Sometimes I Get in Fights with People on the Internet.

You Need 15 seconds of Laughter.

Forget your love/hate relationship with higher education for fifteen glorious seconds. Unless you watch it twice. Like I do.

This is commitment, people!

What I did With My Extra Hour.

You know when you have an assignment due but don't want to do it but you stay up anyways thinking you'll do it if you have more time but end up watching YouTube videos of Britain's Got Talent instead and then wake up the next morning more stressed with less time to do the assignment? Then you go to the neighborhood donut shop, order a dozen long johns and the lady behind the counter's all "Another party?" and you're like "Huh? Oh, yeah. Another party," and end up eating half the donuts in your car on the way to Jack In the Box, only to, five hours later, hand in an assignment you actually enjoyed writing?

Me either. That's why I spent my Daylight Savings Hour doing laundry, cleaning up around the house, getting a head start on my work, and volunteering with kittens.

Current List of Things I Want but Don't Want to Buy.*

1) A Nylon Rug. For walking.

This one says, “Why take a chance on scaring women away?”

2) A Dresser. For clothing.

Cats not included.

3) Harney & Son Earl Gray tea. For sipping.

Them shits is delicious. That's their actual tag line.

4) A full-size bed. For sleeping.

Reminds me of the summer I was really into The Sims. Until I entered the cheat code for unlimited money. Which is [Ctrl] + [Shift] + C, "klapaucius," then, "!;!;!;!;!;!;!;!;!;!. You’re welcome.

5) An FM transmitter. For listening.

To all my legally downloaded Kanye re-mixes.

6) Diamond studs. For wearing.

Three month’s salary. Because I make $150 every two weeks. J WORTH IT.

7) A kitten. For cuddling.

The one on the right is my real cat. In my real backyard. Who I’ll be replacing with a kitten.

__

*By "don't want to buy," I mean "Could buy but then wouldn't have any money."

___

Dear Stalker Internet Boyfriend,

It's me, Pauline. But you already knew that LOL! Anywho, when we finally meet on accident at a time and place of your careful planning, presenting me with any one of the above items would result in my immediate happiness. And you want that right? For a little while? Before I refuse your advances and you string me up like a pinata off the line, "If I can't have you, nobody will." Thanks.

There's always Calgon.

I had a dream the other night in which salt and pepper came out of my salt shaker. Upon waking, I realized how desperately I'm in need of a vacation.

It doesn't have to be Scotland (someday!), or France ("Croissant with a side of snobbery, si vous plait) or even the Grand Canyon. I've just gotta get OUT.

Insert relevant Lauryn Hill song.

But where to go? Perhaps here...

(from Yahoo! Travel)

Big Sur, California

Iconic Route 1 extends almost the entire length of California, but our favorite stretch for road trips is through Big Sur, which comprises 90 or so miles along the central coast from San Simeon to Carmel. Big Sur’s beauty is not overrated: Sandwiched between the Santa Lucia mountains and the Pacific – redwood groves on one side and rocky beaches with sea lions on the other – it’s remarkably unspoiled, partly because the only access is via the two-lane Route 1, or Cabrillo Highway. Devote a long weekend, ideally in May or September for fewer crowds. Start out in San Jose, which has the closest major airport, and head south 74 miles on U.S. 101. Merge onto Route 156 and pick up Route 1, cruise through Monterey and Carmel, and then enter Big Sur proper. There are no big towns, only small clusters of roadside restaurants and stores, so fill the gas tank in advance. The road twists along precipitous cliffs and it can be a relief to stop for impromptu hiking, picnicking, or beachcombing (try Jade Cove for its namesake stone). A bohemian Eden in the 1960s, when Jack Kerouac and Henry Miller spent time here, Big Sur is an area where their free-spirit vibe still lingers.

Free-spirit vibe? Sounds good. Beachcombing? I'll bring a book. But maybe a weekend vacation is one of those things you should do but don't end up doing. Like taking multi-vitamins. Or wearing sunscreen. And flossing. I guess it's really about the kind of person you want to be: one who thinks of doing stuff, or one who does them.

That got philosophical fast.

