Sorry peeps, have decided to seek for greener pastures at a fresh new place, a fresh new home… In the name of a fresh new beginning.
Okay, okay, I’ll admit it. So it is this current blog’s lack of features that’s slowly but surely pushed me away. I can’t help it–I’m a sucker for all things juicier ;Þ
Don’t be a stranger! Do come visit me at:
I can’t believe my long hols are over.
I can’t believe my long hols are over.
I can’t believe my long hols are over.
And I can’t believe how boring Friendster blogs is.
Hrmph.
Finally went for kickboxing today.
Been meaning and wanting to go back to training, but have just not gotten around to it till this evening. For serious, I’m ashamed to admit that it’s been months and months.
It’s sad, really. I truly, genuinely miss the good ol’ days when I used to slave my being daily to those kicks and punches. Okay, okay, I admit, since I got hooked on futsal three-or-so years ago, I’ve sort of neglegted kickboxing. It’s not for lessened passion for the latter, I promise you. It’s just that, well, futsal allows me to be a competitor. It also gets along better with my unforgivingly irregular advertising hours, since on weekdays I usually only start playing at 10pm–as compared to an 8pm latest class for kickboxing.
Gotta tell you, though. I regret not keeping at least a twice weekly kickboxing session in my schedule. Because all those stamina that I used to have before, they’re all gone now. Don’t mean to sound too into meself, but I used to pack a mean punch and a nasty roundhouse. Top that off with me being somewhat of an Energiser bunny back then–people used to ask me "Don’t you ever get tired? You’ve hardly broken a sweat while the rest of us are drenched!"
Sadly, now, all that’s coming out of me is L-A-M-E. It’s funny, because I do get belasah weekly by my futsal coach, doing what he calls fitness training. A more deserving term is "torture" ’cause trust me hey, it ain’t no walk in the park. Imagine working all day, eating like a rabbit for dinner and getting drilled from 10pm till midnite. First ten to fifteen minutes, it’s jogging round and round the pitch. Then it’s sprints. Then it’s technical stuff. Simple enough it sounds, yes, but imagine going back to basics, fine-tuning yourself and doing 45-60 minutes of repetitions before going into tacticals. Not pleasant, I kid you not.
Anyway, I slightly digress. I know I’m being hard on meself, since everyone knows that dengue does serious damage to your stamina, and it takes a minimum of 6-8 months to rebuild. That means I really gotta be more forgiving to meself and should only expect me body to be gettin’ back to its condition as per pre-August’05 only in March’06 earliest. But still. Deep down I know darn well that dengue alone can’t be held culpable. I know darn well that my upper body strength have plummeted, and that’s got a lot to do with me not maintaining with my kickboxing classes.
Sigh. Time to rebuild my life. Hey, I’m not being a drama queen here. Since stamina is vital in sports, and sports is my life, won’t you say that it’s time I rebuilt it?
What am I on about again? Do please cut me some slack, as it is already past 3am. Hmmmmmmm… Bottom line here is: I vow to go for kickboxing at least twice weekly because then and only then will I get to regain the strength in both my lower- and upper-body, which is key in the rise of my stamina!
Also, I really should get enough rest nighly. Sleeping at 2++am and getting up at 8am is really not on for rebuilding my stamina either, innit. So here’s another: I vow to get my daily shut-eye at 12.30am latest.
Good luck to me. And good night to you.
Did I mention that Rome (the original HBO TV series) is just absolutely brilliant?
Those of you who have not been following it, for serious, go get yourselves copies of the 12-ep masterpiece.
A word of caution, though. Loads of bloody gore. Loads of porn-like scenes.
Anywho, though now I’m done with the whole thing, I can’t help but be still puzzled with one thing:
How come most epic motion pictures, in this case one that’s supposed to depict olden Romans, feature main actors with a British slang?
It’s been, what, an unhealthy number of days since I last ranted. Not gonna make any excuses here; rather, am somewhat consoling meself that the week-long public hols is a great excuse for me to stay away from this machine that I would usually spend the better hours of the day destroying my eyes with.
Uhm, what am I on again? Oh, right. This ridiculous sense of slight guilt for not paying attention to my blog, can you believe it. I mean, isn’t it just friggin ludicrous that I’m actually feeling this?
