I've been a bit e-bay mad lately. I can't help it.

I've been particularly looking at dresses for Summer and all the do's that are on around this time of year (and for next year). I can't help it, but a little part of me loves looking (and laughing) at the description of dresses being sold by O/S (mainly China) sellers.

Like this one:

 

or this one:

"wow!you are bidding on the wonderful item from me A perfect clothes for you, make you pretty "

 

Heh. Lawl.

 

Edit: One more, 'cause it's awesome:

"We No Ready-made Gown! Need Custom-made!!

   Look! This is a very beautiful Sexy dress/gown. the style is very very special. . From the pictures, you can see the item is a very good and high quality it's Very unusual! If you love it, please bid it! Please don't miss it! If you get it, you can wear it by yourself or you can send to your friends as a very good present! I believe your friends and you must very love it! Bid it with confidence!  From now on ,If bids successfully, I will bestow friend elegant present gift to you . Come on , it belong of you!  Wish you happy bid !!!!!"

 

 

Today, when I logged into check my blog, under the heading "Comments on your space", MSN told me

Josh Pyke is cool.

 

In other news, I recently re-activated my eBay account. Did I tell you about why I de-activated it to begin with?

 

Come about June 2005 I had spent over $500 on junk from eBay (mainly clothes) - items I wore once, if that, and most which I ended up donating to The Salvo's. So, I realised that shopping online was not good for my bank account. Or for my addictive personality. Or for my limited wardrobe space.

 

Anyway, so I re-activated my eBay account on Tuesday. I have since bid on thirteen items. I am tracking four. I've won one (pair of shoes).

 

Did you know you could by Alanna Hill dresses on eBay for under $300?

The Boy and I have been together for close to eight months. We do a lot of family stuff together, so he is very familiar to the Father, brother and sisters and the rest of the household.

Yesterday when he came over, the Father walked him into the house (I was on the phone), and sat him down on the couch. Dad talked for a couple of minutes, and then said "You must excuse me, Sylvia, but I need to go back to my room."

I stopped my phone conversation and said "Dad, my name is Sylvia. His name is Sylvester."

Dad: "His name is eh? [To Sly] What is your name exactly?"

Sly: "Sylvester"

Dad: "Syl-vest-ah? Ok. God bless you Syl-vest-ah."

 

We're making progress. 

I want socks that moisturise your feet as you wear them.

The other day (week, actually, but who's counting?) I was sore, infact, so so so sore. The cause of my pain was all the lifting and boxing and moving at my brother's place while he packed to go overseas. So, I went and got a massage at the awesome Chinese Massage place in Burwood Plaza.

I have been there before. They are nice and friendly, and sometimes they rub a bit too hard but it is always so redemptive and relaxing after the slight torture. This time, I got a new girl. She was so friendly and nice, she talked to me a little bit and then let me rest. I only paid for a head, neck, shoulder and back massage, but she massaged my legs and arms, too, 'cause I was so tense. I was pretty much naked, but I was too sore to care. And then, when she massaged my butt, I was a little uncomfortable, but it wasn't too awkward.

Massaging my head, though, that was great. Until she stuck both her fingers into my ears, and rubbed them around. I don't know if you've ever had someone pick your ears for you, but it is awkward. It is personal and it is intense and I did not enjoy it. I tensed up completely, squeaked, and then she pulled them out.

"You okay?"

"Uh huh"

"Okay. I leave your ears".

I don't think I'm going back.

Before they left, my niece had the nits. We shared a bed, so as a preventative method, as soon as I found, I did the head lice treatment on my hair.

We didn't find any lice or nits, but the 30% euclapytus oil did amazing things for my curls. They have been dry and stretched, and without bounce for the last month or so - an issue I couldn't remedy. But once I treated my hair with the eucalyptus oil treatment, my curls came out defined, full of bounce, and looking healthier than ever.

Yesterday, on my way home from work, I stopped at three chemists, looking for the same brand of Lice Treatment. I figure, it's not too bad to use that kind of treatment regularly, because it will work as a preventative method if I ever come in contact with someone who has nits, and it will give me the beautiful, lush curls I've been wanting for a while.

It's times like this I thank God my parents migrated to Australia and not another country, because if I grew up in the States, or the UK, I probably would have never heard of euclapytus oil.

I had a dream that I met Bob Hawke in Hyde Park after work.

He must've had a face lift, because his face didn't move while he talked to me.

I had a photo with him, he went with me to get it framed and signed it for my Dad.

 

Not really. I'm just so tired right now, and so drained out. And I know it's hard for you, and I know you miss me, and I know you want to hear more about me.

Be alert, not alarmed, and I'll be back soon.

 

Today I listened to a bald, fat man on TV tell me that in order to get healthy, shiny hair I need to eat healthy.

I laughed at the irony, and then checked for split ends, and then made a mental note to check my diet for today.

 

When I was young, my brother had this friend. Her name was Yvette, and I used to think she looked like a man. She was loud, and uncouth, and told lots of crude jokes. I didn't understand them (I was 6), but I knew they were bad. Yvette used to play lots of jokes on me. Before I go on, I first need to clarify that Yvette was at least fifteen years older than me - that may help put into perspective how mean her jokes were.

 

One day, Yvette asked me if I could keep a secret. Everyone knows that six year olds can't keep secrets, so it was probably a rhetorical question. But I didn't know what rhetorical meant when I was six, and I wanted to be included in the secret. I wasn't planning to tell anyone, so I said yes, and promised that I wouldn't tell anyone. I crossed my heart and hoped to die and would stick a needle in my eye if I told her secret.

