Dear Santa...

Dear Santa,

2011 is coming to an end and it is time to look ahead, make breakable resolutions, bow our heads in shame for missed objectives, and pat ourselves on the back for little victories. It is also time to draw a wishlist for 2012, which I am humbly forwarding to you, for your interest, perusal and prompt action.

So dear Santa I wish for a 2012 where my wishes are better expressed, where my dreams are at least partially made true, and where bitches and bastards do not get what they obviously don't deserve. I wish for a year where I can smile with satisfaction because for once, bad things happen to bad people, and the life of good people consequently becomes a bit easier. Dear Santa, I wish for a year made of shades of grey, and not of black and white. Please remind people that pointing one finger at others means pointing three fingers at oneself, and that listening comes before preaching, and that the benefit of the doubt should be given to our conscience.

Dear Santa, I wish for a year without stupid comments on the Times of Malta, a slight increased brain capacity for the Maltese race, politicians who don't consult with Supernatural Deities before issuing statements, and who work for the people instead of for the people's vote. I wish for a Church that looks for rotten apples within itself, before looking for them outside. I wish for people to get along, and to think before speaking.

Dear Santa, I wish for more laughter, more sleep, the willpower to take up running, more sales on boohoo.com, and something that you know about but I can't express here. I wish for constant happiness for my little nephews, and to thank them for stirring the almost non-existent Christmas spirit in me.

I wish for the ability to not lose my gloves constantly, and for me to bite my tongue a bit more. I wish for more opportunities and inspiration to update this blog, and more time to take care of myself and to soften up. Dear santa, turn my sarcasm into irony, cynicism into realism and disappointment into ambition.

To conclude, dear Santa, I wish for 2012 to be a better year, for me, my loved ones and those who deserve it. With respect to what constitutes "better", please consult with me. My definition is usually not subject to interpretation.

Merry Christmas Santa ... and enjoy your imaginary trip round the world!

Gracie :)

Guess who's coming to dinner?

Last night, as I walked out of a meeting and made my way towards my car (the reason why I haven't commuted in the last few days is boring and without blog-factor) I saw a shooting star and made my own very earnest and desired for wish. I won't go into the details of it since

1. if you share the wish it won't come true
2. well... it is really kind of personal, even to someone who shares her most obnoxious thoughts without shame in a blog.

However, to get you in context, this wish is not TOTALLY unrelated to this week's topic, which is my own personal top 5 list of people I would so very gladly go out to dinner with. I speak of "people" because the sort of dinner I'm referring to is platonic, and in no way conducive to feeling obliged to sleep with the party with whom I'm sharing the table. When you see my list, with a glaring exception, or possibly two, you will understand why. Soooo... here we go!

Number 5: Zachary Levi

Not only does this glorious being look like this, but he also led to my coining of the phrase "geekie-hottie" in the portrayal of a Nerd-Spy (Chuck Bartowski) who carries all the US government's security secrets in his brain because of an unfortunate download. Moreover, and this is where one's faith in ... something ... is somewhat revived, this personified hotness also owns a company, called The Nerd Machine to show that deep down in his handsome heart, he's just a nerd like most of the blogging community :).





Number 4: Gialappa's Band

For those not familiar with Italian TV or Radio, these guys are unknowns. However, all those who have been brought up with programmes such as Mai Dire Gol, Mai Dire Banzai, Mai Dire TV and Mai Dire Grande Fratello know what I'm talking about. This trio of never seen "voices" have managed to create a cult following and led to a breakout of comic talent in Italy that has earned them my earnest desire to sit at a table with them and just bitch about everything and everyone around us. They manage to make anything on TV watchable just by adding their own commentary and infectious laughter. Their Radio Programme leaves me in fits. I want to share a mike with them ... and while we're at it, a bottle of wine and a Rib-eye (RIBYE for some) steak!


Number 3: Luciana Litizzetto

I did say it was a platonic dinner didn't I? Well, let me confess something. My humour, sarcasm, irony and commentary on life is in large proportion attributable to this genius of a woman. Every Sunday, at 21.10 on Rai3, Luciana Litizzetto unleashes her weekly tirade against the political world (and not only). She makes fun of Berlusconi and his gang, Carla Bruni and men in general, and just for that, I could spend hours with her sharing a chocolate cake. If she had to bring with her the best selling booked penned by her aptly named "I dolori del giovane Walter" (I let you all figure out what Walter is referring to ... as a hint, Walter is surrounded by "gli amici di Maria"), the chocolate cake would be followed by chocolate and orange ice-cream covered in caramel.