Anywho, first and foremost do allow me to pick up from where I left you last. The grand clash between The Sorcerer and The Apprentice, as the papers Down Under labelled it. Of course, I watched it. Of course, I squealed, screamed, clapped, cursed, everything, at the idiot box.
My boy Marcos Baghdatis went straight into the match with a nothing-short-of-amazing display, especially by taking the first set 7-5. It matters not that he lost the following three consecutive sets. I mean, come on, he was faced with a hurdle so huge that practically none others have ever managed to overcome. We’re talking about the calm, the collected, the too-cool-for-school tennis ace. The [then six] seven-time Grand Slams of the world conquerer, Roger Federer.
Most importantly, Marcos achieved what others before him didn’t: he made Roger cry. Yup, even in losing the 20-year-old Cypriot made a sensational smash, one that eventually broke the mighty Sorcerer’s ice, one that eventually shocked the world with the realisation that Roger Federer is human, after all.
Anyway, that was Sunday. Monday through today just came and went, much too quick for my liking. Soon it’s back to work for me; what a drag! Oh well, at least I had a totally wholesome and lazy nine-day break, I guess.
Finally finished reading Chuck Palahniuk’s "Lullaby." Boy, did that take a loooooooooooooong time! Think it’s been, what, three weeks plus since I started flipping through its pages. It’s not that the book is boring, no way José. Palahniuk’s such a great writer, and his ideas are totally in-your-face refreshing, I kid you not. It’s just that, well, work’s been crazy. And every time I get some spare minutes (typically at the end of the day, right before slumber) I’m already totally knackered and so only manage a couple of lines. Bad bad bad.
Anywho, was flirting with the idea of going ahead with another one of Chuck’s masterpieces, "Diary," when I decided to take a break from him. Again, I must insist that it’s not because he’s boring. Let’s just say that I just needed a change of scenery.
So I picked up Sue Townsend’s "The Queen & I" instead, and boy, is it hillarious! Basically, it’s about the British Royal family getting booted from their monarchy by Republicans who were victorious in the General Election. Basically, it’s about The Adventures of The Windsors as they are suddenly and rudely exposed to the ways of the real world.
Though I’ve only done 8 out of the 51 chapters, I dare promise you that what I have in my hands is totally legendary stuff! With that thought, I thee leave. Wanna try return this book to its owner by Valentine’s at least ;Þ
My boy Marcos Baghdatis aka Heelys (he with the power-wheels in his sole) goes up against tennis big shot Roger Federer aka FedEx (he with the fastest power serve) in his first-ever Grand Slam finals later today.
Miss this and you’ll definitely weep, as I’m pretty sure that Baghdatis will give Federer a reason to sweat. And though it’s probably nothing but sheer wishful thinking, perhaps my boy might even do a Rafael Nadal and end up lifting the OZ Open trophy.
Whatever it is, I sure hope it won’t end up disappointing like yesterday’s ladies’ finals. Amelie Mauresmo won her first Grand Slam title in 32 attempts but in a manner similar to how she won the semis against Kim Clijsters**—usually tough cookie Justine Henin-Hardenne announced that she can’t go on halfway through the second set due to stomach pains.
The poor Belgian has been nursing an injured shoulder throughout the tournament with anti-inflammatory pills, ones that she doubled up nearer to the final day and caused major ouches and bloatedness in her tummy.
Pure heartbreaker 
**Clijsters walked off with an injured ankle in the third set thanks to a nasty wrong-footer
Did you know that crayfish is not halal?
For those in the dark, crayfish—known also as crawfish, crawdads, yabbies, mudbugs, carmels, spoondogs, and sometimes even mistaken for lobsters—are freshwater shellfish that look like little lobsters, to which they are closely related.
Although crayfish are of the crustacean family, most (if not all) of them have an amphibious nature. Hence making it haram (forbidden) for consumption by a Muslim.
How I learnt of this fact is this: a few years ago, I was an Account Executive who serviced IKEA. Every year, IKEA holds a Swedish carnival where they sell all sorts of Swedish goodies, a special crayfish savoury included.
Apparently, a patron informed them of the little-known non-halal nature of crayfish. The people at IKEA checked with the local Islamic bodies, and what resulted was the "Non-Halal" sign that accompanied their Swedish crayfish specialty in all parties held after.
But then again… Perhaps, just like crabs**, not all crayfish are amphibious crustaceans.
