Black

I really for the the life of me cannot understand what it is that attracts me to black, gloom and doom so much. I love the night, the dark. Perhaps I was a bat in a previous life. But a bat? No, I'll rephrase that, I think I was a vampire in a previous life. That's better, that's more glamorous than hanging upside down all day long. Maybe I was a really sexy vampire out for the kill, and that's just what I would do once I finished with the men, kill them. And as if that weren't bad enough, I'm also known to behave like a Black widow. Not a colourful pink, red or blue widow, but a black one. And I always catch myself thinking about caskets and coffins, sometimes I obsess that I wouldn't find one big enough. I'd much rather sit on someone's wall unit when my time is up, but me without kids, without a nephew or a niece, who the hell is going to make space for me on their wall unit. Probably nobody. Another thing which would corroborate with the vampire story is that I'm scared shit of garlic. Just show one clove to me and you'll have me fainting in shock. It's that bad, it's the reason why I steer clear of vegetable vendors in the streets. Why do they have to sell garlic? Can't they sell dolly shoes instead? And if someone where to open my wardrobe they'd think they'd just opened a grave. It's all black too. And I don't like bright lights either, except when they're put on me during a performance. And the entertainment business helps my quest, black evening dresses are quite appropriate. The only think which I don't go black-mad on are shoes. Shoes are the only things which I buy in all colours. Oh and bags. I will never know where this is all coming from. The only thing which could be responsible is that was conceived during an earth tremor, during a massive power cut in pitch black dark. That's the only thing my dad has let on......

The Masks

It's Carnival very soon. I don't like Carnival, never have. But there is one advantage, I get a couple of holidays thanks to Carnival. So it cant' be that bad. But for most people, Carnival is happening all of the 365 days (364 this year) of the calendar year. For some, it just means that they go totally nuts on garish colours which would justify a public fashion offence. If I see another crude normal bag I'm going to scream. Don't they know about the cool classic Chanel? I don't think so. If I see another gory watch I think I'm going to have trouble with my intestines. Why can't people have the beautiful designer labels? Come on, saying that going designer is being sassy is rather like the story of sour grapes. But then, it's each to their own. And I really can just look the other way. And Carnival is also about masks, I tend to think of the pretty masked in Carnival Balls. They're so pretty. What bothers and makes my day is that most people are wearing them for the 365 days of the year. And they don't even go to the trouble to make them pretty ones. They act like the goody goodies of the centuries. How can you turn your nose about the dangers of alcoholism when you're one big alcoholic. In the same way that I can only explain about the dangers of smoking, being a smoker myself. I cannot suddenly act as if another smoker repulsed me. So that's one mask. Another mask takes the form of a big desk. The ones behind it pretend to be such good citizens. Well, not all of them are. The desk is just a mask which hides what they really believe in, seeing that they way they lead their life is far from similar to the way they teach it. They wear the mask of omnipotence when really they have their own impotent traits. Yet another mask takes the shape of a suit jacket. It makes people suddenly look glorious, but it's just masking their inferiority on the inside. They think they're in command, when really the poor souls don't realise that they are just naked hiding behind the mask of good tailoring. High heels... another power trip. They help you to stand tall when all it's all about bare feet standing on stilts. And yet another mask is the dear old habit which makes Maltese people suddenly want to kneel down in respect. It's just clothing material, on the inside is a naked human being masking himself under the power of the Church. So masks are about power trips. As for me, I'll just be enjoying the holidays, perhaps masking myself in make up and going out somewhere. But at least we women have had the decency to call it just as it is.. make up.. just like a mask.

