To this day, I am unable to eat celery without stopping to observe the xylem and phloem.

Lately my life has been consumed by wheelchairs, literature reviews and activity plans. Yes, project placement eats away at the soul.

The group I'm working with are lovely though. We consume lots of sugar and coffee together. I don't drink coffee, so I normally just sit and watch. However last night, I decided I wanted to consume a hazelnut latte (I know, I know, Bec, you coffee junkie, instant stuff is inferior and I am risking our friendship by drinking such a caffeinated abomination. Spare me, I'm new to this whole coffee business). It wasn't so bad, you know, because lattes are like almost all milk. I figured I'd be okay. Oh, how wrong I was.

It was another night of incessant leg-bopping, humming, and notsleepinguntilfiveinthemorning. And, after 21 hours, my eyelid is still twitching. Ah, the joys of coffee.

Oddly enough, somebody sent me an sms at 2:30. I would have been mighty cranky if I were asleep (thanks again, Latte). Anyhow, I figured it must be a friend in some sort of crisis, or one of the delirious ones who haven't slept in days, sending me panicked messages about studying and exams. It was neither, unfortunately.



I think Mr-Automated-Optus-Robot-Man had too much coffee as well.

There's no smooth way that I can segway onto the next topic of this ever so meaningful blog, so I'll just throw it out there:

Random skin people in shopping centres.

Yeah, you know who I'm talking about. Those kiosk/stall people in the shopping centres, who are all like "Hi there, Miss! How's it going?" *Flashes bright smile* and then as soon as you so much as look at them, they grab your hand, start applying exfoliant and interrogate you about your skincare regime. Well excuse me, kiosky-skin-care-guy-with-the-big-smile, Just leave me and my clogged pores alone, I beg you. I have things to do and places to go. I would tell you this myself, but I just so happen to be a spineless pushover.

"Hi there, Miss! What foundation do you wear?"
"Oh, I don't usually wear makeup."
"Well if you were to wear foundation, which would you use?"
"Uhm, I dunno. Rimmel?"
"Why would you use Rimmel? Liquid, powder..?"
I don't freaking know. I haven't really put much thought into my hypothetical makeup collection and the hypothetical makeup look I am hypothetically aiming for.

Hah, I've become such an angry person.

The wheels on the bus go 'round and 'round...

Funny how I can be so productive during the day, but the moment I step through the door of my own home, the notion of getting anything done becomes almost an impossibility.

My back hurts when I don't sleep enough. I have a hunch (har har it's a pun!) that it has something to do with the discs between my vertebrae not having enough time to imbibe the fluid back in. Might be something more obvious than that though. Perhaps the foreign objects embedded within my flesh.

Teehee, I said "imbibe." Impressed?

Today somebody prank called me. It was a rather bizarre take on the traditional "You kick my dog!" so kudos to the mysterious prankster for their originality. This time I wasn't quite so bothered by my dodgy phone's inability to end calls. The girls and I quite enjoyed the ongoing variety of bird sounds you played for us, dear prankster. My favourite was the pigeon. Shame that you had to go after being reminded of wasting your own money though.

Also realised that I am well and truly incapable of giving directions and/or reading maps. It's at times like these that I'm thankful I don't drive. I reckon if I did drive, I probably wouldn't be able to make it out of my street, let alone find my way home. (Is it concerning that I considered purchasing a caravan just then?)


Smexy rating: 100.

Spock is Sylar with funny eyebrows.

I miss documenting my thoughts.

I wanted to eat frozen yoghurt for breakfast today, just because. I reckon I would probably get diarrhoea though. Doubt that that would be pleasant on the way to the train station in the morning.

I wish I knew how to play a musical instrument. Or that I had any talent or skills whatsoever. It's not a jealousy thing, I just feel so.. boring. I hate it when you do orientation activities or something, and they ask you to tell them something special about yourself. I fear that I'll be sitting in an interview and the interviewer will be like "So what sets you apart from the rest?" Absolutely nothing at all, Sir. I recommend you hire them.

