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 :).