French-Roast, the Blog, the Legend, is Now Closed.

Because no one should have their 20s so fastidiously documented online.

After 1131 posts, 117 unpublished drafts, and seven years, French-Roast, the personal soap box of my roaring 20s, is no more.

Archives through August 2006 will remain online for another year. After that, French-Roast.com will return to the people of the internet underworld. Or I'll sell it to you for a million dollars. You decide.

Archives from June 2002 to July 2006 are going offline today, but will be kept safe (for posterity? vanity?) on my external hard drive. Woe to future generations who find it and read it.

Thanks everyone. I've enjoyed it.

Sincerely,
Mary T

Ch-ch-ch-changes

French-Roast is up for renewal on Sunday and being the spineless (some would call this a "softy") blog owner I am, I renewed it. But don't get all jazzed, yet. There are going to be some changes around here.

Number 1: Appreciate my archives now and avoid the rush because they're about to go offline. I know it's a great joy to re-live my mispent youth but it's making it hard to move on into my older, more seasoned vitriol and blather. Plus, it's expensive to keep buying the extra storage for a bunch of people who only open the pages when they're doing "nacked" searches. Anything before we moved to Nac in August 2006 is dead to me (though I may entomb it on time machine via Lappy 5000).

Number 2: I may buy a new domain name and have french-roast goers sent there. Or maybe I will keep it a secret from all but the most deserving because, I don't know. MYOB. What do you think this is? The information superhighway?!

No number 3. Now move along. Nothing to see here. For now.

Reader Internet Searches Remarked On!: Part 5 in an Occasional Series

If you weren't convinced F-R was going down the tubes, I hope this post will do it for you. We now return to the occasional series (very occasional it seems) in which I make comments and reply to the people who have, in their wild internetting, come to F-R with very wrongheaded ideas about what it is we (the royal we, of course) do here. Or rather don't do, considering my consistency of late. Here come the nacked people!

Word that rhymes with liberte egalite fraternite
Try any of these: month, orange, purple.

Nacked woman
As promised! Here's a new one. I am beginning to wonder if this is a nick for Nacogdochians, considering the awkwardness of saying Nacogdochians.

Why is Calibri the default font in word
I have wondered this myself a time or two, but it's a little bit like asking why the universe is infinite, isn't it? There's nothing you can do to change it and ultimately, it won't really change the outcome of your life's events. Just be glad it's not Comic Sans and that my husby can go another day without slipping xanax in my coffee. Namaste.


Actuality of binge drinking in french
I wonder if this has to do with people who get drunk and then spontaneously speak French, a la Morticia Adams? I wish I could speak to this experience, but I find it is much more common to binge drink in Flemish. Okay but seriously, there is no official language of alcoholism, sonny boy, and that's just the way of the world. May I recommend alateen? By the way, how come all the people who attend AA in Nac are always standing around chatting in front of the building when I drive by? That is not very anonymous. Just sayin'.


Does anyone date anymore craigslist
Well if Craigslist isn't the gateway to love and happily ever after anymore, I'd like to know what's wrong with this cruel, cruel world. I personally met several crappy boyfriends that way (and if any of you are reading this: yes, I am talking about you; why do you still read my blog? We're all done now. Nothing to see here.) and can smirkingly vouch for this. I wouldn't mind seeing the demise of match.com though. Unlike craigslist, match.com rarely, if ever, offers free couches and vitriolic rants about nothing-in-particular. Also, when I needed to give away a bunch of weird nail polish, was it match.com who provided the odd individual(s) who gathered them from the heap on my front porch? It was not.