Monica Bielanko
That's What She Said
Just A Junk Drawer Dream
You can also find Monica's writing here:
« Ride Your Pony Thank You Jesus | Main | Chasing the Fix »

These People Know How to Party

I invited my former husband over to my backyard to enjoy some beers and toast s'mores with our kids several evenings ago. Serge lives three doors away. As in; his house, a house, a church, a house and then my house. This guy I've been clocking some time with was also enjoying our backyard fire pit with his boy, who shares a daycare class with my Charlie, so the seven of us - three adults (allegedly), and four kids - made for an interesting get-together.

Clocking some time with... Hahaha. I'm such an emotionally corrupt pussy. The word 'boyfriend' lodges heavily in the back of my throat every time I go to introduce Cory or speak about him to someone who is unfamiliar with his presence in my life. I had "boyfriends" in high school and college, but now? I'm an oldish broad with three kids and various and sundry life baggage-ness. Is boyfriend really the right term for this kind of post-divorce, solo-mom-of-three-sometimes-meets-up-with-solo-dad-of-one liaison? And shit. I'd feel squiggly calling him my boyfriend even if it was a word I felt completely comfortable flourishing like a gift bottle of wine during those social instances when an introduction requires the relationship elaboration.

I've experienced women pleased as punch to brandish the term like a weapon, stabbing you in the face repeatedly: My boyfriend this and my boyfriend that and while I don't begrudge them giving the word a workout worthy of a CrossFit sesh, it ain't for me. All boyfriend usage rights have long since expired for yours truly, probably around the time I pushed my third child into a snowy world in a 100-year-old farmhouse one cold March morning. Congratulations, it's a boy! Also? No more boyfriends for you, lady! So, what's left? Partner? Ugh. Manfriend? Hey everyone! I'd like you to meet my manfriend! Nah. It's best to let people wonder who this man is in relation to my life, especially since I spend most of my time pondering the same damn thing.

Cory? He don't care what I call him, just so long as I call him. He seems to dig me. God knows why, I mean, have you read this website? But, God bless his rangy ass, he digs me. Not because of some phony show I've put on in an effort to impress. He just enjoys my company, batshit craziness and all. And the other night we both enjoyed Serge's company. Serge is a charming sonuvabitch and he was in fine form that evening. I believe Cory hoofed it down the street to our local distillery no less than two times for emergency beer supplies and I think we all know that the amount of beer consumed directly correlates to how good a time was had...

I dunno. Life is weird and sad and bad and magical and heartwrenching and unbelievably fuckin' beautiful.