Harvest time!

the subject today is life, once again. We spend our lives seeking (consciencously or not) something extra-ordinary, and if we'd just stop and listen, we'd realize we get all the extra-ordinary things knocking at our doors. And damn, how much QUALITY time we'd have then.

Anyway, I tried to do that, for the sake of the legendary practice-what-you-preach philosophy, and I started looking around. I was in my car when this seed rooted into the magma at the pits of my grey matter, waiting for a lovely old, SLOW lady to cross the road long after the lights had turned green..again. And anyway, I was looking around.. at the car resting by mine, and wondered what other drivers do when they're waiting at the lights. Curs'd be the hour that such a foul thought was given birth unto my lamanted, unoccupied brain. What.. you might wonder.. do drivers do when they're waiting at the lights.. well, my dear; they pick their nose and ears! I had to pull the handbreak, and get out of the car to pick my jaw from off the asphalt. What a ghastly sight! No, its not a one off. Many, too many, people do that.. and I can vouch for it cause well, i kept my eyes open. So, tip of the day: install double tinted window tints on your wheels!

on your marks.. get set.. live!

I was driving back home today, thinking about how differently people can live their life.. not in the things they do, but in the way they do them. Why do some people live life to the max, as if every minute they live is their last? And why do others live a routine, always thinking for tomorrow? I think it's quite plain that I am a fervent believer of living as much as possible and sleeping whatever is left. However today, in the latest attempt to understand someone's attitude towards life, I think I actually managed to, if not convert, understand. . .

. . . Life is like a race. And so far I think everyone would agree. But there are a gazillion types of races, and as many types of athletes that run these races. Each race demands a different type of approach, and of pace; some require sprinting, instantly, because the race is short, others require the racer to save energy for the long journey. Now, some people decide that their life is a short race against time, so they have to live it to the utmost, minute by minute; others might decide that life is a marathon were sprinting at the beginning would mean not getting to the end of the race. In this race you need to reach a constant pace, throughout, and the slightest change of pace would mean the disruption of a whole cycle of precise calculations.

I believe that the most senseful reasoning is the marathon "theory". Because if a sprinter tried to race a marathon, he'd end up ending his race far earlier than expected. While a marathon racer who plans his race well, still lives his race at a significant pace. However, every single day, when I bid goodnight to those VERY few special people, I can't help but wondering what I would feel if that was the last time I am seeing them.

Can you say enough "thankyous" "I love yous" "sorries"... no, you can just not say enough or overdo it. And again life turns out to be the hell of a complicated bite to chew that everyone says it is.

aah finally! I figured out what that feeling of incompatibility (similar to a tingly feeling in your eye which no matter how much you rub, pull, squash are stretch it stays put, and finally you decide to stop trying to make it go away, even though it is bloody irritating)..was.

Why ain't I all that comfortable on high heels (even if I like them so), and why don't I feel that instinctive need to spend hours every morning doing my hair and applying layers of foundation? I am woman.. I feel it boiling in my blood but I've always had the suspision that the boiling womanly blood in my veins doesn't exactly boil in the same way as other women's.

Today I finally saw what that tingly feeling is. Women that spend hours on makeup and on their hair(which most of the time, after all those hours of care, still turns out STRAIGHT and plain), women that seem as comfortable on sky-high heels as I would feel on a gigantic goose-feather pillow, women whose hair stays in place no matter which gale-force wind is blowing, women who manage to keep their lipgloss no matter how much vodka-coke they drink.. and I could go on forever.. well, these women all fit in one, of two catergories which classify in a very simple manner all the women of the world. The OUTs and the INs.

The outs are the ones you see. You notice them immediately, with all your senses. These are the women referred to in quotes such as "I was in Italy last week, and the women there are gorgeous." They were genetically programmed to want to be seen, and they have a very high self esteem which is constantly alimented by other people. These women have a natural charm, a magnet which draws all types and kinds of people.

The Ins, on the other hand are the invisible type. They feel people's gazes burn into their skins and they have a natural inclination towards walking in shadows (of trees AND of other people) and talking in inaudable pitches of volume. They might be pleasant to look at, but they spend time cultivating not their outer skin, but the massive world within them. They are so connected with what is inside them that many times they become translucent. The one thing that they have in common is that none of them is ever the lucky protagonist of the famous viral infection: love-at-first-sight.