Then, Yvette said to me "sometimes, when I'm in the bathroom, and I'm hungry, I eat toilet paper. It tastes like spaghetti." And then she asked me if I like spaghetti and we went on from there.

I probably would have told someone about the secret Yvette told me, except that she kept talking about how nice it tasted and I wanted to try it. Very soon after (at least, in my memory) I went into the bathroom, locked the door, and ripped a tiny piece of toilet paper. Clean toilet paper, which pictures of clouds on it, but toilet paper none the less. It didn't taste like anything (as you can probably imagine), least of all spaghetti. So I tried another tiny piece, which also didn't taste like spaghetti. And then another tiny piece, but again... no spaghetti.

Of course, I never told anyone Yvette's secret - (until now) - she was clever enough to make sure her "secret" became my secret. And I am very lucky that she didn't specify that it was not clean toilet paper she used, otherwise I may have followed her dirty mean lead and not my own safe assumption.

I just spent a weekend in the Hunter Valley with some great girl friends. Hunter Valley is great for wine, and because I'm not really into wine I was able to enjoy the fun times.

The road trip was the highlight of the weekend, with a forty minute search for a McDonalds (breakfast - we were hungry), Japanese anime songs (kind of like Hampsterdance, but in Japanese), and belting out good old love songs.

It's quite sad, but I didn't realise how many Shania Twain, Mariah Carey, and Trish Yearwood songs I know the words too. Really, really sad.

The end.

You know how when you're sick, your parents do weird things like prevent you from consuming dairy and make you eat Vegemite? (No? That's just my parents?)

Well yesterday evening I was feeling sick. I vomited three times in about two hours, and I'd only had one meal all day. It made me sad, and I wanted sympathy and attention, but Dad was too distracted. And my sisters kindly mentioned that I was not the first person in the world to, nor was it the first time in my life that I vomited so much in one day.

And then, before I went to sleep, I opened the fridge to have a glass of milk before I went to sleep. I found Chocolate milk, and we very rarely have that in the fridge. I was excited, so I had a glass. And then, at about four this morning, I woke up and vomited milk.

I think I'm dying.

Last year, the Federal Government (well, people working for the FG) sent my Dad a letter. Because he is over the age of 65, he was eligible for a free hearing test, and (heavily) subsidised hearing aides if required.

Dad didn't want to go, but we booked him in for an appointment as there was a Hearing Test officey thing just down at our local shopping centre. The test results showed that Dad did have poor hearing (we have known that he has tinitus for many years), and would need a hearing aide. Of course, being my Dad, he insisted that they didn't know what they were talking about, that they were just trying to make a profit, and that we were all sissies for thinking he needed real/medical support.

 

When we came back from Egypt, Julia bought Dad a pretty watch. It is super duper, but Dad doesn't know how to use it (it's digital) and I'm horrible at working things like that out. The biggest problem Dad has with the watch is that it is set one hour forward. We were going to try to work out how to change it, but daylight savings ends soon, so it's not really worth the trouble of trying to work it out. The biggest problem I have with the watch is that it beeps at 12, every day. It beeps loudly enough for me to hear it over the TV/while studying/while cooking in another room of the house. Dad however, doesn't notice it, and because he doesn't like me "touching" him, won't let me press the buttons on his pretty watch to stop it.

 

It recently occurred to me that I haven't "blogged" in ages. I know it's been hard for you, I apologise.

When my brain clears, I'll be back to it. You'll cry, you'll be so happy. You may even stop cutting yourself like the emo you are, because the pain you feel in my absence will disolve once you hear from me again.

Today, the phone was ringing. I was in the family room, and so went to the kitchen to answer it - but the kitchen phone (cordless) was not in the kitchen. Then I ran into the lounge room, but the lounge room phone (also cordless) was not in the lounge room. By this stage, seven or eight rings had passed and I was contemplating just giving up, because who rings for more than seven or eight rings? But the phone kept ringing, so as I ran to the landline, and just before I reached it collided with a wall. That wall has been there for forever. I've been in this house all of my life. But I still yelled in surprise when I ran right through the wall.

I think my toe is broken.

Yesterday, I met a lady who has been cake decorating for 23 years.

She did not seem very impressed when I said "wow! You've been decorating as long as I've been alive!"

So, in Egypt, whenever a person would make a joke that was particularly funny, they would stick out their hand and the person nearest them would high five them.

It was quite lame, and my sister and I made fun of it all the time: "Hey! Hey! High five me! I just told a joke".

And then, in the last week, we were mucking around, and realised that we had high fived each other for our funny jokes. And we kept doing it, against our better judgement.

I've been back for almost a month now, and every now and then, when I make a joke, I have to pull my hand back from the nearest person's face, because it is (I am?) so lame.

So, there's this boy. He's pretty cool. He's funny, and he's smart, and he's plays the guitar...
He also doesn't celebrate Valentine's Day. Then and there, I knew I had my hands on something pretty good.

He met my family a couple of weeks ago. We were loud and noisy and crazy. He isn't, but he got on pretty well with them. He also helped me clean the dishes after dinner.

Dad likes him lots, and has been dropping hints about a wedding in September. That's this September, but I think he's jumped the gun a bit.

 

Anyway, this is the closest I will get to gushing. Expect a return to the normal blogging pattern...starting soon.