Well, my friends, I have made it back alive.  I braved the new life called “marriage”.  It began with phase one: a grueling 12 hour trial by officient where friends and family saw me stand up on the podium as my fiancé gave witness to my madness.  I got a life sentance, with no chance for parole.

Then phase two: I was exiled to a far away, hot, muggy location surrounded with sand, chlorine, and ocean waves that crashed me to sleep each night.  It was terrible punishment, yes indeed.  I had only the blistering sun, a pair of swim trunks, two books to read, a walkman, some suntan lotion, and two bags of luggage to keep me company . . . oh, yeah – and my dastardly wicked hot wife. 

But the worst by far, has been the most recent phase three: my solitary confinement by which I am forced to carry dozens and dozens of cardboard receptacles into a vacant white walled complex known as ‘the apartment’.  Just when I think I’ve finished unwrapping, opening, unpacking, and collapsing these receptacles, more appear outside my door each day with big glossy bows.  It is a torturous cycle.  Who knows when this vicious process will finish it’s work?

They tell me you get used to this life - that it gets easier.  Time will tell . . . .