Aight Aight 'sphere. Done with a long, stressful week saying goodbye to my beautiful brother The Q and writing a take-home midterm and coughing a lot. And, might I add, not being prescribed antibiotics. I am sort of wondering if the doctor I saw at the TANG center knows that Alicia's cough is worse than mine and didn't give me antibiotics because he prescribes on a curve. By neglecting to see a doctor in the first place, Alicia has deprived the entire Berkeley population of Amoxicillin. Great, babe. Appreciate it.

Oh, man. Another thing I'm finally getting to do tonight is hulu Monday's The Bachelor: Episode 8. I have it up in another browser, and guess what? Brad Womack just said the first funny thing he has ever said after meeting Chantal O's little dog in a sweater. It was, "Hey, you know what's funny? Chantal told me Boca would bite me, but Boca loves me!" Thanks for letting us know, Brad. That is kinda funny!

Oh my gosh, this is unprecedented. A second joke? Humorous self-deprecation? Is this guy charming or something? This wave of humor has got me thinking about how my life would be different if Brad Womack were my Head Bro in Charge (Copyright: New York) instead of Megaswatrick. I wonder if I would get little text messages throughout the week that said things like "Sup RZA. 2/4 dads just hit your boy up w/ the Marriage Blessing. #HometownDates. #PatriarchySwag."

Speaking of which. Today GoddessMom and I talked on the phone and she told me that she thinks Metaswag is a great blog because of its rhythm, voice, and honesty. This made me feel kind of jealous, but also very proud and inspired. It's a little difficult to not subconsciously model this blog after this one, but I gotta keep it California real. Anyway, she might just have said this because she taught Metaswag how to write.

Next weekend I am going to Hartford to meet E.swee's Connecticut bros, who are named stuff like Lam. Incidentally, Carolyn knows who Lam is and referenced him yesterday. I think that's awesome. I like for everyone to know who everyone else is. Because, you know. It's a hella big country.

Holding down the fort

I write to you as we approach the Ides of Frugal February. I am calling it this because I am broke and have passed a resolution to live not within, but Below my means, as was recommended to me in a TIME magazine article about early retirement. I don't mean to be ungrateful about the considerable resources generously bestowed upon me by SuperFamily and the lucky end of capitalism, but where personal finances come into play, it's hard to get much lower than My Means. If my means were a limbo stick, only people like Snooki would be able to rollerskate underneath it. That being said, the week of February 7-13 was a fairly successful one, as my purchases were limited to one (1) box of Raisin Bran and four (4) packages of Ramen (2 chicken, 1 beef, and 1 problematically flavored "Oriental").

All this Not Buying Pastries for Breakfast has really taken its toll, and I would like nothing more than to descend into dreamland, but as you know, Gentle Readership, I have a job to do, and that job is to manage my awesome Bachelor challenge. You never know what could come up when your contestants don't all watch the program simultaneously. Especially one weeks like this one, when no one on the whole internet wants to tell you how many women are eliminated this week. That's why a truly dedicated Reality Challenge Blog Master comes up with regulations beforehand, so that when alittleleeway loses again this week, there can be no (probably just!) accusations of foul play. I know some RCBMs have had trouble with this concept in the past, and gosh, that's understandable! It's a tough job and it's certainly not for everyone. It doesn't take a color-coded spreadsheet to tell you that you've really either got it or you don't. But all that aside: CHALLENGERS (i.e., GoddessMom): Let's all pick 2 women for tomorrow, though there's a chance just one will go home. I suppose there's a chance everyone will go home; the only info I have is that there will be a steamy performance by Bankie Banx (?). My pix are Ashely H. and Britt, even though I love Britt. What a doll! And a food critic! I wonder what she thinks of Raisin Bran and Ramen. Guest blog opportunity? Britt, have your people contact my people.

Report from the Ground

I have an extra half-hour in GenEq and not too many tasks to complete. I think maybe I should be womanning the table on Sproul Plaza, but who's to say, really?

Carolyn is next to me, reading a BUST magazine article about the Top 10 Greatest Adulteresses of All Time. Number 1: Aphrodite. Number 2: The Virgin Mary (#Rude. #SorryMetaswag. #AndLaney. #AndNana. #Catholicism). I have never committed adultery, but I have also never been married. Until my potential nuptials come to fruition, I will have to find another way to make it onto a BUST Top 10 list (#Jokes! #SorryNanaAgain.)

For example, Top 10 Gender Equity Resource Center Interns who Blog instead of Tabling.

