I met Angelina Jolie’s hubby today

That’s right. You know the name. Now here’s the legend who made your loins weep with joy. Looks fab, innit.

Sexiest bread alive

Sexiest bread alive


Google’s very own Morse code

The Morse code was one of my favourite forms of communication after I had read about its origins when I was a kid and I’ve loved using it occasionally to express how I feel. Recently, I’ve started using Morse code again to transmit my painful heartbreak and the last time I used the Morse code conversion site was on 3 Jan 09. I had written “..   …. .- …   .-   … .- -..   – — — .-.-.-”

So of course, Google’s logo today is aces.

Famous dots and dashes

Look at me, I mean something

According to this Telegraph UK article,

“The witty doodle is intended to honour Samuel Finley Breese Morse, the inventor of the single wire telegraph, who was born on April 27, 1791.”

Happy birthday, Sam!


Sunday best

I adore Sundays. It’s a day where even God takes a break from the usual routine of being a God to the world. Calories do not count on Sundays either so I can stuff my face with food and laze in front of the TV. Or roll on my bed like a sausage and snooze away. Until dinner beckons.

The only flaw I see in this brilliant off day is Sundays always seem to lead to Mondays – the first dreaded day of the work week – and it’s another five days before I see sweet Sunday again.

Sundays, always making me rusty for Mondays.


Welcome to the red light district

Went to a swanky posh Chinese-themed lounge recently. It was set inside a club that had scantily clad coyote girls who would dance with some lucky poles at 10pm. I missed that show by the way. I blame the free flow of white wine, which was made available to me by the lovely waitstaff, to lose track of the time they were scheduled to gyrate.

Anyway you have to take an elevator, walk through this spacious club, climb a short flight steps, walk through three corridors before you enter this posh velvety darkly lit cosy lounge filled with cushy plush couches. But mostly though  it had people possessing dreadful voices intend on terrorising innocent ears like mine. Their weapon of choice? Microphones. That’s right. It had live bands and guests can do karaoke. How I wish I were Mr Potato who can take ears off as and when I want to.

Welcome to the red light district

Welcome to the red light district


Heartbreaks are the new diet

The only way to truly lose weight is to go through a massively upsetting breakup. Get your heart broken and thrashed to a state where it can never be mended back. You’ll soon find yourself losing the desire to eat, slowly skipping lunch, sometimes even dinner.

Mates and family and even various acquaintances have told me I’ve lost plenty of weight since five months ago. I don’t really notice the difference because you see, I’m overly obsessed with you and what you are up to. Just like a loveseriouslysickinthehead puppy. Knowing that I am nursing this unhealthy obsession and yet unable to stop myself from doing so makes me feel even worse.

My mates have counselled me, listened to me, consoled me, gotten angry for me, chided me, encouraged me but still, I go on and on like a broken record. I fear they have lost their patience in their part-time jobs as non-profit therapists. And they give really good and positive advice too. Like today, C told me, “You will look back at this and think yourself rather stupid for behaving this way because the next one that comes along is going to be so much better that you wonder why you’re so stuck with this one.”

But it’s just so hard to tell yourself you’re ready to let go. Especially when you are alone at home.

I’m broken-hearted still.


The Boyle I can’t get enough of

This sounds as though it was played straight from a CD itself. (It is, by the way.) This Susan Boyle may not give me goosebumps as she did with her stunning rendition of I Dreamed A Dream from Les Miserable. But this is something I have on replay at the moment. It helps that it’s a classic which I have always liked*. And while it has been recorded by many artistes Ella Fitzgerald, Julie London, Diana Krall and many more, I dare say Boyle ranks just as nice among them.

An old recording the hot favourite for Britain’s Got Talent made in 1999 for a local newspaper’s charity CD in her Scottish hometown. Guys, here’s Boyle’s take on Cry Me A River.

*On hindsight, it probably wasn’t wise to listen too much of this song. Not when I am nursing a heartbreak still. Brings back unnecesary grief which I am struggling to hold back. Mates have told me I’ve lost plenty of weight since five months ago by the way. I’ve silently attributed the weight loss to you.

Tonight, I am thinking of you even though you are blissfully unaware of it. I miss you.


I dreamed a dream

Was listless the whole day. Had work to do but did not feel compelled to get started at all. Then I got on the Susan Boyle bandwagon and it was goosebumps all over. Such a beautiful voice.  Simply electrifying. And the 47 years old, who is unemployed, lives with her cat Pebbles and had never been kissed, is now an unlikely global Interweb star. According to the Guardian,

“In a sign of the speed with which Boyle has become a global sensation, viewings of her video clip on YouTube leapt from 1.5m to more than 5m in under 24 hours. So far, assorted clips of Boyle’s performance have been watched more than 11m times on YouTube.”

The viewing numbers are rising as I type. Go on, get floored by her in the video below.


For he’s a jolly good hero

In the week where Jesus died and came back to life, I managed to crash the side of my dad’s car badly, lived through the guilt [sheepishly], celebrated his birthday* [awkwardly] and paid up for the car repairs with my savings from the last three months [painfully]. I was planning to use the money to go on a holiday which I badly needed since the start of the year so I will be having a staycation instead.

I sound totally stoked, I know and I’m also seriously considering the possibility of staying away from the Interweb during the staycation so I can concentrate on playing this game.

Being a pseudo rock ‘n’ roll hero surrounded by the adoring homely comforts such as the glossy Playstation 3, stacks of DVDs and the cushy bed. Can’t complain really. Not after you watch this video below.

*Never knew my dad had that many wild army stories stored away. Will definitely have to note it down in the next post.


I can’t find my baby.

I was driving home one night and this song came on. It’s weird how a seemingly innocuous song would dredge up suppressed memories of you. I thought I had moved on. I thought I would be able to look at you without this steady throbbing physical ache in my heart. I thought I would be able to care for you without the jealousy stabs in my chest. I thought I could talk to you like an adult without you pulling away because you think I still want you back. I thought I could finally buried my broken heart and live my life like we’ve never met. Then this song started playing.

Been around the world and I, I, I
I can’t find my baby
I don’t know where, I don’t know why
Why she’s gone away
And I don’t know where she can be, my baby
But I’m gonna find her


Men who hug for footballing reasons

So I can’t stop watching this peach of a last-gasp winning goal by Manchester United versus Aston Villa. It could also be all those grown-up burly men hugging and jumping with tears in their eyes that’s glueing my eyes to the screen. I suspect they might even kiss each other out of pure joy if the camera weren’t on them.

There’s something exuberant and infectious about their genuine delight when the team we support fervently scores at the closing minutes. This is way too exciting. It’s giving me goosebumps too. Okay, I need to go lie down now.