Me the witch

A very good friend of mine just showed me a picture of her ex husband. An ex husband who is a very pretty man. And an ex husband whom I know. Also an ex husband who has always liked my goth look, which was happening about 2 years ago. And because he is still on good terms with his ex wife, he's let the cat out of the bag and told her how much he loved my witch, goth look. I remember he used to remark how much he loved my look. Because yes, although it's hard to even imagine, I looked like a witch. A good witch, but a witch nonetheless. I had all the paraphernalia, excluding the broom. Because the witch look is very glamorous, but once you put the broom into the picture you ruin it all. So I had the perfect white face canvas, the smoky eyes, the black hair, the black nail polish, the black black black clothing, the big, unable-to-go-unnoticed jewellery, the black patent leather high heels.. oh and the perfect white cleavage. I used to walk in constant dangling jewellery. People would hear me come long before actually making a sighting. Seeing me now, it's so hard to believe. But it's not hard to me because I still have all the paraphernalia hidden away somewhere. And I remember the extreme power trip it gave me. Yes I got plenty of stares, not because of my big frame which wasn't as big then as it is now, but because of the extremely high maintenance witch look. I never did it on purpose. It just happened one day when I decided to go mayhem with cosmetics, clothing, jewellery hair and shoes. In less than an hour I was transformed, and it looked so good that it stayed for a couple of years. But it *is* high maintenance and time consuming. And before you think that I had the classic mole on my face, no, I wasn't like that at all. I was one hell of a pretty and hot witch. More like a hot fairy godmother turned sexily gothic. Of course my mum wasn't very impressed which meant that it was a good thing. My dad thought I'd gone nuts. And I... I was so comfortable in this skin. And I got plenty of attention that I wasn't looking for. I don't know why this look of mine died a natural death. Probably because I wasn't sure I could pull it during the daytime, and probably because I started loving sleeping too. And also probably, because I could never find a broom looking good enough to complete the picture. But I still looked like a witch and pretty much felt like one. Back then, the world was at my feet, I wasn't scared to go out there and make my statement. Not so now. Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to go witchlike again, slowly but steadily. Because there's still a witch inside me.

Invisible

If anybody has caught up on her beauty sleep today, it's me. I've never slept so much in my entire life, but it felt so good, I just couldn't get myself out of my cosy bed. Were it not for the Mister screaming an "Ann Qum!" plenty and plenty of times, I think I would have stretched it out till tomorrow. How lazy, my mum would say. And how nice, I say. And it's Sunday evening again, which I hate again. Tomorrow won't be a good day just because it will be a Monday morning. Which is so silly I know, but then I don't exactly go to a non-silly place on Monday morning. It's a place when black tie would be appropriate, but I don't care so I go in jogging pants because they're comfortable. Jogging pants are perfect for disguise. Jogging pants somehow make me invisible, at least to one naked pair of eyes. And it's perfect for me because I really don't give a hoot whether I'm visible or invisible to one pair of naked eyes. I know that these eyes think I'm strange, so strange that they decide I am invisible, without standards. Well, I like it so much when these eyes sometimes get the shock of their life. It all goes to see (no pun included) how shallow a pair of eyes can be. I think they're not even connected to brain matter. Jogging pants do not mean stupid. In the same way as tight ludicrous pants do not mean clever. And I've learnt to ignore people who think I'm invisible. I've got a lovely wide back to turn which does the trick. At any rate I do not want attention from people whose incompetence runs high; people who think that an oak desk and a nameplate automatically makes them clever. Because I have a right to my opinion too. So I continue to act like a mouse because it suits me better that way. But I'm no mouse...

Post ESC

And thus he really was the sexiest hunk on stage. He also gave an impeccable performance. And I'm so proud. But I'm happy for my Chiara too. Had my twin not gone in for the competition I would have supported her as usual, but it's the blood which is so much thicker than the water. So it's Chiara time. Which is very good. Perhaps for the next three months we big girls are going to have a big break. It will be a break from a lot of staring and comments, not that it matters any more to me. But to other shy big girls, it will matter. A big girl, all in black, without any leg peeping out.. and she still made it. That is why I love Chiara. I know what it felt like when we were young, when all the other kids wouldn't let her play. She'd cry, so my brother and I would go off with her and invent our own games. She would be laughed at constantly, so she just sang to us and other dollies we made up as an audience. And she went on, and on. Just like my twin, the target of bullies because he was so small back then. But he went on, and on. And look at the two of them now. I'm feel like the proud beaming mum and aunt. And it's been just Chiara who has made me an aunt, just her, with her beautiful Ebony. What can I say? I'm happy. I'm sad for all the others who really were made of good stuff and deserved to go to the superfinals, but, politics and stuff and... I'd better not say anymore. It's 4 am and I think I desperately need to catch up on my beauty sleep... Goodnight