There's this person I know. I'm not sure if we're really friends anymore. We fight a lot and never seem to resolve it. It's always a matter of pretending that it never happened, just because we can't be bothered any longer. Or because we want to fake a friendship, just so that a mutual friend will be happy on her birthday. I notice a lot of snide comments being passed my way, subtly. And yet, when we run into each other, this person pretends that everything is just fine. I'll play along.

I think I'm a phlegmatist. I back this up with evidence from a facebook quiz, therefore it must be right. I guess that means my stripper name really is Bubbles HardDazzle.

I like my crumpets with honey.

There was this guy that I saw almost every morning when I power-walked (poor time management on my part) to the train station. I would follow him to the station, to the ticket machine, onto the platform and into the same carriage. If only I alighted at Parramatta too. Yeah, that'd freak him out good.

I don't like the word 'alight' when used in the context of trains or any other transport for that matter. It's only permissible to use it when referring to things that have been set on fire. Otherwise, totally unacceptable and punishable by death.

The other day (and also on approximately 500 other occasions) I was in a hurry to someplace and I nearly slipped and died. I had that panicked my-life-is-flashing-before-my-eyes-I-hope-I-get-nice-flowers-at-my-funeral-I-like-tulips-uh-oh look on my face as I lost my balance. Then I perfectly executed the embarrassing wobble sway followed by the I-know-you-all-saw-me-slip-and-didn't-try-to-help-me-so-I'll-pretend-nothing-happened face. And yet I still insist on wearing those shoes because I'm smart like that.

On a totally unrelated note, I thought it was really funny when one of the patients at the hospital absconded. Mostly because they didn't call it an escape, I think. And because he ran off in a hospital apron. Geez, we only had a few aprons to begin with. Everyone was quite concerned though. I learnt to be concerned as well.

I was cooking today (without an apron because they're lame) and I handled a lot of chilli. My hands were still burning like an hour later. My mother dearest let me in on a handy (albeit wasteful) way to alleviate chilli burn, and that is... to soak the affected area in cold milk. Not too bad I guess. I think Cleopatra bathed in milk to keep her skin lovely and soft. Then again, she smeared crushed beetles on her eyelids too. Beauty Tips 101 with Nam Vuong (who can't apply makeup to save her own life).

"You can boil up the milk afterwards if you feel that bad about wasting it." Way to make me feel like a cheapskate, Mum.

Lastly, I now crave coconut cake. With a glass of milk of course.

Hi, Phyllus, I don't know how to spell your name.

I never feel like blogging unless I have work to do. I currently have a lot of work to do.

Today a lady drew on my arm with black pen and then cleared me of tuberculosis. She wore gladiator sandals and had neat handwriting.

I don't know if I'm just a nasty scroogey (because 'scroogey' is totally a word) person, or if this happens to other people too. Little children trying to get your attention. Oh, the discomfort of it all. Now for me, I find it very distressing when little kids know that they're adorable, and they totally milk it. Not only do they smile and laugh with despicable cuteness, they maintain solid eye contact with you the whole time. And it's the kind of eye contact that you can feel on you even after you've awkwardly looked away (assured by a quick glance back, but it is crucial that this is executed subtly such that your eyes do not stop at any point on or immediate to the child. Unless you get a thrill out of enraged parents calling you a child-pervert).

But it's okay, we can all rest assured; for I have a solution, and what a grand solution it is! I do that thing where I pretend to be really focused on something far, far away, off in the distance. I also like to alternate this with pretending to be thinking really hard about something. I bet I look like I'm making a life-changing decision. I'm that good. All so that I don't have to interact with the rosy-cheeked, pig-tail flaunting infant chortling at my feet. Pshh, like the kid isn't faking the whole thing. I know you just want attention, you manipulative little person. You just want me to coo at you and gush to your mummy about how charming you are. Well it's not going to happen, so suck on that.

I don't hate kids though. I rather like them. I just have an overwhelming urge to spite everyone I meet; it's one of my delightful quirks. By the way, I totally disagree with what you're thinking right now.