And before I start sounding like one of those quizes were you get classified an &(£$_ if you scored a majority of As.. I want you to understand that both categories are beautiful, because both are women. However.. being a proud (even if genetically forced) member of the latter category, I vote for the Ins, and invite you to look better at people who don't jump into your focus, listen better to their ideas and check out their ass a lill bit longer. cheers.

Dieters guide to salads around Malta (3)

It was Friday yet again, and yet again I was sitting at a restaurant, "in" our beautiful capital city, very very close to the water. The first thing that struck me (if you exclude a happy-go-lucky coackroach taking a strall from one dustbin to the other and amazingly not being flattened to death by anyone of the many feet (and respective owners) around) ... was the enormity of the dining area, which was indeed packed to the last chair. Having said so, the second thing that struck me was not that no one except me had noticed the above mention HUGE cockraoch, but that there was an average of 1 waiter per 15 tables. It doesn't take an atomic calculator to deduce that the service was comparable to the speed of a limping, sleeping snail.

How long did it take for the drinks to find their way to our lips? Precisely an hour, and we only had a "bottle" (barely enough to fill a glass) of water, and a soft drink. I did not blame the waiters, they were keeping up all too well with the chaos and out of proportion clientele. There just should have been many more hands on deck.

As form of enetertainment, while we now waited for our food, we had quite a loud table of people, who laughed loud, talked loud and complained loud. Mind you, I have nothing against a hearty complaint, but it has to be audable only by the waiter, in order, first of all, not to embarrass him/her and secondly not to be labelled, hehh, loud.

So finally our food was delivered to our table. His plate really smelled and tasted (yes.. i allowed myself a bite) delicious. The sauce of this plate of pasta was divine.. maltese sausage and the wonderful aftertaste of wine. Sublime. My salad was also very well presented, and not over adorned with dressing, a plus for the chef who kept in mind that people who order salads are people who aim at eating something with less fats than a normal plate. It was nothing complciated really, just an assortment of lettuce, tomatoes olives and feta..and that's exactly what I was looking for. I barely finished my plate. Another plus for this one was that the feta was not the marinated type, but it was fresh tasting rather then squashy and sour.

Unfortunately I was freezing cold after over 2 hours of sitting in the fresh night air, so we quickly summoned the bill and ran off home. If I had to grade this place it would be an eight on ten for food, but two on ten for service. That would give it an over all grade of five on ten. A shame really.

Dieters guide to salads around Malta (2)

The newest, and probably most effective scheme of helping customers keep their diet is on the market. I am impressed at the efficiency of this method, absolutely flabbergasted, dumb-struck, fascinated.. you name it.

Well, against my better judgement I accepted my partner's wish to visit this place, let me just say it's in the same area as the first insert..closer to the sea this time. The first signs of disaster (yes, the first paragraph was pure sarcasm) came immediately as we stepped into the restaurant and noted that all the clients were sitting outside.. no one was inside, except, obviously, us.

So, it took us (and I'm not exegerating) 20minutes to order, and I had to go up to the waiter and plead him to come and take the order. Don't ask me why we hadn't walked out by that time.
Probably my instict for a, let's call it scoop.

So the waitress came, and took our order.. and no, the food didn't take ages to arrive. BUT..as soon as it rested itself infront of our hungry selves, what could only be compared to a restaurant-scale volcano eruption took place. The waiters started a full-blown verbal fight. It was amazing. I was trying to eat this huge plate of lettuce, listening to men being atributed out-dated body parts, and swear words which would have scandalized an anti-christian, creative pirate. And all this was being exchanged with the delicacy and consideration of an elephant with a bad constipation.

"Ghidli x'jibqa fik?!" would be an ideal maltese saying. We ended up totally spaced, scared to ask for the bill. You can imagine how much tips they got. No, not nothing. 2 euro cents has a better impact.

And the waitress had the face to ask "was the food to your liking?" as we walked out. "yes the food was..not the entertainment though."

C'e` sempre..

C'e` sempre qualcosa nella vita dalla quale scappiamo.
C'e` sempre qualcosa nella vita che inseguimo.

C'e` sempre qualcosa nella vita che vogliamo.
C'e` sempre qualcosa nella vita che dobbiamo avere.

C'e` sempre qualcosa nella vita che ci fa bene.
C'e` sempre qualcosa nella vita che ci uccide dentro.

C'e` sempre qualcosa nella vita che ci ricorda qualcuno ...che non c'e` piu`.
C'e` sempre qualcuno nella vita che ci ricorda qualcosa ...che non abbiamo piu`.

