Milblogs, Cool Chicks and Oscar Wilde

Every once in a while, I start a blog entry, and it goes nowhere. I save it as a draft, and it hangs around for a while. So as I am posting my new entries, I still see the partial entries. At the first of the year, I had no partial entries. I think I finished all of them. And now, perhaps because I have been scatter-brained for the last month, I have started lots of posts that I have not finished. So instead of just deleting them – which would be easy – I am going to paste some together. Pretend this is intentional, witty banter. K?

Military Blogs (milblogs)
You know what I found out the other day; there are specific blogs that address the experiences of military members. Here are three that were recently highlighted in some magazine:

Grey Eagle – A Female Soldier
Who's Your Bagdaddy
Akinoluna

Now, since I started this, at least one of the blogs has stopped. Perhaps they all have. I wanted to write a very poignant post, talking about the sacrifices these military men and women perform for our country. I live in an area of the country where I do see military families occasionally – there is a fairly large Army Post less than an hour from Savannah, with a smaller post/base a bit closer. But I am less than familiar with their individual sacrifices. They sort of remind me of police/firefighters, though they definitely are differences.

The only thing I can think to say doesn't really fit. It is from a Shakespearian play:

Serve God, love me and mend.

But you would have to move the words around, because these service men are serving our nation, loving our nation or their families, and I hope all of those who come back with physical and mental scars will mend. I never finished the post because it is so hard to express my feelings.

Grass is Always Greener
Okay, another post about blogging. Perhaps I will die in a staple mishap today; who knows.

You know, I am not trying to offend any of my commenters, but I think this entry may offend. I apologize for this in advance, and there is no hormonal imbalance that can explain this away. Looks like I am responsible for my actions today. Crap.

I like reading Amber's blog, but she and I are like a decade apart. Amber is a cool chick – you will notice she does not comment on my blog. Marissa, one of her friends, is also a cool chick. She has a very slick blog. As does Alanna and Cheryl. Or Kim Or Lisa. Or Laurie. These are all cool chicks with cool blogs. My blog is boring – I mean, not the words but the layout. I try my best to have every other post mention how I enjoy facials, men with big, er, uh, hearts, and women in thigh high spiked boots and brandishing well-used whips. Where is the freaking backspace? Need to erase the last two lines.

Remember typewriters – I hated typewriters because mistakes stood out, and correction tape was sloppy. Not as sloppy as a good blow job, but pretty sloppy nonetheless. And not as nice.

You know when I start down the sex road, I easily get diverted. I like the people who read my tripe. I really do – and I feel fortunate because they have really good blogs. But part of me looks at these other blogs, pretty and hip blogs, and part of me wants to know what it takes to join their inner circle. It is like being on the dance team in high school and want to be at the chearleader's lunch table. You want to join, but if you ever get invited to the table, after the original thrill, you look around and think to yourself, "I really don't belong here. I like that people can see I am at this table, but, you know, I don't really like it all that much."

Once I dated an extremely handsome man – I liked that others knew he chose me, but after that, he was not really all that interesting, and the sex was actually the worse I have ever had. Worse than drunk sex. Worse than "he needs help finding the proper body parts" sex. The worse.

The winter is the spring asleep
"The winter is the spring asleep." Oscar Wilde

Okay, perhaps I don't have the exact words that Oscar Wilde said, but it is close. These are the words, as I remember them, in a story called, The Selfish Giant.

I wanted to write about this line in a wonderful story. But that is the only line I have written down. And now, I can't remember what the point is to this very brief post. I know it has nothing to do with half-naked co-eds. That much I know. I think it was going to be a sweet post – I sure hope so, because the story is sweet. But I really don't remember what I was going after.

Anyway, thanks for letting me clean out some of my unfinished posts. Sort of "spring cleaning" in my blog. And I will not be Melanie Griffith, in Working Girl. Why do you clean an apartment in your undies and high heals? I mean, really.