Number 2: Jim Parsons

Better known as Sheldon Lee Cooper. But no, Sheldon won't be my ideal dinner companion, since besides the fact that he would consider me to be an inferior form of an unevolved human species, I would have no idea of what he is talking about most of the time. My dinner companion has to be the actor who plays the role. Jim Parsons is uncannily similar in mannerisms and eccentricities to his character but, like me, he has confessed to not knowing what Shelly is on about. The actor is capable of laughing and hugging so what else could one possibly want? Bazinga (c) :)!





Number 1: Roberto Benigni

This man can make Dante Alighieri sound interesting, can keep 10million Italians glued to the screen to hear a 40 minute monologue on a minor TV station and has literally walked all over botoxed film stars at the Oscars before declaring to want to make love to them all.



Dulcis in fundo: he managed to switch clothes with Conan O'Brien for no apparent reason. Need I say more?

So this was my top 5 list, and while I know that these dinners will never happen, I remind the little shooting star of the wish I expressed last night, which is very dear to me. And if "Google" is watching sternly from the heavens and keen on asking me where on earth I was during the last Sundays instead of attending mass, I would like to reply by quoting a wonderful phrase that was, so regrettably, not penned by me:

‎"I don't object to the concept of a deity but I'm baffled by the notion of one who takes attendance" (The Big Bang Theory - Amy Farah Fowler)

Hugs,

Gracie :)

Theological Musings and a Gentle Warning

Since last week, my week improved. I swallowed a couple of bitter pills made up of pride and indignant self righteousness, cleared the air, had a laugh or two or twenty, and just enjoyed being around people I really care for who helped me out of the whole disasterfest. Popcorn and cola-bottles while watching the train-wreck that is Breaking Dawn helped too... and stability is tentatively being restored :).

On the subject of cola-bottles, and other forbidden food, please allow me to digress to the topic of grocery shopping. My shopping cart is in general rather dismal. A rather alarming amount of yoghurt is the only sweet thing it carries within it, possibly because the 15 years of rigid Catholic education taught me that anything remotely pretty, tasty, colourful or sweet is essentially sinful (although the last 2 years at the Jesuits were meant to set off the previous 13 years at the nuns). Or else, it's just because I seem to have already found my life [round] form, and should thus not add on to my already spherical essence. Either way, my cart tends to be unhappy, and to covet the chocolates, crisps and wine gums that it passes through its journey round the supermarket as it is gently but firmly pushed by me.

So imagine, the feelings of my cart (if it were to have feelings, but then again, I'm pretty sure they would be similar to mine) upon seeing that just ahead of me at the paying line, a cart full of chocolates, crisps, beer, coke and "all that's nice!" was being pushed by this wispy, long-haired, female creature whose tall, thin legs reached up to her neck in degrees of perfection that made my blood simmer and boil with ill-concealed envy. Here comes the theological angle I feel I must give to my musings. If my own legs, which pretty much reach to my knees, were made by the same supernatural being (the one who loves playing chess with our lives) who made the legs of the chocolate binging size-4 model ... could someone please explain the reason behind such arbitrary choices of form and aesthetics??? Why give some people the shape of a long willowy forest flower, and others the shape of a halloween pumpkin?

My message to the world is that the more I think about it, the less impressed I am.

Supermarket parenthesis closed, I can now move on to other life experiences that really do not impress me - males behind wheels. And speaking of messages, I would like to send a message to those neanderthal men who honk their stupid sounding horn every time the lights of the traffic lights turn orange:

Dear Sir,

- whether you happen to be driving a delivery van with your tatooed, fleshy hand hanging out, or
- whether you happen to be wearing a suit and driving an enormous car bought upon reaching andropause and after realising that your secretary will NOT sleep with you

please note that if you happen to honk your bloody horn on the day when my menstrual cycle reaches the apocalyptic PMS epicentre, you will leave me no choice but to run out of my car, pounce at you through your window and pluck out your eyes with my bare hands to make sure you won't mix orange with green again.

