All You Can Eat Catfish & Boone Pyeatt. in Gratitude Journal

Last night (Friday Night), I decided that I wanted to go and eat some catfish. It was a craving that I needed to satisfy, and I wouldn't accept "no" for an answer.

So I sent my Hubby a text message asking him if we could go to the local catfish joint and get some. Luckily, he was up for it, so as soon as he got home, we left.

Some of you might be puzzled as to why I said, "luckily." See, here's the deal: Way back when, Hubby used to help his mother and her ex-husband run their local catfish restaurant. It was a small, family-operated business that was slowly going down the tubes because it lost money consistently. (It could have had something to do with the fact that her ex-husband would give food away to his family that frequented the restaurant, but that's neither here nor there.) Long story short, Hubby busted his ass over the years, and know what tastes good and what doesn't when it comes to fried catfish.
He has yet to find one catfish place that meets his standards.

So, on occasion, I can get him to "settle" for a catfish restaurant that ALL the locals go to. It's right on the lake, too.

We fuel up, make the 15 minute drive to the catfish restaurant, where it's "all-you-can-eat", and that's precisely what we did. I mounded my plate full of fried fish, fried shrimp, peppers, cole slaw, salad, okra, chow-chow, and other various southern goodies (which are killer to the waistline but taste oh-so-heavenly!) and was about to ask our waitress to bring me a wheelbarrow to roll my fat ass up out of there.

Craving satisfied, that's for damn sure! LOL!

So we returned to our truck, miserable and waddling, regretting our idea to gorge ourselves on catfish and shrimp. We took the long way back home through the country, making wistful declarations of how we wish we owned this farm, or what we would do with that hay meadow/pasture, etc. It's a silent dream for the both of us to own a farm, or at least a house out in the country that's not too far out to cut us off from technology. One of these days, we hope to make that dream a reality. I also hope to have a flock of chickens, and maybe a few guineas. (I'd request a peacock named, "Elvis," but they're too aggressive and territorial. Nah, I'd have some docile laying hens and I'd be just as happy.

By the time we returned home, we were done for the evening. We changed into our pj's, and proceeded to sit around the living room and log onto facebook and what-not. That's when I saw a friend's status update (like she always does on Friday nights) recommending that we all tune in to listen to some country music radio show that was being DJ'ed by a friend of hers by the name of Boone Pyeatt. I decided to log on and see what the fuss was about.

I made the replied to her stating that we were listening now, and wouldn't you know, that Boone was a personal friend of hers, and was reading our posts from her fb page, and "liked" my post.

I replied, making mention that we were streaming his program from our hometown, and I'll be damned if not 15 minutes later, he gives us a "shout-out" on the air - specifically mentioning me and Hubby by our names. We were so excited.

I started screaming, "I'm famous! I'm famous!" and Hubby decided to share my exclamations with our friend and Boone via facebook. It was all so funny!

The music he was playing was kinda "meh," but it wasn't terrible. I just thought it was super-cool because I've never had anything happen like that to me before. I went to bed feeling a little elated about it. I mean, it wasn't a huge, life changing moment or anything, but it did make my evening.

Good times.