Goodbye, old car!

The first minute of me in my new Honda Accord.

My old car had 117,000 miles, wouldn't accelerate and made me cry. But I saw this one and immediately felt safe. Life gets better, everyone. :0)

So long, trouble car.

Stifled by Possibilities

Oh, to be a red arrow.*

I don't often feel like I'm swimming upstream with a gimp fin, but I do today.

It wasn't provoked, like a sense of nausea one feels after eating too much pizza or the knowing that one will spend the day a dull-eyed, zombie-ghost after pulling all-nighter. Instead, this morning's stressball under my left rib seems to have come out of nowhere.

"Out of nowhere." I suppose that's not really true. After all, I freak out for a finite number of reasons. And today's finite (as of 12:05 -- who knows what the *rest* of the day entails) is direction-related. In that I don't have any. Direction that is.

It's one thing to be working a suck job in the industry. If you want to be an agent, welcome to the mail room. If you want to be an actor, welcome to a life of endless auditions and constant rejections. CEO? You'll have to start as a junior analyst. But all of these are rungs on specific ladders and at this point, I'm unclear which ladder to choose, and that's another thing entirely. As a consequence, all I see is the success of others, hard at work climbing their ladders, and the gulf between my indecision and the largeness of my own dreams - a house, a car that doesn't make me want to kill myself, and a family of cats emotionally-supportive cats.

The result is a stressball. Under my left rib. Despite my aroma-therapy lavender body soak.

Soothes and calms, yes. But can it make my decisions?

And why is it always a stressball? Why can't it be a stress ovule? A stress rectangle? A stress trapezoid? I don't want relief, really, just a different shape of anxiety.

The experience reminds me of all those career aptitude tests we had to fill out in high school. All those games of "Life" when I drew a specific card and had to settle for my annual salary and that was that. Not so much the case anymore. And not so easy. At present, I'm just stifled by possibilities.

__

*Incidentally, the title of this randomly-selected graphic is "Choosing a Career Direction." Irony not lost on me, sir.

The Morning After

Waking up after a fast food binge is like waking up after a one-night stand. Head's groggy. Sense of disorientation. Wendy's and McDonald's wrapper strewn carelessly about the floor. And most of all: a sense of regret. Mixed with indigestion.

Since it's not often I indulge in drive-through delicacies (I've got a figure to maintain, boys), I'll run through the inciting incidents of the event, if only as a tool for future prevention. So, without further ado:

~*~*The CHRONOLOGY of a Fast-Food One-Night Stand*~

8: 00 AM- Woke up tired. Bleary-eyed despite a full 6 hours of sleep. Below average, indeed, but not something crazy. Like 3. Or none. Still, I'd spent the night previous freaking out about an upcoming pitch. I called a friend who talked me down from my emotional ledge and suggested I break the project into smaller, more manageable pieces. Shit advice if you ask me. Went to bed by 2 AM.

9:30 AM - Cup of soymilk and a Quaker Oats granola bar...breakfast of champions.

9: 43 AM - Turn ignition on my rental car, the Suzuki SX4 Crossover. My Lexus is in the shop. My stupid, ugly, too-expensive, always-has-fucking-problems Lexus. And the CD player in the Suzuki actually works. Listen to Acapella gospel music on the way to class. Breathe a little.

9:58 AM - Walk into class. Head felt like a cotton ball. Eyes dry. Vagina normal. Listen to teacher give talk on story structure. Attempt to take notes but realize while I remembered my presentation, I forgot my notebook. Scribble "build sequences out of active goals" and "The Essentials of Screenwriting by Richard Walter" on back of a handout. Eerily calm about presentation. Eerily calm or too drained to experience human emotion.

10:50-11 AM - Class Break. Head to bathroom. Attempt to fluff out hair. Am surprised to see my eyes don't look as beady as they feel. Inhale/Exhale for two counts. Say a little prayer for (you, specifically).

11:03 - In class. Stretch. Miss the opportunity to raise my hand to go first and get it out of the way. F.

11:05-11:35-ish- Listen to classmate's presentation. His notecards look way more professional. F. And he's going scene-by-scene; I'm only going beat-by-beat. Double-F. Smile and nod politely.

