MS. MON IS REALLY FINISHED TODAY. FOR WAY REAL.

OK. I'm back. There were a few more things I needed to get off my chest.

I know yesterday I suggested/hinted/tossed about the idea of quitting blogging forever. But today, I mean it. I am quitting blogging. Exiting stage left. Turning in the Terrible Towel. Giving up the ghost. Boo! Did I scare you? Good.

I was thinking that before I exit stage left, more time needs to be devoted to the rumination of my self-annihilation, and it would be cathatic for us all to pull up a chair, sit back, relax (maybe get a massage?) and engage in some gentle discourse.

Please Discuss.

Now that we've all introduced ourselves, I want to share with you the reason I must quit blogging. (Did I mention forever, by the way? I just want to be 100% certain my point is coming across. I'm quitting blogging. For good people. For. Good.)

You see, people have been cyberstalking me. Trying to figure out who I am, and the thing is, I don't want you to know that I'm Frances Sansig Monahan. It would ruin me. It would ruin the integrity of my blog. It would ruin the mystique. The fun. The je ne sais quois.

We don't want that to happen. So I can't let you know I'm Frances Sansig Monahan. Or Frances Monahan if you don't feel like typing out three names. (And who could blame you? Damn feminists. I wonder if anybody's ever studied their contribution to carpal tunnel syndrome.)

So yeah. Some real idiots have had the audacity (because-I'm-so-special-and-my-identity-is-so-sacred-that-I'm-willing-to-have-lunch-with-every-editor-in-town -- OK, that part's real -- as long as you're payin') to threaten to reveal who I am. And I can't let that happen. If you find out I'm Frances Monahan, then you know, things will be different.

Kind of like when Ellen came out of the closet? Remember -- it stalled her career a bit. But man, did she return big time. Funny lady, that Ellen.

So anyway, I want you to know that others spoiled the fun. I'd tell you about them, but I don't want you to hate them or draw more attention to myself. For example, there was this guy, see, and he was real close to telling you that I'm Frances Monahan, and I just couldn't let that happen. (That's Frances with an e, by the way -- not an i. People always misspell it and it drives me bonkers. So remember, e = feminine spelling, i = masculine. Got that? Good. So that's F-R-A-N-C-E-S. Also, there are two common spellings of my last name. Mine is sans the "g." So that's M-O-N-A-H-A-N. Not Monaghan.)

What a turd, huh? I mean, how dare someone try to figure out who I am. I mean, I'm only telling them EVERYTHING ABOUT ME EVERY DAY AND MY FAMILY AND TAKING PICTURES OF MY SURROUNDINGS.

(Wow. Do you know how tough this is for me to find all these words, considering I have nothing left to say? I'm diggin' deep man. For you, my faithful readers. And the ones who haven't been so faithful. See you Saturday, by the way. Your wife's out of town this weekend, right?)

Yeah. It takes a lot of freaking balls to put two and two together, when they're being handed to you on a silver platter. The last thing I ever wanted to happen was for you to find out I'm Frances Monahan. But I do want you to know that I'm never blogging again.

I'm really, really, really never posting another thing on this blog.

Tear-stained letters have already started to trickle in, and I know how sad you are. On the verge of depression, I imagine. I mean, let's think about it. Here I am, running this fantastic blog that maybe 100 people a day read, and then poof! like that, it's gone. You will be angry first, then sad, then the acceptance will begin to take hold. I am asking you, as my solid fans, to just start accepting now. Skip the anger, the sadness and the gamut of emotions you may be inclined to experience and just accept.

Accept.

Because Frances Monahan is never blogging again.

Sniff.

I mean it. Ms. Mon aka Frances Monahan is through.

Please, your pleas are worthless. I'm done.

With this.