You have been warned. And also, please note that Big Cars in general mean Small ...

Thank you and regards,


Gracie.

Gavi v Checkmate!

And as I had ingeniously predicted, I did jinx myself with my last post, and life did bring it on. Damn it, it brought it on big flippin time. In the game of chess between me and the possibly-existing-but-I'm-really-not-that-sure-supernatural-master/mistress-of-the-universe (which we will neutrally and safely refer to as "Google"), my queen has just been knocked out, and my king is uselessly cowering behind an army of underage pawns. And when I wonder where the damn bishop is just now that I need him, the blush on the knight's face gives it all away ...

Anyway, before I go into not so very deep details, let me include a proviso here before Sedqa or Caritas get me off the net for encouraging alcoholic substance abuse. I'm not a drinker, and in fact my favourite drink in any bar is the Diet Virgin Cuba Libre so there is no way that anyone can possibly say that I am a fan of alcohol. So there, read with caution and an open mind (let's all make the collective effort to stop being Maltese until the end of the post), and as always, take what I say with a pinch of salt.

The point I'm trying to make is that when your week has just been a series of events resulting from a rotational loop of bad decisions taken by others, and when long drives in the rain do not work because really, any reflective attempts are overwhelmed by caustic rage and sheer disbelief, there is nothing...Nothing...NOTHING better than heading to a favourite bar after work on a Friday evening with your favourite colleagues and soak your surprised, but not entirely resentful liver with bottle after bottle of 35 South or Gavi di Gavi :D. When the number of glasses of wine consumed hit the double digits, that's where you know that with a "to hell with everyone" you can find the strength to laugh and forget.

The day after you'll wake up with nausea and a feeling of slight disbelief, but what the hell, you would have knocked the cavorting bishop off Google's board, and stepped closer to his queen, and farther away from your checkmate.

Cheers!

Goodbye to the Italian ice-breaker!

Good evening to all!

It's been almost a week since I last updated my blog ... I tried a number of times to put my disjointed opinions to "paper" but I admit that following my self-imposed censorship on local politics and on people-who-might-realise-I'm-talking-about-them, I found the river of thought to have become quite parched. Having said that, I still got 543 views since I started this blog which is just about short of being amazing and just a couple of million hits away from DCG's blog :D. Admittedly, some hits have to be mine, but still, thank you loads for the support :).

So, big news of the week ... Berlusconi is "trenino"ing himself away from Italian politics to the sound of the Halleluia sung by cherubic angels wearing Nicki Ventola T-shirts and Gianfranco Fassino pants. I'm really quite glad about this, if only because all my Italian friends deserve better than having every conversation with them start with "but tell me, who the hell voted for Berlusconi?". I guess there are a number of 18 year olds girls (aka letterine, schedine, paperelle, letteronze, veline, stronzine, p*****ine)who are quite desperate though, their dreams of becoming Ministers and MEPS have been pretty much shattered and they might actually need to go look for a real job which does not involve a pay check proportional to their cup size.

I can also now stop wondering who the hell voted for Domenico Scilipoti (the delightful little guy in the picture below) since I now know that in actual fact, no one did, he just found his way into the Italian Parliament because of the way their electoral system works.

The conversational dynamics with Italians will now have to change, but I'll adapt, just as foreigners will now have to adapt to not use the ice-breaker "so is it true that in Malta you don't have divorce????? O.O" Thank God (tee hee)we got rid of that conundrum :D And yes, God is probably not amused, but if s/he did not want me to use irony, why did s/he grace me with it?? Final thought on divorce (since it borders on my self-imposed censorship as well) - SUCK IT PHILLIPINES!!!!!!! HAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Lovely ... off to hell I go :)

Wishing you all a lovely week, I've just been jacuzzied, bubbled and spaed to squeaky and shiny oblivion all day, and life's good :). And yes, I am pretty sure that I have now jinxed it.

Bring it on!

