What can I say about my absence these past eleven months? You might have speculated that I had a religious conversion, or was recruited by an elite undercover spy outfit. Well, friends, I'm not ashamed to admit that the ticking clock of love forced my hand in a way that I was simply not prepared for.

It began like any other perfect day with a full breakfast, coffee, a couple of Bavarian creme doughnuts, and a White Russian served in an extra large jelly jar. I had just called in sick for the rest of the week (it was a Tuesday), and had put the finishing touches on a chourico, yellow onion, and cheddar frittata with one of those tiny propane chef's torches (highly recommended for your kitchen if you don't have one!). And, if that wasn't enough, a soft haze of sun provided the perfect light by which to read the vast array of comics and graphic novels I had had Lizzie pick up for me (after an amorous morning, I chose to stay in bed for an extra hour of sleep).

I was sitting at the kitchen table in my favorite red silk kimono, reading my latest copy of Unwritten, when she asked the question. What I mean is, she asked THE QUESTION.

"Where exactly do you think this relationship is going, Frank?"

Now, if you've ever been in this kind of situation, then you're familiar with the ringing in the ears and the sudden drop in blood pressure. And, let's face it: once you've heard something like this, you just can't go and unhear it. You have to accept that things have officially changed; they have become complicated, and there's no going back to the simpler times, the good times, the days of obligatory monogamous weekend sex, staying out with your friends for three-day dungeons and dragons festivals, and generally living a happy and fulfilled life without the pressures of having to remember every goddamned birthday, christmas, anniversary, valentine's day, and whatever other mind-numbing convention the relationship fascists have stuck in your ass like a giant hypodermic needle filled with anti-fun serum.

I don't mean to be dramatic - but, friends, I saw my fate laid out before me like Odysseus when he put that heavy oar on his shoulder and turned his back on the sea. Real salt tears fell off my face and onto the forkful of frittata that was making its way to my mouth. At that precise moment, I wondered about greatness. Did it come to a man unbidden, or did he have to find it within himself, through blood and sweat and ordeal? In any event, it was time to nut up, so to speak.

(will continue with the story in a couple of days!)