It's a long time since I last updated, so now I'm gonna blog my heart out (urgh, how cliched).

Today's Life Science lesson was fun...we learnt to make ice cream with mysterious mixtures (I think it's 3-in-1 instant coffee powder, milk and sweetener as well as some creamer...) and dry ice.

Yes, THE dangerous dry ice.

I didn't even realise the perils of dry ice until I came home and researched it (apparently you aren't supposed to touch it, and by 'touch' it includes the tongue, curious fingers prodding it and unfortunate body parts getting in the way). Heck, just one second (according to online sources) of touching it might freeze tissues. Dry ice is very cold (carbon dioxide in solid state, which explains the smoky effect), therefore it must be kept away from nosy humans with nothing better to do than to dare each other to taste dry ice, or innocuous-looking spoonfuls of ice cream with these malevolent dry ice covered by ice cream.

You might wonder about the relationship between the above seemingly pointless information. Cheh, you think. I walked into some nerd's blog. I'm getting the hell out of here before my bimbo/miniscule/microscopic brain nerd-ifies! OH NOES!

Well, it gets more interesting.

Let's fast forward to the part where I successfully made my ice cream and was eating it when I discovered that by some inexplicable reason, the bottom of the ice cream froze together. Eager to get it out (without breaking the plastic spoon) *looks meaningfully at the piles of plastic spoons broken by enthused classmates* I dug. Hard.

Then somehow a hidden piece dry ice decided to commerce its diabolical plan, making a beautiful arc in the air, miraculously landing on my skin (above the collar) and sliding down (Let's just say it's a very inconvenient body part. I'm a girl *hint hint*).

And NO, it's not my reproductive organs. It's my chest where it lodged in the brassiere.

So now you know why the whole table wass laughing at my plight. After complaining for 15 minutes straight (even more than that), I had (unintentionally) successfully attracted the attention of Remus, who shot me a I-don't-wanna-know-what-you-are-talking-about Look. Wei Qi hissed at me in a chastising tone.

"Chanel!"

Hey, it stings, ok? And you aren't the one with dry ice in between your chest.

I spent the rest of the lesson wriggling and trying to get it out without attracting too much attention. I mean, I can't possibly strip, shake it out, then calmly put my clothes back on, can I?

Since I knew before hand how cold dry ice was, I went home to make sure that no damage was done (at least not to my health. I don't want to die so early, despite my morbid obsession with blood and death).

Now I have a minor burn. Wonderful.

The sites I visited all advised people who have been in contact with dry ice (and got burn as a result)to see a doctor. Here's two scenarios which might happen on my visit.

Scenario one:

Me:*enters doctor's office* Doctor! I have a burn!
Doctor: Ok, calm down young lady. Let me see it.
Me: *Proceeds to strip*
Doctor: WTH are you doing! Security! There's a hentai girl in here!
Me: Doctor! I really have a burn!
Despite my pathetic pleas, I am tossed out into the street like an anorexic chicken from a fine restaurant.

Scenario two

Doctor: So what are you afflicted with?
Me: I can't really say... I guess physical proof will give you a better idea?
Doctor: Ok, show me, I'll see what we can do about it.
Me: *Proceeds to remove clothing*
Doctor: Miss? This is a GP clinic, not somewhere you'd go for cosmetic surgery. You should go to SGH. Do you need a reference letter?
Me: ...

Ok, maybe it won't be so extreme, but then again most of the doctors are male, so it's not like I can show them so that they can access the severity of the burn, right?

It'll be embarrassing either way. Not that I would strip in front of doctors... Perverts, keep your thoughts in line...unless you want a helluva big chunk of dry ice shoved in your nether regions, rendering you sterile and unable to procreate.