Gracie

Of Hannibal Lecter and Fathers Unknown

I'm not particularly well known in my neighbourhood...ok let's say that I'm not known at all. I do not chat in shops or on the bus stop or in the street; actually I always carry a face of pure terror mixed with impatience mixed with adrenaline rushed hurry whenever anyone I know happens to want to chat to me anywhere within 100 metres from where I live. Once I risked throwing up in the bus as a result of car sickness because I kept on pretending to read to avoid having to talk to one of my neighbours who decided to sit next to me after ignoring my discrete, but unequivocal look of abject horror.

Anyway ... you get the point. I hardly know anyone in my street, and hardly anyone knows me. I hope this state of affairs continues until I move, which is hopefully soon. However, this morning while walking towards the bus at the usual ungodly hour, I bumped into this strange, neanderthal looking individual who happens to inhabit a house a few doors down from me and, without wanting to, peeked curiously inside his house to catch a glimpse of it for a second while giving me an excuse to avoid having to saying hello.

And there it was ... Criminal Minds merged into Dexter merged into CSI-Whatever merged into X Files merged into BLOODY SILENCE OF THE LAMBS. The walls of his house were covered with pictures of dead people (the ones they give out at funerals). Scary Shit ta' veru. The whole Tombesque Decor was completed with candles and statues of our Mary of Sorrows and the Crucified Christ to give the whole place a warm cosy feel with inner joy and cheerful tidings. Riiiight. Since this guy spends his time sitting on his doorstep with no particular source of employment, I can safely assume that my tax and future hope for a pension have been invested in turning a normal house into the set of a low budget horror film of the kind where people get eaten, killed, eviscerated or sold for spare parts.

I'm looking forward to my moving in the coming months. Also, an alternative route to the bus stop is being sought as we speak.

Speaking of people robbing me out of my pension, while at the baker I overheard a woman announcing that her daughter had just had a baby. After everyone, except me (refer to description above), congratulated her, she had to explain that the baby had been registered with "Father Unknown". In the silence that followed I could just hear the collective "X'GHARUKAZA!!!" that went through the minds of the other women.

As for me, my first thought was that unless this girl took the concept of "close your eyes and think of Malta" to the next level, it's a case of Father Unknown my arse. As my salary sheds euros in favour of an abused welfare system, I can't help wondering why certain men seem to think that recognising their children is actually an option. If you're man enough to pull your pants down, you should be man enough to pull your socks up and take responsibility.

In the meantime, I might decide to take up online grocery shopping once again.

Off to watch Big Bang Theory ... I think Sheldon Cooper is on his way to become my new idol!

Nothing more to say ... I wish I knew who wrote this line for How I Met Your Mother, because s/he deserves my constant, pure and committed adulation. I will forever kick myself for not having come up with this fantastic line before!

When democracy bites you in the touche!

I promised to myself that I wouldn't ... but the opinionated mind is weak. I resisted a full 4 posts without touching the International Politics subject, but I succumbed after reading article after article about the whole Greek referendum will they won't they diatribe, which can be summarized with a loud, resounding, Greek-Chorus-in-Athenian-Mythological-Tragedy -type WTF MR PAPANDREOU??? (not to be confused with our very own Maltese "papawhatever" but I digress into dangerous waters)

I mean seriously, did the Greek PM expect that the EU bailout offer actually came with an option? I can just picture the scene, after the Euro Saving Summit of last week:

**** open scene****

Mr P: Nicholas! Angela! Thank you for the time and the 100billion write off. I'm going to ask the people whether they are willing to endure 10 years of wage cuts, pension freezes and unemployment parakalo?

Merkozy: JA!! Mais oui! And then we go celebrate the yes vote together yes? Maybe we could also ask Silvio *Merkozy share a loving, simpering smile* to join us??

Then they turn to find that Berlusconi is however leading a celebratory trenino round Place Schuman to the tunes of Copacabana and Bridget Bardo Bardo! with all the EU Member State leaders except for David Cameron who's discussing the Rebate with a potted plant and our own PM who's answering questions from the national media about whether the Arriva buses are being washed every night as promised (we are great at prioritising issues in this country). The phrase "trucking tanker" was heard to come from the newly graduated journalist with her BA Useless Subjects (Hons).