C'e` sempre qualcuno nella vita che ci da vita.
C'e` sempre qualcuno nella vita che ce la toglie.
C'e` sempre qualcuno nella vita che fa tutte e due queste cose..

C'e` sempre qualcuno nella vita che ci ispira ad andare avanti.
C'e` sempre qualcuno nella vita che ci lega al passato.

C'e` sempre qualcuno nella vita che amiamo con tutto l'cuore, e l'anima, e l'corpo.
C'e` sempre qualcuno nella vita che odiamo con passione.

Perche la vita E`.. finche noi ci siamo, con tutte le nostre cose, e con tutte le nostre persone, con tutte le paure, i dolori, la gioia e il dolore.

Dieters' guide to salads around Malta

Panic spread inside the inner most layers of the Earth's core. Lava boiled at temperatures unthinkable, earthquakes spread out in square ripples, and undescovered petrolium turned bright pink.

I had stepped upon something worse than cow dung on a midsummer's day nightmare.. I had stepped upon a God begotten SCALES *shock*

For a few minutes Earth itself stopped moving and silence ruled the plains while the small, red arrow skidded across the numbers. 20kg.. 30kg.. 40kg.. 50kg.. (silent prayers) alas 60kg.. until it stopped on the trecherous 64kg.

Oh Lord. Not again! Many months, and sweat beads ago I had been this size.. but I had ran, and walked, and lifted, and shifted, and thrown and picked until I was a nice 55kg. Where did all the fat come back from?! The BASTARD!

What is worse is that summer is around the corner, and since the sea is going to be infested by jellyfish.. all the macho-hunks who in the past tempested the blue waves with shiny smiles and tortelli-six-packs will be carpeting the ruddy beaches! That rubs off any intention on my side to lay unhassled, bum towards the blue skies, slowly baking and turning sexy chocolate brown.

Two options present themselves: I can either dive in, magic wand in hand and disintagrate the invading jelly-fish or RE-loose the gained weight. Unfortunately no magic wand has yet been known to disintegrate jelly substances, so the choice is no longer a choice.

And this is where the title to this blogg starts making sense. Its already widely known, altough mostly as a legend, that I attend gym. So obviously a slight instensification of the activity in there.. possibly not the admiring activity, will be required. Another thing is a resolution to eat greens, or anything which isn't green but has seeds, tastes aweful and is generally fed to rabbits.

So, finding myself at a restaurant with an inviting Italian name yesterday, I sat at a table with my slim, and therefore not worried partner. The menu is averagely vast, until you get to the 'salads'. Under this title you find all sorts of things which, yes, make the salad list look long, but NO, aren't salads. Among the 2 or 3 options to genuin salad I picked the Ceaser salad, which seemed to be the less fattening of the lot.

Ceasar salad is lettuce, chicken, bacon, croutons, parmesan cheese and ceasar dressing (what is ceasar dressing? .. search me). Well, it was all that in abundance, especially lettuce. I quite enjoyed the lot, and the chit chat with the happy partner eating a happy pizza. A nice cappuccino ended the meal and we were out of there before too long.

And you would think the story ends there, but.. what respectable story would this be if it didn't have a twist in the end? The twist is infact a twist. More than one actually... in my stomach. I spent the night twisting in bed with aches and pains in my already fat-battered stomach. I will not give details regarding my appearance this morning. I'll spare you the details, and me the shame.

Soppy hour

I have been blessed with 12 angels this year so I felt it was my duty to dedicate a small space to them..

My first class, my first year teaching and I'm sure this will remain the best year ever. They make me proud because they are oh so smart, smarter than me most of the time. I've taught them the art of mind boggling..and now the students have over run the teacher.

They are a real challange. Sponges of knowledge, thirsty for facts.. the more fascinating the better. They have a rhydm, a fast one indeed, and you either get carried away or get left behind.

Their tongues are sharp, sometimes sharper than their wit. But they try hard, harder than probably they could achieve, because I push them, because I believe in them. They have so much to share, and I have so little time to listen to all their wonderful stories. They talk and talk and move and talk, and eat and talk and write and talk. Because they live life so intesly, minute by minute and they seep it all in somehow.

It hurts when I have to act "teacher" with them. Yes, sometimes I have to stand above them and raise my voice. Sometimes I even shed their tears. But I swear, never with hate or pleasure. I weep inside with them, but my firm word, I hope, will prevent firm feet stepping on their heads eventually.

