A Mess of Memories

I had an epiphany this morning that almost every major fight I've had with anyone has revolved around me being overly upset about a messy living space. It seems laughable to think about, but I tell you when I had this revelation, I was completely humiliated and haunted. Consider the lost amity from my obsession! I say this because I am almost certain that I picked every one of these fights, precipitated by a bad mood and a personality flaw that is a bit more glaring than I ever cared to admit.

I memorably threw food and shoes at one of my roommates my freshman year of college and broke down sobbing in front of another, lamenting how no one cared about their personal areas. (Is this how people say that good help is so hard to find?) In thinking of the second roommate, I kind of want to give her an award for knowing me before age 25 and continuing to sit with me in the dining hall.

Prior to starting college, I filled out a roommate form in which one could indicate personal preferences "I do drugs: always, sometimes, never." (I incredulously wrote "You mean this is allowed?!") Instead of circling a preference for "I keep my room: very clean, tidy, a bit sloppy, messy, filthy," I neatly wrote in my darkhorse candidate "immaculate" in the margin. I congratulated myself on putting myself out there, but now I am relieved they decided to give me a roommate at all and not exile me to the masters' house garage apartment or something. Dark memories of disputes over misplaced pens and dirty laundry are flying out of my head and straight to my heart like exploded schrapnel. This is very bad, people. Very bad.

Why am I telling on myself? I'm kind of freaked out, honestly. MRT has always been insistent that my obssessive compulsions were closer to disorder than anecdotal comedy and now I am starting to wonder if he's right. Mind you, I am only revealing choice incidents that personal limits on self-mortification allow. While I have yet to bottle and label my own excrement or count things, I fear the devil is truly in the details. Dare I describe the excruciating ritual with which I used to eat Nestle Crunch bars? Suffice it to say it took me about 10 minutes just to make it past the wrapper. And this when I was 10!

Either I'm getting better about letting things go or I'm getting better about hiding my bizarre behaviors. I am begging you all, those that had the courage to know me before age 25, and those that are newer to the fold, don't let me end up like Howard Hughes. I couldn't bear for Leonardo DiCaprio to have any kind of role in a movie about my life. But would you mind picking that up when you're through with it?

Not "The New Me," but the New *Me*

Hello out there in TV-Land,

I'm not entirely sold on sticking around in the blogosphere, but should I decide to, some things must be in place. And what might those some things be? A snappy domain name, mainly. I have considered just writing about food: eating it, making it, enjoying it, dreaming of it (as I do) and have looked up a few domains that represent my cooking style (haphazard, spontaneous, usually acceptable). But I also like the idea that this is a chance to write a good blog that people like (no offense people who already claim to like this blog) with a superior wit to that developed in my 21-year-old self. I was thinking some use of bizard is in order, no doubt.

I don't want to reveal my domain name choices in case some bizard swoops in and tries to buy it ahead and sell it for more, but then, I've always been a fan of audience participation. So here are some choices. Pick one or so and leave it in the comments.

My next incarnation in the blogosphere should be:

A. a food blog
B. a blog that might include food, but is not a food blog, and is funnier than this one
C. after reading this entry, you understand why I want to call it quits, no longer find me remotely witty, and think my next blog should be a private journal written in pencil

If you did not select C (or did so secretly), my new domain should be:
1. some involvement of the word bizard ( a la bizardcity or thisamericanbizard)
2. no involvement of the word bizard; get a new bag of tricks, bizard!
3. nothing. As I mentioned in C, I think you should call it quits.
4. French-Roast.com. Hey....waaaaait a minute.

Go now. Exercise democracy or whatever.

Sincerely,

This American Bizard

The Family von Trapp says Good Night.

Hello Blog and Blogosphere,

Remember my resolution to keep up with you twice weekly? I remember it, too, but alas, have decided it was not my best resolution. That got me to thinking: why am I still blogging? Habit, mostly, as the joy is all but gone. Also, how many tales of my dealings with AT&T can you really stand?

This is not a cry for help or a plea for anyone to tell me how French-Roast has changed their life over the last 7 years of rambling (but feel free to do so). It's more like the overture to my swan song. I will blog as time allows in the next few months, but I think when F-R is up for renewal in May, it may be time to shut it down until the next incarnation. See you on facebook?

Thank you for the supreme pleasure of your company over the years and for your readership.

Your pal,
MaryT