you have no clue what I'm talking about and it's hard to explain. A kind of you-had-to-be-there situation. I'd link you to the dozens and dozens of posts we traded back and forth but this site was scrubbed clean of all mention of her and she took down her blog about us years ago. A year ago, after nine years of online awfulness that kept trainwreck blogs chock full of content - including endless debates about who was prettier, we started messaging. The irony of her being the one person I can talk openly to about the failure of my marriage is not lost on me. Crazy how life works, isn't it? A girl who I allowed to be the cause of constant anxiety and frustration for nearly a decade has been one of my biggest sources of comfort this past year. Me neither, Caroline. You'll always be my favorite person to stalk online. It's just the way it is. See you Saturday.
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