Never-ending story, or sentences at least.

*msn: Oh Sylvia, where art thou ?

Haha..have decided to prove myself wrong about the first entry being the one and only. Not sure who I’m proving it to though since I have yet to tell anyone about the blog except Boyfriend and Sister. Also not sure why I seem so intent on proving myself wrong (as if other people don’t do it often enough, especially uni examiners) but there you go.

Height of pathetic-ness (look, I know the word doesn’t exist, or at least my beloved Oxford says it doesn’t. Can’t find the noun for pathetic though, unless it’s ‘pathos’ which doesn’t exactly convey what I’m trying to say which will become clear once this never-ending sentence…hmm...ends.):

I was late for class on Thursday morning as I was reading MY OWN BLOG repeatedly…pretending to be someone who had serendipitously (or so I like to believe) come across it and gauging MY OWN REACTION (albeit that of a split personality) to it. I didn’t stop there however, but decided, against all logic and common sense, to install a blog viewer counter despite the fact that only two people know of its existence. I either cannot do the math, or am in the depths of denial, and we know how deep they can be.

Sad to say, the statistics returned to me so far are:

Total Visitors:	3
Total Hits:	7

Today's Visitors:	0
Today's Forecast*:	0

The only thing which looks even vaguely impressive is the total hits figure, until one uncovers the painful and shameful truth: 6 of them are me constantly re-opening the page to admire my own handiwork before I realized I can (and should) block my IP address from being counted. Obviously the counter was not fooled, as is evident from the forecast figure.

Digression alert: I think I am turning into Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Or Emily Dickinson. Not in a nice, melancholic, romantic, poetic kind of way, but more along the lines of people who never really spoke much, and were only truly articulate (or so it is rumoured) in their writing.

Yes, I realize that saying I think I am unable to communicate verbally is quite possibly the biggest oxymoron so far this century (and perhaps the last), but I have discovered that since the advent of online chats I have become rather dependent on the idea of being able to edit every single reply till I am satisfied enough to send it. This is obviously not the best of conditions to be in as my brain has become wired to formulate all replies and comebacks first and foremost in draft form to be scrutinized and tweaked in my own time. I’m sure you’ll agree that this is not exactly conducive to scintillating conversation, as I now have to pause a full 2 seconds before every reply and even then it is usually substandard.

Perhaps one day I shall simply STOP editing all my replies and hit ENTER before I can change my mind about anything I have typed to reverse this mindset. But till then I will continue to succumb to my vanity and rework all I have to say to maintain my dubious reputation for being mildly interesting.

How I ramble !

Anyway, on a brighter note, I was watching the Melbourne Comedy Festival on TV the other night, when one of the comedians started on the subject of beauty magazines and women attempting to achieve the impossibility of looking like all the air-brushed women by purchasing anything from one to all of the beauty products advertised in said magazines.

Comedian: The funny thing is, GUYS AREN’T FUSSY ! In fact, for me, if I can find a girl who’s willing to kiss me and has a favourite episode of the Simpsons, I’d be chuffed !

Well I am typing this from memory. My memory, which is not the most reliable thing in the world. Far from it actually. Light-years far. Trust me when I say it sounded a lot better coming from him.

Anyway, the point I was trying to make here is this: I am desirable to celebrities. Celebrity comedians. Comedians. Well I am desirable, so there.

*Mr. Burns voice* Exxcelllent…