Light and Darkness

Goodbye My Lover by James Blunt

Did I disappoint you or let you down?
Should I be feeling guilty or let the judges frown?
'Cause I saw the end before we'd begun,
Yes I saw you were blinded and I knew I had won.
So I took what's mine by eternal right.
Took your soul out into the night.
It may be over but it won't stop there,
I am here for you if you'd only care.
You touched my heart you touched my soul.
You changed my life and all my goals.
And love is blind and that I knew when,
My heart was blinded by you.
I've kissed your lips and held your hand.
Shared your dreams and shared your bed.
I know you well, I know your smell.
I've been addicted to you.

Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.

I am a dreamer and when i wake,
You can't break my spirit - it's my dreams you take.
And as you move on, remember me,
Remember us and all we used to be
I've seen you cry, I've seen you smile.
I've watched you sleeping for a while.
I'd be the father of your child.
I'd spend a lifetime with you.
I know your fears and you know mine.
We've had our doubts but now we're fine,
And I love you, I swear that's true.
I cannot live without you.

Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.

And I still hold your hand in mine.
In mine when I'm asleep.
And I will bare my soul in time,
When I'm kneeling at your feet.
Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.

I'm so hollow, baby, I'm so hollow.
I'm so, I'm so, I'm so hollow.
I'm so hollow, baby, I'm so hollow.
I'm so, I'm so, I'm so hollow.

FUCK
YOU
TOO!

Hummingbird

My grandmother sent me the following link. Photos of a hummimgbird's nest with new babes.

Sunday Night Storm

The gods are rolling about in the heavens tonight. I can hear the wind play with the vent cover on my roof above my stove. I can also hear the rain begin to fall on said cover as I type. The thunder comes from the southwest and is absolutely wonderful!

Jolie, of course, is hiding under Em's bed. I've given her a benadryl caplet to help calm her. I truely believe that poor pup had been through a miserable experience before we adopted her. Perhaps she suffered through Hurricane Ivan, which would account for her extreme sensitivity to any sound that is remotely storm related.

Child is asleep. Her last week of school begins tomorrow and she is thrilled. Remember the last days of a school year? So much fun that last week. The closet clean-outs that usually resulted in free books from the teacher. School parties. Fifth grade graduation. Easy days of NO LEARNING.

My favorite cat, Veruca lays comfortably on the couch here in the den. Sweet kitty. She can be such a loner but I have to respect her way of doing things. The other two cats and their locations? I can assume Sophie is in the spare bedroom, and Blondie some where in one of the bedroom closets or on a bed.

The rain is steady now. I can hear the water rushing off the carport roof into puddles in the grass. The flicker of lightening beams in through my den's front window. I see it in the corner of my eye when I turn my head just slightly.

Ever notice how the temperature seems to drop just ever so when it rains hard? Almost a direct correlation of rain and a cooling off of everything. I like it.

Closing my eyes...I hear the different sounds of the rain against the different surfaces: my roof, the driveway, the grass. Awwww, it's getting harder.

When the thunder rolls, an occassional clap shakes my front window; the suncatcher Emmaline bought me years ago vibrates against the glass.

I can hear the wind through the neighborhood trees; and I imagine my kumquat tree swaying in it and shaking the droplets of rain onto the grass it's buried in and the curved little cement path that runs beside it between the drive and the patio.

Large bang of thunder just now. I think of the old radio shows like War of the Worlds when thunder effects were created by shaking a metal sheet. I think of a smartly dressed couple driving along a quiet road in a Packard. They sit in silence with the woman obviously distressed from the storm. The man is just as worried but refuses to let his wife see him unglued. They can only think of getting safely home to their children who are soundly sleeping in their beds while the babysitter sits anxiously on the couch.

The thunder seems to have moved further west now. I can hear it muffled almost directly behind me. Some distance away now. West by northwest. The clouds are moving. The rain seems to have slowed for the time being. I hear more of roof water falling to the ground rather than wind or rain.

Little disappointed. I am hoping for more.

Happy Mother's Day

To all you moms and single dads out there that sacrifice joyfully and willingly every day for the health, happiness, and well-being of your children.

Happy Mother's Day!

Thank you.

The "Thumbs Up" but Where?

My friend Tom has been having issues on his street for weeks now. Crews have been destroying the roads to install drainage pipes, and Tom's poor yard has been used as a thoroughfare by every driver in the neighborhood because the trucks and work have been dominating the actual street.

Welllllll, as Tom recently told me, "The Saga Continues." Unfortunately this is one of those stories that went from a mild disruption of daily life to actual death.

