Sunday is my laundry day! Irrespective of Maltese weather in summer black still remains the predominate colour in my summer wardrobe. Colours and whites separate – but i always have a black load! Anyway i was doing my black load last Sunday and as I was hanging out my laundry it happened. I live in a flat I have a tiny balcony and I have to hang out my laundry on my extendable horse that extends outward over the edge of my balcony over my neighbours yard. Yes of all things to bloody fall my lace knickers!

Knowing my neighbour this was a bloody nightmare.. first of all he is young, second of all most days his father works in his yard! So in desperation to cover them up I drenched a towel and tried to throw it over them in his yard. Yes – I didnt consider the wind. So now fully exposed in my neighbours yard – my knickers and my towel. Brilliant!

So I wrote an apologetic note and slipped it under his door and place a bag under the common area stairs.

AND GUESS what?

Today I got my panties and my towel back! Hopefully wont see my neighbour in a while though!

Update – This post was so popular so here is a link to the brand of my panties that fell

No im not going religious on you … just a short blog entry about something I realised recently.

Sometime I just realise that its the small things that never change about a person. Maybe its true, just like a leopard does not change its spots; my passions never go away. This week I got back into basketball; aside from the fact that at several points during the training session I thought I was going to have a heart attack (Im THAT unhealthy) I really enjoyed being back on the court.

I slowly remember my basketball past. Starting when I was 8 in Australia – learning the very basic, moving onto Gozo where I trained religiously with the Gozo mens team and developed some serious skill. The follow year I played for the female team in Gozo. All i used to do was basketball, I used to miss Math class because I would stay playing basketball ‘overtime’ after my lunch break. When social activities were on at school I used to sneak through the hole in the barbed wire fencing behind our school that led to the gym – where I used to meet up with all the highschool truants to have a quick game. At this point I had also been offered a scholarship to go to a basketball camp in the US. I didnt go because my parents werent to fond of the idea and I dont really blame them.

The next year bought on my under 19′s Malta national team experience, which saw me training 7 days a week right through summer.  The competitions in Cyprus where like a dream come true; wake up train, go home eat, go play a game. For 5 days I was living a dream. A tiring but brilliant experience. The next year saw me playing with a Maltese womens team. Training was awesome but by this time ‘education’ kicked in and I made the decision that it was time to focus on school not just sports.

Now 7 years later Im back in the game… and loving it. Yes training was difficult but Ive still got by thing, being on court just gave me an unknown feeling of liberation. Ive missed it so much my one and only love – basketball… and baby Im back I will now be dedicating a lot of time to focusing on my technique and observing the competition out there. Cant wait to get back to where I used to be.

Yes i already get the 1st joke ‘neighbours’ haha yes Im Australian… but this entry goes beyond my Australian background and to what is actually reality… I have had some of the nuttiest neighbours known to man.

Lets start off from when I used to live with my parents. Across the road, directly in front of my bedroom window was a ‘gozo farmhouse’ in which a elderly French couple were staying. Well it was a lovely way to wake up in the morning to see a full fronta, sunny side upl of 70 years old woman floating around the pool on a lilo every morning. Ew wrinkled  boobies -Ive been pro boob jobs since that day. Yep they were nudists. All dayy they’d roam around in the nuddy… It just wasnt nice! Lucky for me I didnt live there much longer.

By 17 I was living on my own in Malta since then it has been one episode of amusing neighbours to the next. ‘Amusing’ being an understatement here. In my first apartment we had two main neighbours. A morocan couple who had some kind of weird mating ritual which consisted of plugging and unplugging stuff into their power points at all hours of the day and night. Then we had this old guy on the other side who seemed to be obsessed with his flyscreen and watching us come and go as we came in and out from lectures. He was like a bouncer but with a watch dog kinda feel about him. After two years here and when the novelty of flushing the toilet with a chain grew old we moved out.

I moved on to living with some other friends in another apartment. The woman above us mistook me for being the noisy one in our flat and used to throw here mop at me. As many times I told her that it wasnt me she never believed me until I moved out and then she saw me at the supermarket one day, recognised me and apologised and told that she’d like me to move back in… erm yeh thanks, ‘you going to pay my rent too?’.

Moving on to my next apartment which was in the middle of ‘whoreville’  in this flat the adventure about my neighbours is stuff I cant really talk about here because its illegal… but i got asked how much I went for once when I was coming back from the gym one night. Little did he know that I was the impossibly expensive type.

From here I moved onto a nice little penthouse in a  more legal area you could say. However the neighbours in this block were some what different. One was a gay Italian guy – totally cool for checking if I looked ok before I went out .. because he’d say bellissima when he’d see me going out on the town. Then there were some noisy Greeks – the woman used to grunt at me in the lift.  Then there was this 50 year old hag, who didnt shower and used to smoke in the lift and ‘service’ all the illegal immigrants. And then there was a guy with the most cutest boxer ever, anyway I ended up dog sitting for this guy. The dog is the only thing I miss from that flat.

Moving on I moved into my current residence. WOW! What can I say… My neighbours…women of pure quality. They swear constantly, the reason I hear this is because they dont know how to speak they just scream. Even at their kids a two year old and a 6 month old baby, it got in trouble the other night for crying too much.  They give a cheap thrill to the entry street because they hang their laundry over the the front balcony. The other day one of them was cleaning and she threw the dirty water right out her window – had I been two seconds earlier she would have drenched me

Oh well the joys of neighbours. Cant wait till I move again

I spend a lot of time with my male friends at their bachalor pad. To describe it quickly: it’s a dude flat, that looks like dude and most of the time smells like dude. Anyway besides the beer, they have a penguin in their fridge!