Anybody can help verify this?
In any case, remember the general rule: if even the tiniest shadow of a doubt exists, don’t eat it!
**yep, not all crabs are edible by Muslims. The big black crabs—ones that can be found still alive and clawing at the supermarket—are one of the few that are non-halal. So, the next time you’re thinking of devouring them delicious “fatty crabs,” be sure to check on the type of crab used! Also, be cautious of the sauce as most of the time it would contain lard :/
And a great ending it was to my day.
Whoever said that overnight sensation Marcos Baghdatis beating a supposedly off-form 2nd-seeder Andy Roddick was due to sheer fluke?
Eat your words.
Last night, eyes all over the globe were gifted with yet another deliciously miraculous feat by the 20-year-old Greek Cypriot, who aced his way to his first-ever OZ Open final—excuse me, make that his first-ever Grand Slam final—from two games down.
It was, undoubtedly, no easy task, no was José. The 2003 world junior champ had to sweat buckets in the semi-final versus Argentine David Nalbandian [4th seed] who has been oozing with on-form tennis for the past few months, spelling on-court toughness for himself and on his opponent.
The first two sets saw Nalbandian having an answer to almost every challenge that Baghdatis threw his way, and this appeared to have broken the younger player’s game and confidence, resulting in 3-6 and 5-7 in favour of the Argentine.
The problem was, Nalbandian got Baghdatis thinking**.
Which, gathering from his last three post-match interviews, seems to be Baghdatis’s Achilles’ heel.
Refusing to let his fans down, however, Baghdatis snapped out of negativity and bounced back on his power-Heelys feet (you know, he with the wheels in his sole). Gone were the wrecked nerves witnessed in the first two, and back were the power serves and epic returns.
Slowly but surely, Baghdatis started to conquer one game at a time in unforgettable and almost unbelievable fashion.
And the rest, as they say, is history.
**Moral of the story? Stop thinking and start doing.
… to my morning.
Firstly, the yummy doubles pair of Mike and Bob Bryan have crushed Paul Hanley and Kevin Ullyett (straight sets 6-3 6-4) to book a spot in the men’s doubles finals.
More importantly, a sending home each from Loius Saha and Ruud van Nistelrooy ensured Man United’s victory over Blackburn, setting up a finals clash with the conquerers of Arsenal, WIgan Athletic.
If all goes my way, this silly grin will stay on my face thanks to Justine Henin-Hardenne and Marcos Baghdatis, who are each up for a semi-final face-off versus Maria Sharapova and David Nalbandian respectively today.
Got this from a dear friend. Personally think that it’s a bull’s eye for both genders.
As here lies the answer to what us women have always been asking ourselves (read: “what are we really longing for in a man?”), and what the men have been wondering and perplexed about for centuries (“women—what do they really want?”).
In a brief conversation, a man asked a woman he was pursuing the question, "What kind of man are you looking for?"
She sat quietly for a moment before looking him in the eye and asking, "Do you really want to know?"
Reluctantly, he said, "Yes."
She began to expound…
"As a woman in this day and age, I am in a position to ask a man what he can do for me that I can’t do for myself. I pay my own bills. I take care of my household without the help of any man…or woman for that matter. I am in the position to ask, "What can you bring to the table?"
The man looked at her. Clearly he thought that she was referring to money.
She quickly corrected his thought and stated, "I am not referring to money. I need something more."
"I need a man who is striving for perfection in every aspect of life."
He sat back in his chair, folded his arms, and asked her to explain.
She said, "I am looking for someone who is striving for perfection mentally because I need conversation and mental stimulation. I don’t need a simple-minded man."
"I am looking for someone who is striving for perfection spiritually because I don’t need to be unequally yoked… believers mixed with unbelievers is a recipe for disaster."
"I need a man who is striving for perfection financially because I don’t need a financial burden. I am looking for someone who is sensitive enough to understand what I go through as a woman, but strong enough to keep me grounded."
"I am looking for someone who I can respect. In order to be submissive, I must respect him. I cannot be submissive to a man who isn’t taking care of his business. I have no problem being submissive… he just has to be worthy.
“God made woman to be a helpmate for man. I can’t help a man if he can’t help himself."
When she finished her spiel, she looked at him. He sat there with a puzzled look on his face. He said, "You’re asking a lot."
She replied, "I’m worth a lot."