While we're on the topic of eye-contact (because my blogs have such a seamless flow to them), I must comment on the topic of 'awkward eye contact with strangers.'

I don't like it when strangers look at me for longer than necessary. Necessary, in my books, is minimum the amount of time that it takes to glance at the surroundings and then continue to walk. Often, this helps to avoid walking into walls, trees, cars and other such pesky hindrances in one's path. What I do not appreciate is when the said stranger continues to walk, yet their eyes do not leave my own. And being the person that I am, I will of course engage in a staring match with them, purely to see who will hurt themselves first. However, I have found that this game does not work when both parties are stationary.

My name is Nam, and I don’t know the password to access my own wireless network.

I’ve been feeling bad for that last blog post where I was whinging like.. uh… someone or something whingy in a situation that warrants lots of whinging (best analogy ever, no?). It was only my second day home without anything to do, and I've been keeping busy since.

I typed out a whole paragraph explaining what I meant by busy, but it made zero sense so I deleted it.

Being the Nammykins that we all know and love (this is where you imagine me prancing around in circles and basking in your deep love and affection for me, which of course is so strong that it will have materialised into the form of confetti, falling like glittering, coloured snow from the heavens) I shall be a big ol’ lazybottoms in recounting what’s been a-happenin.’

In order to be as succinct as I can, I will paraphrase the highlights of the summaries of some of the excerpts of my favourite selected adventures as of late:

PAIN: Months back, I slammed the distal phalanx of my right index finger in the lover's car door. It hurt; I fainted while he was picking out bandaids to buy me (before settling on the Simpsons ones. Score!). The black dry blood that had pooled under my nail has recently grown out as a new nail formed beneath it, and now there's only a little bit of deformed nail left 'til it's all gone!
LOVE: Three circles of friends banded together to shout me dinner and shower me with gifts for my birthday. We ate cake with chopsticks, which was okay because we were all Asian and knew how to use them. Except Simon, who often relies on spearing.

DEATH: Kelvin made a convincing dead body, lying on the ground behind a building at 10pm dressed in a garbage bag in an area closed off by caution tape. I took photos as he cried “Hurry up!”

GLUTTONY: I stuffed myself silly on potato salad, meat and trifle at Mel’s house and learnt not to buy the cheap brand of balloons because they are ridiculously crap. (Imagine a photo here)

MELANOMA: I went to the beach and returned without getting any sand in my underwear. Now there’s a story to tell my grandchildren.

BARGAINS: I took my first trip to Flemington markets but did not achieve my lifelong goal of learning how to distinguish a ripe watermelon from an unripe one. I could be tapping freaking boulders and I wouldn’t notice the difference. They probably wouldn’t even have to be green. (My camera had no batteries, so here is a boulder I googled.)

This blog has reached that familiar point again; the point where it goes from being moderately boring to extremely boring. So boring that, as Kim put it, one lies on the floor, as one's body contorts in agony.

And so I will end it now.








Okay now.

/Edit:
Today I hid behind an acquaintance's house and made her scream when she came out expecting to see visitors. I'm so good at making friends.

I also walked into another acquaintance's bushes and it knocked me into their car.

I hate (if there was a way to double, no, triple italicise, I would have so used it on the word ‘hate’ just now) that song by that Australian Idol winner guy with the glossy hair. “You can have what I got cos I don't got nothin’ worth havin’ if I--”Argh, shut up and go sign a contract with Herbal Essences already.

Urgh, mung bean and carrot smoothie.

GARHGHGG.

I'm at that stage. You know when you first start your holidays and you're all like *reclines and exhales* "Ahh, this is the life"? Yeah, after that. After all the initial relaxation and chillaxing gets old. When the boredom sets in and you just want to stab someone.

BY GOLLY, I'm so bored. I feel like it's some sort of chronic disease I can't shake off. I'm so restless and agitated and everybody else is busy doing something or other infinitely more exciting than writing a blog entry.

Stupid blog, I hate you. GO DIE!

Man, I need a job.