Purrs & Hisses

My very last entry

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:

http://purrsandhisses.blogspot.com/

Claiming my right to rant

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.

Jab jab cross body hook hook jumping roundhouse

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.

So and so of the Julii

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?

Guilty speech

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