Evidently there was the smell of gas indicating a gas leak....A smell of gas would mean that, right?! Construction was halted. Gas company called. The gas utility gave the 'Thumbs Up,' which is what, folks?! Oh, I don't know. It is the universal translation for 'go ahead. You're crew can continue,' right? Yep.  And they did. They did continue. And then there was an explosion and a worker was consumed in a ball of fire. The gas company? No comment.

Hmmmm! Again, I ask....Thumbs Up where?

Tragic accidents happen but Wow! Gas leak. Explosion. You don't have to be Sherlock Holmes or his less intelligent side-kick Watson to put those two clues together. Could be a freakishly odd thing that one does not lead to the other.

Annnnnnnnnnd. I can't find it on the local paper's site. I've looked. Maybe I'm dumb. But it's odd that I can find a story about three people being injured in a local car collision or a bit on taser guns as well as another auto collision...but I haven't been able to find anything on an explosion except the transcript on the local television news' station . Wouldn't you think that would make the news?

Today's Top Story

Taste Testing again here and I still say Boca Java is definitely a love affair. First off, how much am I loving it's coffee? Mrs. Devine is receiving a Mother's Day basket from them. If you haven't checked out the goods yet, you seriously need to head over (and don't forget to use me as a referral....PLEASE!)

Ok. This bit is about Boca Java's New Media Mavericks.

'Unfiltered Truth' Lead the information reformation with this medium roast from the prized Tarrazu region of Costa Rica with excellent body and robust richness.

Right off, you can smell this bean has a stronger taste. Odd, but the word that came to mind is 'hearty.' Hearty like beef stew. And what do I mean by that? You know those days when you are starving? You feel like there's an abyss in your stomach that will go on forever and nothing will fill it. You eat a bowl of hot beef stew with all its juices and vegetables, and gargantuan pieces of beef. When it's all gone, you're deliciously full. Your stomach smiles along with your lips because it's truely satiated. You know that feeling?

Well, that's this coffee. It's flavor is full and rich and says "I AM coffee." It's taste swirls first around your nose as you lift the cup to your mouth, leaves a bold print on your tongue and finally settles comfortably in your stomach.

It's a "Wake up" coffee for all you caffeine addicts.

"Old Woman!"

I have a few pet names. Obvious one is 'Nae.' Every now and then I get 'Nae-Nae.' In middle school there was club speak (You know! When you adopt a name that's not your own among friends because it was cool to be someone else. Girls could suddenly have that exotic name they wish their parents christened them with like.......Veronica.....Crystal....Rainbow), and I was 'Mig' which was created by taking the last two letters of my first name and the first letter of my middle name: naoMIGermino.In college (my first round of college), I was called by middle name or variations of it according to what activity I was participating: 'Germino'....'Sister Germino' during Nunsense....or 'Lady Germino' when I was reading Tarot for people. I  was (and still hope to be again) 'Goddess' to my love. At work, I've adopted 'Stinkbeil' because of another manager's silliness. And to my child, I am many things and called many names but by far my favorite has been 'Old Woman!' (Please note it must be said with the exclamation as indicated by its mark).

I generally protest when addressed as such. It's not that it bothers me, but I am far from being old. I have a fondness to say to any person who says he or she is old, "Old is decaying in the dirt. That's old." So, in true young form I tell my child that I am not old and will not be until I've been dug up in a few thousand years and my skeletal remains are studied and displayed in a museum that sells tickets for the rare mummified form of Naomi show.

Yesterday tested my own belief in that. Em and I gathered in the cafeteria with other parents and children at her school for next year. Then it struck me hard like a 2x4 to the back of my head. I'm sitting in the cafeteria of her middle school. HER MIDDLE SCHOOL! What the fuck?! When did that happen?! OMIGOD! Really? Seriously? My child is going to be in middle school? OH MY FUCKING GOD! How the hell did I go from being in middle school myself in what seems only a few years ago to being the mother of a middle schooler?

I think I'm going to throw up!

When we moved into the library to listen to the magnet school director speak about their NEXT THREE YEARS, I swear I had a stroke. Some blood vessel in my head popped, and I lost all coherency. He talked about scheduling and studies and band/orchestra and physical development....and (Shit! Here comes the bile again)....moving into high school.

GOOD GOD! I am. I am 'Old Woman!'

We moved back to the cafeteria where Emma and I spoke to the music teachers. Her first choice was percussion...she choked on the rhythm test so she's going to be playing her second choice, the string bass. My child is going to be in orchestra at middle school. MIDDLE SCHOOL!

Do any of you understand the gravity of what I'm saying? I'm no longer 'Mig' or 'Sister Germino' or even cute little Nae-Nae. I AM OLD WOMAN!

Oh hell! I think my hip just went out!