My Doing Feminist Research class is reading an exemplar text for our humanistic inquiry unit called The Promise of Happiness by Sara Ahmed. A major point is that getting married is culturally linked to happiness, even though really, it shouldn't be! (#Uplifting. #ThanxSaraAhmed.) Which brings me to my two-person Bachelor Challenge. It should be noted that GoddessMom has not submitted her votes, so I will probably win by default with my suggestion that Brad Womack will eliminate Allie and Jackie tonight, thereby shattering their chances at cultural happiness. After reading Sara Ahmed's text and watching this season of The Bachelor, I would strongly recommend that the remaining women not marry Brad Womack. It won't make you happy, and unless you plan on committing adultery, it won't win you any kudos from BUST magazine. Plus, the guy is a mess.

Notes on Brad Womack

I hate blogging because it makes me emotional. I feel emotional. Plus, Metaswag listed me as his first friend link even though

1. This blog is clearly dead.
2. His other friends' blogs are clearly alive.
3. I didn't call Eliya after my grocery trip like I said I would.

...This third point is unrelated but made apparent by her Skype notification.

Fine, fine, I'll blog. But I'm only going to blog about ABC's The Bachelor. Keep reading. I'm feeling emotional. You can skip to the next hyphenated paragraph if you're short on time. ...Thanks for being a true blog follower if you're reading this sentence. Anyway, what I would really like is to sponsor a Bachelor challenge on this blog. It will be kind of like prontopup's Top Chef challenge, the only differences being

1. This will be a lot less corrupt
2. Many people watch Top Chef. Only GoddessMom and I watch the Bachelor.
2a. And maybe The Savvy Mom? Or my beloved J-Dubs? But probz not.

As a result of the combination of these two factors,

3. GoddessMom will probably win.

-- (PICK UP HERE, EFFICIENCY READERS) I know it isn't good to watch The Bachelor. When I tell people that I do it, they say wince and say, "Ha ha, tell everyone you're just doing it for Gender Studies research purposes!" I refuse to do this

1. Because it is a lie.
2. There is much to be mined on the bachelor in terms of cultural significance, but I have no original insights- it's pretty much just hella sexist, white-people-only reality television.
3. Why would I walk around announcing that I watch a two-hour-long weekly television show- alone in my room on my personal computer- "for Gender Studies research purposes"? Who would want to talk to somebody like that?

Anyway, I'm sad that I didn't call Eliya and I hope Bloomington likes being buried in snow and ice and everything nice.

Because Metaswag linked to and consequently revived my blog, I am dedicating it to him and to his one year relationship with Rachel Jordan and to Rachel Jordan. And to Brad Womack for being, you know. The Bachelor.

Hold Up Hold Up Stop The Record Yo Stop the Record.

You could argue that Christmas Eve is no time to return to the blogosphere. Christmas Eve, you could argue, is a time to watch It's a Wonderful Life with one's wonderful family.

I know, I know! I tried to do it! I try every year to do it! But every time we get to the Christmas Eve scene where George Bailey yells at his daughter to stop playing the piano, my entire body is flooded with anguish. "Panic" may be a better descriptor. I legit can't roll with it. It's a triumph if I can work up the holiday chutzpah to leave a platter of cookies for the big guy after that. Admittedly, I have never before been armed with "Good Friday" from the new Kanye. Any kinda chutzpah you need, that song's gonna grease you up. But that's neither here nor there because tonight, I straight up left before the scene rolled around. The elder Bailey daughter started working those keys and I tore out of the room so fast I knocked several dormant sandals to the side in my Tasmanian cyclone.

Perhaps it's a tenuous connection, but my anxiety around viewing this scene- which is only about four minutes long and clearly foreshadows an eventual redirection of fortune- feels very similar to my somewhat oppressive blogging anxiety. This aforementioned blogging anxiety
-is the reason I haven't blogged since my birthday, despite consistent positive feedback from Carolyn
-is both assuaged and exacerbated by long blogging hiatuses
-is currently causing an internal monologue that goes kinda like: AAAHH WHAT ARE YOU DOING BLOGGING ABOUT YOUR OWN PYSCHE ON XMAS EVE- BLOG ABOUT YOUR FAMILY- BLOG ABOUT YOUR FRIENDS- BLOG ABOUT BOOKS- YOU'RE FISHING FOR COMPLIMENTS- YOU'RE SPEAKING TO A VOID- YOU SHOULD BE WATCHING IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE- I KNOW BUT I CAN'T!

