To blog or not to blog…there is no question. The question is what am I gonna write about? This was so far removed from my brain today, when someone asked me this evening what I was gonna blog about, I almost answered, “what blog?” At least, I don’t think I did. So I could tell you about how I’m a snob. No, really. People truly think that. And I guess I am. I don’t go out of my way to talk to strangers (I just hug them). I am not going to tell you how I adore your {clothes/ shoes/ hair/ eye makeup/ jewelry/ food/ house/ car} to make you like me. You know people do that, don’t you? They’ll just gush and flatter and go on to make you feel good about yourself but it’s all hogwash. I will tell you if I truly do like whatever it is. I’m also a snob about quality. I don’t want cheap toilet paper, Kleenex, or paper towels. I guess I’m a snob about paper products. Funnily enough, I don’t like eating off paper plates 🤔 I mean, I get it, for cooking out and you’ve got a passel of drunks in your backyard plus you don’t wanna do a bunch of dishes. Or if I make a sandwich or get pizza, a paper plate is fine. But if I’m eating a meal- meat and three sides- I want…

Today was Fat Tuesday. In other words, the pinnacle of Mardi Gras. And I would have MUCH rather been there than putting on an election here. I honestly got a call from a woman who was mad she couldn’t vote online. Because nothing could go wrong there 🙄 People vote BLIND. People came in, voted for one person, then asked what they were voting on. They asked what we did. A few asked these questions simultaneously while I was still answering the first question they had asked. I maaaaaaay have gotten a little short with one of Sevier County’s self-labeled “elite”. A smartass is a smartass, I don’t care what you own or what you’re worth. Most of them I’d like to buy for what they’re actually worth and sell for what they think they’re worth. 38 people is a lot for one day in my little office. Jake Right Now kept saying, “I can’t believe we’ve had this many people.” 🤣 He was amazed. But then, it doesn’t take much. I shouldn’t knock him, he helped me with Annual Report folding and stamping the last two days. In other good news, they caught the cop killer. I’m quite disappointed they took him in alive. So now we’ll be financing all his healthcare, food, and weight training for the next forty years. Unless they cook him. I’d pay to see that. I’m not very nice today…

Procrastination is the name of the game over here. Things I am actively not doing: Things I am doing: So more on that last part. Here’s the menu. Can you blame me?! I’ll brave the lovestruck crowds for crème brûlée! And yes, I am aware I could go by myself. And normally it wouldn’t even be a blip on my radar. But it’s VALENTINES. That would make me look pathetic. Even if anybody who bothered to meet me would quickly ascertain I am anything but. I’m just a single girl with an appetite. And now I’m out of things to talk about again. I refuse to talk about the rain. I’m sick of the rain. I refuse to talk politics… yet. I refuse to talk about the Super Bowl or Taylor Swift, because I didn’t watch it because I didn’t care. I met the new Agriculture Agent for our county today. I asked him if he was like John Dutton. He doesn’t watch Yellowstone, so he doesn’t realize what a compliment I gave him. He just shrugged and said that’s what everybody says. And here I thought I was original. What a disappointment. Nice guy, though. I dunno. I don’t wanna talk about nothin’, I wanna go to bed. I think I will. This is all you get. Yesterday’s was lengthy, they can’t all be Pulitzer material 😁 Once upon a timeI was…

I have a friend who recently set sail on her first cruise. She was so excited, as I was for her. I was talking to another mutual friend and he was issuing all sorts of concerns and disbelief that she was going while news circulated of the murders and various crimes that were happening in the vicinity. “Wait, where is it, exactly, that she’s going?” I asked him, thinking I had missed something. After all, I don’t watch the news, but I do tend to get wind of major events one way or another. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Well, where were all these killings you’re talking about?” “I dunno, my wife was just telling me, she saw it on the news last night.” I rolled my eyes and tried not to blow air too obnoxiously through my nose. “When you go to these islands, they tell you it’s not safe to leave the resort. I don’t know how cruises work, but surely if there’s a bunch of calamity, the don’t de-board. Or they take you elsewhere. They don’t want you killed, it’s bad for business. Word gets out.” For the record, my friend had an absolutely FABULOUS time and wants to go back. There was no scalping, stabbing, or purse snatching, to the best of my knowledge. Almost all my life, every time I’ve went on vacation alone, I had a naysayer in my life, telling me…

What a cozy little day I’ve had. The rain didn’t arrive till the afternoon, and I had my house presentably clean by then so I was able to stay curled up and enjoy it from the warmth of my couch. It’s so nice to be snug at home, free of responsibilities and places to be. I mean, apart from still needing an oil change. Who in their right mind wants to drive to West Knoxville in the rain on a Saturday? For that matter, who wants to drive there on a sunny Wednesday? Not this girl. If you do, see me for keys. Maggie’s fun to drive; I’m just lazy. Lonesome Dove and Nilla wafers are much more my speed for dreary February Saturdays. I also had meatballs marinating in the crockpot and I threw together my famous oatmeal casserole that I haven’t made in over five years. It smelled so delectable baking. Cinnamon must be one of the most comforting scents known to man. You ever know somebody really well in a specific capacity, and then you see them somewhere out of the normal and it’s like seeing a whole new person? For instance, one of your closest coworkers and then you unexpectedly run into them at Dollywood in shorts and sandals and wiping their child’s face free of ice cream and it’s this whole other persona you weren’t even aware existed? Like, you didn’t even know they…

4:25. That’s what time I woke up. I know, because I rolled over and looked at the clock. According to the much-dimmed white numbers, I was up at 4:25. No reason, I just take spells of not being able to rest. And of course, I was pretty wound up from all the aggravation from the previous day. So when you wake up at 4:25, and you see what time it is, and your brain starts processing how long till your alarm goes off, and if you have to teetee, and what that dream was about, and what caused you to dream such craziness…and then real life comes raging at you and that’s when there’s no turning back. And you’re on a loop of trying to fall asleep and worrying about whatever. It’s a vicious cycle that gets you nothing besides bone tired at 7 of the evening when you’re standing at the stove trying not to burn salmon patties. I’ve noticed on social media, when people have nothing else to say, they’ll post about whatever everybody else is posting about, be it news, sports, celebrities, or politics. Celebrity deaths are especially popular topics. I think the last time I said anything about a celebrity dying was when Michael Jackson left us. Y’all know I’m a big fan of the sitcom Friends but I didn’t know Matthew Perry personally. I didn’t have much to…

You may think you never get calls anymore; that everyone knows to text. I’m one of those people who only answer for like, five people. And if pressed about letting them ring off, I would be like, “nah, it’s spam, it’s a creditor hunting the man I’ve been divorced from for five years, it’s somebody wanting something. I ain’t answerin’.” Well, the exception(s) to my I-Only-Answer-Five-People rule was exercised tonight. First, I got two calls back to back from a number not stored in my phone. I just KNEW somebody was dead. “Mrs. Johnson?” Came the pert American voice when I answered on second round. Me: “This is Amy, yes.” “Your table is ready.” Me: “Pardon?” Because it was kinda loud. Pert girl: “We’ve got your table ready. At Blackhorse?” Me: “Oh, I’m so sorry! We’re at the bar!” I tell her, leaning around to peer at the hostess stand. I totally forgot to update them when I basically stalked a couple as they left the bar, like a hyena after whatever prey it is hyenas prefer. Oops. Yeah, they’d texted, too. I never give their hostesses much credit, but obviously they’ve got it more together than me. The second time, it was the mother of my oldest childhood friend. I talk to her maybe once a year. This definitely warranted answering. And of course I couldn’t hear her, either, so I stepped…