**** end scene****

I read on the Daily Mail (this is not Times of Malta material you see, there are no late buses in the story) that he has now backed off this crazy notion after being "bullied" by the Franco-German Evil alliance. Daily Mail - get over the end of the war please. Britain won it, and a World Cup some time after that. For crappity's sake, enough with the bitterness.

Back on theme with the fact that Maltese priorities do not match the rest of the European World, what on earth is all this fuss about the Gan Luwigi baby naming business? To those not in the loop, a couple went to register their son at the Public Registry and could not do so because the registry did not have the Maltese fonts installed. Big facking deal. One or two opinions on the matter:

1. Gan Luwigi is not a Maltese name. It's the name of a Juventus Goalkeeper spelt in Maltese. That makes it just as Maltese as Havjer or Djego. The Maltese equivalent is Gwan Alwigi, but that is not so pretty now is it?
2. Not having a dot on the g does not change the fact that this child is facing a lifetime of Gan Luwigi sive John ahead of him;
3. Why can't the Public Registry employ someone who can use the "insert symbols" option on Word? The "Maltese fonts" are not needed. All you need is to find the G with the dot on top of it and give it a shortcut key.

X'panic oxxenament ezagerat!

Of things that are useful ... or maybe not!

At face value, some things seem really useful, but then in practice, not so much. No, I'm not talking about men, because besides that being too obvious and too easy, I don't want to turn this blog into a male bashing realm, because in all honesty, most of the greatest, funniest, and most supportive people I know do happen to be males. Also, with the right smile-eyes-height combination, and when our hormones feel like it, guys can turn the most ardent feminists among us into schoolgirlish bundles of squee, leading us all to regress into baking cakes made with luuuurve.

What usually happens after the haze of wuv fades away (generally after the perfect man starts to talk about his work/car/football team/thoughts about women/his mother) is that we then progress to online shopping and allow the clicking to drown away the drone.

But enough of that! The "useful but not quite" things I want to talk about are of the [slightly] more inanimate kind.

1. Tights

Tights (for the English), or calzemaglie (for the Italians), or collant (also for the Italians but presumably for the French as well), or the god awful sounding pantyhose (for the Americans, but pronounced as Panny-Hose, since the "t"s randomly eff off when speaking English (US) ) are, really, a wonderful invention. For ladies like me, with their 1m58 of lilliputian glory - I have also been described as a marble on legs - who have not been endowed with stilts as legs that reach up to the neck, wearing dark opaque tights is the answer to the problem of loving a dress but not having the legs to carry it off. Tights also keep us snug and warm, hide unsightly bits and make us feel elegant. The best invention since nutella right?

WRONG!!!

These infernal nylon bastards tear up. Constantly. With the slightest tug and marginally less than coaxful pull, you're faced with a disgusting ladder of shredded material or an meteor sized hole just below the hem line that gives you the gothic, slutty look just on your way to a meeting with people-who-are-so-much-more-important-than-you. The SoBs also have a habit of tearing up when you're just too late for work already, and when your day has already started on a bad note when you pressed the dismiss rather than the snooze button.

So really tights, kudos for effort really ... but FAAAAAAIL.

2. Girlie umbrellas that fit in your girlie handbag.

I'm not even going to bother with these losers. They are compact, and cute and generally found in overpriced accessory shops next to useless shiny thingies that are not worth the fake glitter they're covered in. How do I know this? Because I've owned more of them than I care to admit, and I've owned one until 6.56am of this morning. Because you know, at 6.57am a breeze slightly stronger than my impatient sighs on a grumpy day happened to blow my way, and the damn thing broke and left me, and my hair, to face the Monday morning shower with a feeling slightly akin to disbelief (Umbrella ... imma int bis-serjeta???? kind of thing)

So by the aforementioned 6.57am, I had torn two pairs of tights, and broken my umbrella. I am pleased to say however that, for my sake and that of my colleagues, my day did not suck as much as those two bad omens had led me to believe ;).

So, any other thoughts on what might be classified as almost useful but not quite? I'm tempted to mention the newly built Juventus stadium that might be useful to the Football Club but seems imminently destined to crumble but I'm not really in a position to throw sh*t over that ghastly team at this point in time, am I? One is tempted though. Sorely so.

But I won't! And also on that note ... the Heysel banner was in very bad taste. Shame.

Over and out!