My mother eloquently described this conflict as a sensitivity to the pressure of creative engagements. She's probably right (never known her not to be) and I have therefore decided that my Personal Growth Challenge for 2011 is to overcome this sensitivity by doing things I didn't do too much of in 2010, like blog, write in my notebook, write some poems or stuff, use colors, and read novels. And probably also experience things like Feeling Sad During Sad Movie Scenes and Listening to Music that Isn't for Dancing (connection: Listening to a beautiful mix CD from #METASWAG for the fourth time, and just skipped the Joanna Newsom track for the fourth time. When am I gonna wanna be that sad? But when I was younger I loved being sad with songs! Gotta put in a lil plug here for #Metaswag's recent series, Music of 2010 in review. Do check out!)

Well. This is longer than a blog entry should probably be. (ANXIETY- IT'S TOO LONG- WHO WOULD READ THIS- IT'S NOT EVEN FUNNY- WHAT TIME IS IT- SHOULD I GO TO MIDNIGHT MASS WITH NANA?- CATHOLIC JEW COMBO GUILT GUILT GUILT- ENTITLED- MY LIFE IS ACTUALLY REALLY GOOD). I'll finish up with a few fun facts:

1. The last novel I read was Shanghai Girls by Lisa See. I'm way down with it! So into sisters; the whole sisterhood concept.
2. I have my buttercream frosting recipe committed to memory, and I made it today when my Nana asked me to ice the sugar cookies. Baby steps, when it comes to cooking.
3. I can't believe Laney leaves for London in a week, but I'm so excited and hope she'll let me post some pix right here if she doesn't blog herself.
4. Still pretty unable to get over how great my brother is. And he plays jazz bass!

Ok ok. I think we might be back around to the happy ending! Gonna juice this baby up with some links (an ALittleleeway stylistic choice I adopt with no fear), pick a pic, and go enjoy my wonderful life. Well. Probably gonna listen to "Good Friday" one more time. Just in case Mr. Potter's still on top when I head back upstairs. Happy eve to all!

Vote No on Prop 23

I have four more acts of William Shakespeare's Julius Caesar to read before I retire. This means that I have just poured myself a cup of the coffee that Alicia prepared. I also stirred in three tablespoons of Nesquik. (Product placement.) (Not really because it's not that good in coffee, and I wish I could just make hot chocolate.)

I experimented with several fratmusic.com playlists to get me through the first act, but I am pretty sure that my soundtrack to the remaining four (which low key seem kind of long) is just gonna be Weezy's new jam "With You" on repeat. November is the most romantic month because I was born on the third day of it and because every time I have a birthday I get a new boyfriend. The sole exception being my fourteenth birthday, upon which George W. was elected president for a second term and I was too depressed to find a new boyfriend. Man oh manischewitz, was that a bad birthday.

Anyway! The correlation between "romantic months" and "With You" is that the latter is the most romantic song I have ever heard in my life. The fourth time I heard it (which consecutively followed the third, second, and first), I openly wept at this very kitchen table. That being said, it was sort of an emotional weekend at

...well, I was going to tell you the name of my street, but being that a South Berkeley rapper has been calling several times a week and texting aggressive things like "wow what is your deal stay grinding" in response to my non-response, I cannot publish this type of information on the internet. The name of my street is a very beautiful approximation of a greeting in another language, though. I love saying it.

Elaine comes to visit Friday!

Up Early

I'm not trying to brag, but I am pretty clearly the most talented member of my family when it comes to being asleep. The menfolk are both plagued by semi-regular insomnia (along with most of the non-familial males in my life- PATTERN) and my mom is often up late listening to podcasts and radio shows.

There are a few occasions, however, in which sleep becomes a near impossibility for me. Examples include Christmas Eve in McDonough, GA, the night before my cousins visit, and every night that is the night before I fly from Indiana to California or vice versa. I think, therefore, that I did a pretty good job being asleep for six hours given that today, my bro Adrian is coming to visit me in my Berkeley apartment and staying a long weekend.

Being up this early does not do me much good, because Adrian does not arrive for another 17 hours. Being asleep would be a much better use of this time, as my take-home midterm was bumped to a week from Monday and I've read most of Henry IV (BORING). Maybe I will do laundry or read Sam Harris, who by the way, I am totally not sure about. Most likely I will listen to "Money to Blow" by Birdman, Drake and Wayne a lot of times while walking around. Of course I am aware that "Money to Blow" constructs an oppressive neoliberal correlation between masculinity and extravagance, but as Andy would say, the hook is hot.