Friday Free For All: Random Ramblings of Uranium J

I had a very up and down week. As such, I've been imbibing copious amounts of caffeine, feeling entirely ineffectual, and am on the verge of either freaking out or shutting down entirely. I would really like to have a long, hot bath and a glass of wine, but it just doesn't seem to be happening. Alas. A Vicodin would suffice. Or a Xanax. Or both. I'm not picky.

Why is this not true? Source

On Sunday, www.firstpersonnarrative.com set a new record for traffic. A whopping 44 page views! Keep up the good work, guys! This is my livelihood we’re talking about, after all. I really do treat this like a job. Show Uranium J some love. I also finished John Dies at the End over the weekend. It's awesome. Just go and buy it and read it. Now. Go. I'll wait . . . Got your copy? Good. Moving on, I started reading Syd Field's Screenplay. Since doing so, I have been thinking about Juno as a very good example of a well written script. Who am I? Seriously?

Cody came home from the hospital on Monday, and although he looks like he’s spent some time at Auschwitz, he seems to finally be on the mend. The only issue we’re having is his continual peeing in the house. I know it’s the meds, but I’m just so tired of it. As for the Gator, she is a criminal. She’s bored another hole in the fence. When I fixed the last one just before Christmas, I thought that was the end of her daring escapes. Not so much. So, back to the hardware store I go.

On Tuesday, an article I wrote about lighting was featured of www.offbeathome.com. Wednesday and Thursday are sort of a blur. Cleaning, blogging, more writing, baby, sick dogs, poop.



Poop in my bathtub. There’s a highlight. That Sprout has had some intestinal difficulties lately. She and I were in the bathtub last night, (Mommies take baths with their Sprouts, for those of you who don’t know) and she pooted. Well, I thought it was a poot. No. It was a poop. A runny, sawdusty looking poop. Into the water. 

SPLASH! 

I jump out as quickly as I can without hurting myself and pluck her out of the infested mire. It was nearly her bed time, so I cleaned her off and tucked her in before tending to the issue of the tub. 

The first thing that had to be done was draining the water. That proved to be easier said than done. I lose a lot of hair in the shower, and wouldn’t you know, the drain was pretty clogged, causing the water to trickle down the hole. Needless to say, disinfecting the bathtub turned into a  very labor intensive process. Screw diamonds, Clorox wipes are a girl’s best friend.

Don't tell me you can't buy friends. Source

Speaking of passing out, I have been having some seriously strange dreams as of late, and I am going to attribute this to the fact that I have been sick and taking cough syrup prior to falling asleep. It makes for very hard, deep, and restless sleep – full of all sorts of cinematic goings on. 

Earlier this week, I dreamed that I was in a Michael Cera movie, playing the jilted female best friend. I told him I was in love with him and after reciprocated and denounced his love for the as yet unseen MPDG we were in wrapped up in one another amidst a massive make out session. FYI: Dream Michael Cera is packing heat. But alas, we never made it to home base, as I was called away by an emergency with a friend. Bros before hos, except the female equivalent. You know what I mean?

No. No, no, no, no, no. Source

On a related note, “If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends . . . “ always struck me as “If you wanna tap this, you gotta tap my friends first.” Seriously Spice Girls, that lyric could have made so much more sense. 

Last night, I dreamt that several of the Army wives I know were actually Jersey housewives and they were all related by blood or marriage. That was weird, but it was kind of fun because they were inviting me to do Real Army/Jersey Housewives stuff. It’s nice to feel included.

I want you all to feel included too! In the About section of the site, I said I want to record stories of everyday people for posterity. That means you! If you have a story, I want to hear it. It doesn’t have to be exciting. I am a fan of the quiet moments as well as the dynamic ones. Tell me about your cat. Tell me about your stamp collection. Tell me about your Aunt Mabel and her macramé. I don’t care. I want to hear it. So, send me an email at joyce.ann.underwood@gmail.com. Also, leave a comment and win a prize! Talk to me, people!