Gracie :)

Have faith in our brains please!

When reading the following article on the Times http://www.timesofmalta.com/articles/view/20111026/local/Halloween-exposes-people-to-sadism-sexual-violence-torture-.390777, I was enraged. Now that some days have passed, and Halloween is upon us as usual without any clerical regiment armed with a sharply pointed second finger aimed at our sinful faces, I can't help wondering what really pissed me off so much.

It's not that I give much or a rat's touche about Halloween really, just like

Valentine's Day and New Year's Eve, it's just a commercialization of a perfectly normal day that would mean nothing to most people had it not been for the supreme marketing skills of Those-Who-Make-Money-Out-Of-It. Neither was I annoyed about the fact that I seriously believe that the opinion of this Parish Priest is absolute rubbish (of the Reduce, but definitely not Reuse or Recycle type), because in all fairness, most of what I say can be classified in pretty much the same way (and many times, my opinions are of the biodegradable kind actually!), and I cannot afford to get pissed off at myself every time I put my foot in my mouth.

What I think really angered me from this whole saga is the fact that it seems that this Parish Priest never thought of speaking to his parishioners, speak TO, as opposed to speaking AT, which I'm sure he does constantly, from the pulpit while he preaches and/or pontificates on what we must [not] do in order to achieve salvation. Fair enough, I guess it's part of the Terms Of Reference needed to become a priest, but if he just took the time to speak TO the people, he would have perhaps realised that:

1. Young people and adults may like Halloween because it gives them a good excuse to party and dress up for a [newly established] tradition that it is edgier, raunchier and somewhat more exciting than the Lamefest that is Carnival;
2. Children like halloween because they get to receive treats and new costumes a few weeks after starting school and at the beginning of a month that is known for being boring and dreary;
3. NONE OF THE CATEGORIES MENTIONED ABOVE, MAKE THE LINK BETWEEN HALLOWEEN AND THE CALAMITIES HE MENTIONED IN HIS PARANOIA-NOTE.

If I wanted to participate in any acts of violence, sadism and torture, I would definitely not wait for Halloween to do it while dressed up in a brand new costume (possibly ordered from ebay) while drinking pumpkin juice from a skull. Anyone wanting to engage in sexual perversions with a vampire thinking it was Edward Cullen would just need to step out in the sun to realise that no one can really imitate the sparkly essence of the original. Why is it that the Church does not seem to trust any of us with using our brains? Wasn't our grey matter, according to their literary references, created by God? Shouldn't it thus be perfectly capable of distinguishing a day and night of spooky dress up as just that?

The logic fails me, but then again ... maybe I'm not quite looking for it in the right place.


On a totally unrelated topic, and after being asked for it, please find an example of what a Geekie-Hottie looks like :D :D.

Valletta Terminus Musings

The Public Transport Reform has changed my life, but not in the way that it has changed the lives of most (making Valletta accessibility easier for those who live in central Malta, slightly uncomfortable for those who live in the North, and completely impossible for those in South). The Public Transport Reform has opened up my world to a new, unexplored territory of sociological analysis that was hitherto impossible in my life made up of parking spaces and, at the most, car sharing with the closest of friends.

In all fairness, the morning ride is pretty uneventful, I catch the 7:00am bus, which means that I'm on the bus stop at 6:55 at the earliest, which gives me just about time to ignore the conversations going on around me (today one of them revolved, inexplicably around Pavi Supermarket ... while the other took the usual course of "madooooooonna, ili hawn kwarta u ghada m'ghaddietx wahda!" No shit Sherlock, it passes every twenty minutes!). I also have just enough time to take a cursory look at the graffiti on the bus stage - apparently someone called Denise has a preference towards male reproductive instruments of the largish kind, and some people with strange, misspelt names thought it was cute to share the fact that they "where (sic) here" on a particular date this summer. On the latter I won't comment ... I decided to keep a blog for crap's sake, talk about sharing!