11:38-12:05- Pitch movie to class. Nervous first 2 minutes, then calm, then relieved. Teachers says, "Good." Mission accomplished.

1:15- Hungry, hungry, hungry. Buy chicken soup at Thai place. It's too hot (temperature) to eat immediately.

1:20- Buy chicken patty from Jamaican place. I DON'T CARE HOW THEY MAKE IT! Eat it in the car.

1:45- Top off rental car at gas station. Buy candy and coffee.

2:30- Home. Presentation over. This week. Car repaired. For now. Pop in Curb Your Enthusiasm. Proceed to eat everything in sight.

6:50- Ten minutes to class. Getting hungry. Browse display case of Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. Iced latte it is.

9:43- In class. Officially hungry. An hour to go. Go to the "bathroom." Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf officially closed, 10 minutes ahead of schedule. F-diggity.

10:15- Classmate orders pizza. Pony up 2$ for a slice. What's that, every article about late night eating ever?

11 PM- Still hungry. And frustrated. Long day. The perfect storm of fast food dining. Jack in the Box cheeseburger and chicken strips, anyone? Sia-nara waist.

TAKE AWAYS: More sleep, more breakfast, less procrastination, and plan more food options for on-the-go. And cats. Maybe I need cats.

Top 10 Songs I Over-exert myself to At the Gym

1) All About the Benjamins - Puffy ft. Biggie Smalls

2) Hypnotize - Biggie Smalls

3) Stuck on You - Stacie Orrico

4) Everywhere I Go - Amy Grant

5) You've Been Wrong - Toni Braxton

6) I Will Not Be Broken - Bonnie Raitt

7) I'll Dip - Aretha Franklin

8) Say - John Mayer

9) Jump - Madonna

10) Off That - Jay-Z

SITE CHANGE

HI FRIENDS.

Somewhat Sardonic is now updating here.

The head and thus "intelligence" is not an option in this photo, y'all. So. There's that.

Year 2 Down the Hatch

Two years of Film School complete, and it ended with packing, sushi, and logging in to Hulu.com to watch "It's Always Sunny."

Yep. Now, if you'll excuse me...(Closes eyes...fades out)

:)

Katy and Russell. Me thinks this is a little like Beauty and the Beast.

Dear Webtrotters,

It's me, Pauline. Owner of this blog. Well, owner insofar as one can own a site sponsored by a free website. Anywho, I know you've been checking in on me, hopes dashed with every un-updated season, until, soon, your clicks became less frequent and altogether stopped.

I understand. And I'm not apologizing. To you.

Allow me to explain.

I've been lost for 2 years, in a concrete jungle that looks like Los Angeles, smells like Los Angeles, and tastes like fast food and "authentic" burritos prepared on a truck. I've stopped asking myself what was interesting to me, so much of which was posted in the early heyday of this blog, and started cramming White Male Protagonists with unexpressed anger issues into Courier 12 font. And its gotten me nowhere. Well, not nowhere per se. It's gotten me through two years of academic study and a completed graduate thesis, accomplishments of which I'm marginally proud (like my White Male Protagonists, I have a number of unexpressed issues that result -- or perhaps stem from-- a deep distrust of myself . Don't worry, Gentle Reader, these issues are being teased out with a professional comb).

I'd planned in this part to say something dramatic like, "I'm not going to apologize to you, I'm going to apologize to myself for not taking time to listen to the heartbeat of my own ideas, and for poisoning my own well of creativity...."

Yep. Dramatic. Metaphors were afoot. But I'm not gonna do it. Instead, I'll declare to you and anyone who Googles "Kristen Wigg + photos" that...well, nothing. That that's the course of events which preceded this post, and that the events afterwards may or may not have something to do with a Great Scheme of Self Improvement and Re-dedication To BlogWriting In General.

In the meantime, however, I'm reading this and quite enjoying it.

">

Thanks so much,

p

I want to do stuff like THIS in Grad School, Yo.

Made these with my dad and my sister. In the kitchen. Two years ago. When writing was fun. :0)