After screeching to hit the impossible notes of Lacuna coil’s Swamped in our virtual band on Rockband on PS3, I walked towards the fridge to get myself some water. I was stopped in shock to hear one of them shout out ‘oh yeah dont mind the penguin in the fridge’. Hehe I laughed ‘yer right’ I said, whilst thinking to myself mmm its not the first time I have found the most random shit in the guys fridge… This thought made me jolt, I was now hesitating to open the fridge door… ‘The what?’, I screamed back. ‘Ahe, we have a penguin in our fridge, dont mind it’… Slowly I started imagining dead penguin, filleted penguin, what colour would it be? Would it look like salmon or tuna or squid? As my mind went deeper and deeper on this sick imaginary trip of visualising the shapes and colours of dead penguins… I had unconsciously moved away from the fridge. Now thinking the glass of water wasnt really that important and in totaly empathy with penguins…. my mind now thinking ‘poor penguins, they are so cute, I was obviously thinking of the dancing kind I had seen in the animated movie ‘Happy Feet’. I was frowning at the guys and at their fridge.. I knew one of them was a chef but seriously PENGUIN… wasn’t my baked chicken dish enough for them anymore?

I couldnt help myself I simply had to ask…’Really you have a penguin in your fridge?… but how did you get a penguin in Malta and why is it in your fridge?…. and how cruel’

‘How cruel? Where else would you keep a penguin its not cruel at all.. its the best place for her… she is on the top shelf’. One of my friends replied. By this time totally confused… ok so penguin isnt on the menu and they are taking the piss, that said I was still sure there was a penguin in their fridge, they wouldnt lie like that! So I took the plunge and opened the door to find a tiny toy plastic penguin wearing a sun hat and holding a cocktail glass on the top shelf of their fridge… the whole shelf was dedicated to this damn toy they’d found in a kinder surprise egg.

I have to give it to them when it comes to placement of objects… I asked why they’d put it in the fridge the answer was simple.. penguins belong in the cold… I cant wait to see where they put the rest of the kinder Surprise collection toys!

The idea that a fashion parade ending with a wedding dress is ironic. It kinda imply that once one gets married then one desire to be fashionable is over. I imagine it to be the ‘happily ever after’.

The model supposedly glides down the catwalk, her stride interrupted abruptly every two steps by a stair. She turns left, right does a twirl, while cameras flash away. She embraces the end of that catwalk like its her last moment to shine, lapping up the attention. Her hair does not budge because the can of hairspray has fixed it into the ‘ultimate 80′s do’.

I pity the model who cant walk.. but I envy the one who has that dead prominent waistline and invisible hips. Im sitting in the audience… green as a goblin  (but a cute one). I start feeling so typically female: jealous. Funny this is that if I knew the girl we would probably be best of friends.

The gothic queen takes the stage, everyone gasps, her tiny frame further squashed into a rich blue velvet corset like top, with lacy puffed sleeves. Still remaining graceful despite the exaggeratedly short skirt that brought the whole outfit together. All the men are now gasping, drooling and whatever else happens to them in such instances (I wont get too descriptive here) but even the gay men were reacting to this piece of art and I can assure you they weren’t admiring the craftsmanship of the garment.

Quite controversial don’t you think, to begin at the place where its supposed to end: ‘The Wedding Dress’, the girls dream, the precious moment. As if! a man in this patriarchal country would let his wife wear anything like the blue outfit except for maybe in the bedroom. You are mine now, you do what I say, you wear what I tell you can wear, I love you hunny now be my bitch. A kiss, snog, pas call it what you want… a rub up and down, its all over. You are his now. He throws his cloak of possession over you . You were cheap… a couple of drinks and ‘wham bam thank u ma’ am… Ill have you more than once’…

And then… no more pretty dresses and sexy legs on parade, the wedding dress has covered them up and the courtship was their final show. Take a step down from the stage that contented during your liberal days and give it up for him… for a ‘I guess he is worth it’

Unbelievably until a year and a half ago I had forgotten all about Joey

I walked into the reception area of the building of my current employer to be greeted by a what seemed to be an extremely smiley receptionist Mary.Intially I thought ok super friendly or she is hitting on me.  I have no problem with that.

However I recently learned that it was actually because Mary remembered me from University years.  It must have been in my 2 year of utter boredom, whilst waiting for a lecture I had entertained a couple of friends with a story about having an imaginary friend; Joey. Joey was my 27 year old stallion lover, he had not a 6 pack but an 8 pack, he was tall dark and handsome, intellectual but not too smart to be classified as a nerd,  went to the gym 4 time a week, he loved Vodka and obviously he loved me.  I had dedicated a space next to me on the bench to Joey to create a more dramatic effect for those bored enough to list to my pathetic afternoon rambling, when along came Mary. Mary innocently tried to sit next me but was scared out of her wits when I scream:

‘DONT SIT ON JOEY’

Well talk about a first impression, I definitely made it. Funny thing I had totally forgot this story until she told me a couple of months back and come to think of it Ive been kinda bored lately maybe its time to resurrect Joey….

After spending ever last cent on an apartment I am currently facing a number of what one could call neighbour issues, in more straight forward words; I have  bogans/hamalli* for neighbours

My neighbours give meaning to the word bogan… the word was created for them. Two single females no older than 25, 3 toddlers and 1 on the way! Im guessing they dont have to walk far to get to work.

Not only do they slam doors at all hours of the day and night but they also swear at the kids using the most religiously inspired swear words I have ever heard in my life. Living in my flat has become an educational experience. One of the kids touched my door mat the other day; really a reason to swear? Of course, I mean it was excellent St Joseph, Mary and God were involved in that offensive burst of verbal outrage.

Cant wait to see what new catch phrase I might learn at 2am tonight… Ill keep you posted