Staring Contests

No, I’m not challenging you to a staring contest.  But surfing on Digg and finding something about Jessica Alba and her own online staring contest makes me a bit sad that I’ve forfeited all staring contests.

The story is, during back-to-school night, I competed in a staring contest against this dude I knew.  The stares went on forever, and my eyes were extremely dry as I had on my contacts.  The by the middle, everything was blurred except my conpetition’s eye.  And by the end, all I could see was his right cheek and eye.  And the tears streaming down and down.  Tears started streaming down my cheeks as well.  But I won.

It was the longest staring contest ever.  Ever.  And I thought it felt like quite a few minutes.  Maybe that was because I was participating.  But my friend who watched it also said it was quite a few minutes.  Perhaps.  We never timed it, and I’ll never know my staring record.

But staring contests cause me so much anxiety.  Sometimes, my eyes shift, and when your eyes are dry and stiff (can that be said?), shifting just a little bit makes me feel like I’m blinking, but I’m not.  And I worry for a second if I did blink.  This happens every ten-twenty-seconds.

However, if you want a tip to staring, just hang in there, keeping your pride as incentive, and you’ll reach a Good Point.  This Point is where my eyes feel so numb and dry that blinking doesn’t matter anymore.  I feel as if my eyes are so stiff, they’ll stay open forever.  I don’t get that ‘did-I-blink’ anxiety.  This lasts a lifetime until the tears.  The tears burn, so much.

So much burning.  And after the guy I was against lost, I couldn’t close my eyes for another minute or so.  Because I knew it would burn so much.

That’s why I forfeit all future staring contests.  Unless the person is easily beat.  I did, however, beat Jessica Alba.

Agent Smith and God

I’m agnostic. But I do think about God sometimes. Theories and stupid stuff, which is supposedly why I was so good for Christian club last year. And no, I wasn’t Christian then, either.

Introduction to my damning-myself-ing entry aside, my thoughts on prayers. Condensed.

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My Watercolors

I’ve a nice set of watercolor paints. I keep them in a bag with my bottle of ink, my calligraphy brushes, and my past paintings with those watercolors. I like watercolors, a lot. I keep the bag in the closet next to the garage.

Right now, in Spanish class, we’ve been painting self-portraits. We’re learning about Spanish artists and art terms, so my teacher decided this would be fun. It’s due tomorrow, and I had to take it home to finish because I couldn’t after-school, as I had piano lessons. It was already half-finished, half-painted. I was looking forward to using my paints at home. Really, I like watercolors.

But I can’t find my paints. I’ve looked everywhere. The last I’ve seen them was before my parents “re-organized” the house, for new windows.

Well, my parents are accusing me of being negligent, and that the paints are in my room, or something. I’ve never taken those paints to my room. Ever.

I’d forgive them for assuming, but they’re yelling at me, saying that those missing paints are my fault, and I remember when I last used/put them. They are not there. I found the past paintings abandoned in the room o’ junk, but I can’t find anything else. My dad exploded with rage.

I am a brat.