Tangled

When I left work in the wee hours of the morning, I found this poor beauty on the patio near our steps to the street. At first glance, I thought the creature was still alive and only resting as moths do....very still for long periods of time. Because of the poor lighting of what one would expect at 2 am, I truly thought this beauty was alive until it was pointed out to me that it wasn't.

This magnificent creature obviously died from its entanglement with these long strands of golden hair. How it happened? Who knows?

Perhaps some modern day Rapunzel was combing her luscious locks in the day light hours. She threw the few stray strands out the window for the birds....after all, we all do that right? I do. Some winged creature saw the sun's light reflecting off the yellow hair and swooped down to collect it for the nest she was repairing, which housed her new little hatchlings. Later that day, Mrs. Bird was looking for something juicy to feed her babes and found our recently deceased friend. Brought the still living moth home to curb the hunger of your young ones. And in a courageous moment, our little beauty dashed from the clutches of the mama and her brood. Fled from death but unfortunately tangled itself in all the nearly-invisible strands of gold. Beating its glorious wings and flying through the night skies, it only wrapped its poor little body more in its web of death. Tired and scared it came to rest on the steps of my theater. It fluttered frantically hoping to free itself but like a scared swimmer caught in a riptide, it only flipped itself onto its back and ceased to exist.

I brought its preserved little body home, and it took me several minutes to gently unwrap it from the hair. I was stunned by how the delicate pieces of a human could wind itself around this poor things furry body and then through its antennas and around the wings. There were nearly a dozen strands; and each ever so delicate and radiant in color. And each a deadly weapon to this innocent moth.

Every single time I see a moth, I am reminded of a movie that I watched a decade ago. A little English Indie called Angels and Insects. It's about a naturalist cataloging the collection of this British aristocrat. He falls in love with the beautiful daughter and life becomes more complicated after that. The one scene in particular recalls my love for moths is when this couple who are in the courting stage of their relationship are sitting in the greenhouse. He releases these beautiful butterflies who flit about and land on the absolutely stunning looking daughter. She's happy. Hurray. Well, there comes a point in the courtship when these moths....gorgeous moths....accidentally get released and like the butterflies they seem to flock about the woman. She's mortified and begins to swat at them. He's trying to calm her down, reassuring her that they are not unlike butterflies at all. However, she continues to scream and beg for the scientist to remove them.

Why do we react this way to unconventional beauty? To the masterpiece form and design of creatures like moths who have counterparts like butterflies that are revered, chased, and glorified for their appearances? We do this to one another, as well. Quite sad. So many people falling for the obviously beautiful. The hard-to-ignore pretty.

In the movie, the man eventually marries the woman. He has what he thinks is bliss. His children are born and looking like their mother. Golden hair. Fair skin. In his role of a Darwinian scientist, he wonders why known of them have any of his traits. Each of his children are miniature versions of their mother and every single one of her sisters and brothers. Beautiful. Magnificent. Precious, handsome babes..............conceived from the incestuous relationship between his wife and her brother.

 

Beauty is always more than the obvious.

"Yes, these are my boobs."

There is a guy who recently came into the world of Naomi. Nothing romantic. Please. I'm still in love with the ONE. Well, this guy seems to like my cleavage. I may be wrong because I'm not the type who usually draws men to her (Say what you will, Carrie...it just doesn't happen), so I may be misinterpreting the situation. Afterall, I was wearing an unusual necklace the first couple of times meeting the man. To be proactive, on the third day of being around him, I purposefully was sans neck jewelry. My blouse was not see-through; on the contrary it was black as a moonless light in the heart of Blair Witch woods. I was not wearing any bra that slammed my tits together to make boob crack tight enough to hold pencils. Uh-uh. I was playing "Good Girl."

And yet...

And yet! He still was checking out my chest!

Huh?!

Maybe because he's eye-level with the wondrous joys that are my ta-tas? Maybe that's why he keeps staring at them? He can't help but look at what's straight ahead.

But the guy makes me feel slightly uncomfortable. (note: the shivers down my spine) Vibe is not all kosher.

Queen of the Magical Vaginas

Welcome to the Bloggin' Bizatch, my new renter.  I had quite a few to choose from this bidding go round but how can I turn someone down that in a post last year wrote this:

i never really go through with any of my millionaire ideas i simply mentally masturbate over them until they don't seem all that orgasmic anymore.

Really? Honestly? How can you ignore this woman?! Sarcasm, wit, intelligence, and a sense of fun. Oooooo! I like her already. Throw in a coffee from Starbucks and we'd be fast friends. One can only hope to be in the Bizatch's court.

Visit. Go now. Share love of linkness!