The real study comes in the evening, when I make my way to the Bus Terminus, and there I have full visuals of the many ... many ...MANY people waiting for the bus, shoving, grumbling, chatting, sleeping, or those more intellectually inclined, reading. I use this time of the day to observe, while I fiddle around with my Blackberry whiling the time away as I wait. AND ON THIS, I OPEN A PARENTHESIS:

My dear Blackberry, even though you crashed for me for 3 days two weeks ago, even though you were not created by Steve Jobs and even though you do not have an application for everything ranging from mosquito repellent to nuclear warfare ... I LOVE PASSIONATELY, ENDLESSLY AND UNCONDITIONALLY. Come for a snuggle little Berry xxxx.

PARENTHESIS CLOSED.

Anyhooo ... yesterday I encountered a typical Maltese male of the type that one has for sure encountered in one's life ... Ir-Ragel Imsawwat. This is usually a middle-aged man, meek, submissive and at a general loss for words which walks one or two steps behind the typical Maltese female who marries this man ... Il-Mara Cercura. The Mara Cercura speaks in the Imperative Tense, usually an octave or two higher than is required from the situation or scenario currently encountered, with a voice that is somewhat nasal, and which is accompanied by random and spasmatic arm movements to make her point.

Not a pretty sight.

This poor man was blamed for the tardiness of the bus, for the fact that had it possibly been raining they would have got wet, for the humidity, and for the fact that the bus on the next lane, which actually leads to the airport on the other side of the country, was more frequent than the one they wanted to catch. Almost felt sorry for him. Almost. In such circumstances, it might perhaps be the time to forget about ESF and give the missus an earful mister ruhi!!!

Which brings me to the final part of my musings for today. The Ragel Imsawwat is just one kind of men from a non-exhaustive list that I have encountered in my life. Freud has already had a field day with such categorisation, but I will be presumptuous enough to come up with my laygirl's list. More on each will be discussed, hopefully, in future posts:

1. the fisherman
2. the caveman
3. the mummy's boy (aka run run run awaaaaaaay and find an orphan woman!!!)
4. the peter pan (aka leave home already!!!)
5. the geeky-hottie
6. the I'm kinda hot but don't know it so I shrug my way around by looking gorgeous in my jeans.

5 and 6 are there somewhere ... but are usually so elusive, so ethereal...SO TAKEN that one can't help wondering sometimes whether they're really the stuff of urban legends!

enough for today! :) a la prochaine!

Introductions and all that :)

My life is one continuous, uninterrupted, undeterred and unfettered opinion. Countless of things catch my eye every minute of my waking hours, and my brain provides a constant flow of thoughts, recommendations, inside jokes and visuals that keep me entertained at all times, often in the most inappropriate of places and situations.

Therefore I have finally caved in, and will try, with results that are still to be determined, and share as much as what goes on in my brain as possible, with the aim, where possible, to share the little smile that may at times appear on my face while I pretend to have a grown up and serious conversation, and where in reality, I would be miles and miles away, often in a distant timezone, or even era.

Just to get things going, and to get formalities out of the way, let's start with a little introduction. I'm 29 years old, and I intend to remain this age for the coming four to five years or so. I am of the curvy (generously curvy) type, with a biting sense of humour, and a huge desire to smile. Not easily subdued, vociferous in my views, I'm caught in between the adamant desire to remain independent, and the wistful wish to share. More on that in future posts.

I work in the Public Administration and I'm lucky enough to have a challenging job which I still love, and which still fits my ideals. Recent disappointments apart, I still walk in my office with a spring in my step and a chirpy good morning. Once this starts dying out, it will be time to say my goodbyes.

Just to get the girly rubbish out of the way in the first post, here are my opinions about the two things that girls stereotypically and obsessively want to talk about:

1. clothes: couldn't be arsed other than to say that I love dresses that are comfortable, girly, flowing, a little clingy in just the right places, and without back or side zips. What I also hate are shops where XXL is the size of a face-cloth (anorexiadivarius and mangolimia come to mind). Makes you feel quite awful, until you start digging in a delicious plate of pasta :D.

2. shoes: toes are not made to be squashed in narrow, obscene instruments of torture. They are made to be free and wriggly and pretty. Jimmy Choos are hideous and overpriced and girls who painfully strut in them deserve all the agony and ensuing derision these sorry excuses for foot accessories result in.

Ok ... so that's out of the way forever ... phew!

I guess that's enough for the first post. I'll try to keep this up on a regular basis, and hope to update with my observations in an amusing manner :).