They are my pride. Every single one of them. And I pray for them to always remain so crisp and fresh and pure, and intelligent. The list could go on, but let me not be overly soppy.

This was just to prove that Super Sexy Super Cicra has a heart ;)

and some more...

Every so often I get this bout of creativity. Somehow, it always flowers into a different activity. This time, its card-making.



I'm still trying to figure ME out..

Putting thought into things

Sometimes, a few words in a card can mean more than any gift. Sometimes putting thought into things which would otherwise be taken forgranted is as precious-a-gift as any off-the-shelf objects..

:D

GYM-nauseum

To all those women who desperately ask: "where have all the good-looking, single men gone?!!" .. I answer: AT THE GYM!

If shops are the female realm, than definitly, the gym is the male one. Yes, women are present in this testosterone soaked environment, but I'm almost sure that the only reason that this is so, is to give men something infront of which to show off.

What do they show off? Oh, anything basically, from the obvious tricepts, to tight abs.. more like a packet of vacuum-sucked tortellini, and off to pulsing veins, dripping sweat, over-abundance of hairs..everywhere, and finishing off with, heh.. testicles yes. Testicles bulging from beneath toilet-paper thin cycling-pants. Believe me, when you're struggling your way through 30 minutes of level 7 cross-trainer the last thing you want entertaining you is a bald headed, mustached, OLD, flimsy bodied..BUT blessed in the lower abdomen area, man, trying (with no visible physical result...) to pull up a ridiculous amount of weight (too heavy or too light doesn't make any difference to either the fact that it is ridiculous or the dangling atributes.)

You see them of all shapes and sizes, and colours, and nationailty and gender orientation, and status, and background and work.. all with a common aim: that of building up muscle tissue and looking good. However, the common belief that they do it to impress the women is presicely so: a belief/legend. Nah! they do it for themselves! It is so obvious when you see them looking at themselves in the numerous mirrored walls of the gymnasium. They tilt their head sideways, raise an eyebrow and almost, but not quite so, smile at themselves. Then off they go again to huff and puff and blow their muscles up.

And the ladies? They don't just sit there, but most of them really should, unless of course the aim is to act out a slow-motioned film clip of a tortoise taking a stroll. I go into the changing room, lock my bag into the locker, take a quick glimpse in the mirror and off I go to burn away worry. Other female species seem to enjoy running around competely denuded, then applying an array of deodrants, untiperspirants, perfumes and what not, THEN unzipping huge gym bags and taking time to decide which sports bra will best suite today's tracksuite, then an eternity on pulling up their hair ( I wonder why, it's not like they go out there and sprint their way to heaven and back, risking a bad hair do with all the gales and hurricanes they encounter on the way).

And then people ask me how I manage to live without watching tv!

Existance

Existance. Many people jump head first into living, generally lives of a certain amount of grandour, without ever bothering about the intricate logistics of .. existance.

Because, the purpose of Life is to live it as comfortably and luxuriously as possible, always reaching far beyond your grasp, but what is the purpose of existance? Why do WE exist? WE being us, with that particular hair colour, eye shape, bad tooth, pig-grunt laugh, very shameful secret imbalance of bodily parts that come in pairs..

Anything, excluding humanity, has its specific purpose of existance. Air for breathing, light for seeing, leaves for (no, not for photosynthesis and all that jazz) falling to the ground and fermenting and creating more healthy, growth-prone.. ground, pens for writing, pencils for peace of mind when writing, dogs for filling every where with tiny, highly irritating hairs, and for cuddling of course. And humans, for.. fun?

We have even stopped being dinosaur's multivitamin source of mangia mangia! And don't tell me that I exist to teach, given that I'm a teacher, because if I stop teaching.. I stop earning a living, and ruining/improving the destinity of future humanity, but I don't stop existing.

Well, try as you might, no considerable amout of grey matter activity leads to any plausable answer, or rather, conclusion. My belief is that we exist, nonetheless. It took a huge deal of (im)probability to get to this very particularly specificly precise genetic code, and we should keep that in mind.. there is only ever going to be one of us.. cloning technology permitting.. and while treasuring this thought, we should do our best to LIVE this existance.. not waste it. We should give ourselves a purpose, since we were so absolutely fortunate not to have been programmed with one.. possibly a purpose with some ..... PURPOSE.