New developments abound this week. My dear friend Deb has procurred permanent employment (Thanks in no small part to me. Is there no end to my vanity?) not far from where I live. Great news for me, not so wonderful for her, since I live in the middle of nowhere. Deb is a city girl at heart. She has fun when she visits, but I suspect that she hears that banjo riff from Deliverance every time she steps out of her car. So I'm sure it'll take some getting used to. At any rate, I'll be thrilled to have a friend up here that isn't having children or getting married. I'm hoping I'll feel less like a mutant. Or we'll be mutants together, and no one will be allowed to join our mutant shenanigans. We'll hop and skip through the countryside in all our single, unattached glory. I'm thinking of having t-shirts made.

Also, I found out I've been accepted to the culinary institute up here. Which, seeing as how it's owned by the local (cringe) community college, means that I have a pulse and walk upright. So yea for me. (I'm kidding. Really, I'm quite grateful for the opportunity. Plus, from what I know so far, I should be able to jump right into the culinary program this fall. And then, dare I say it, only 2 years and I'll be able to get a real job. Woo-hoo! As Deb would say, "One day I'll be a real boy!")

And my hypocrisy has reached new dizzying heights, as I've been commissioned to make cakes for two weddings. While I resent this antiquated mating ritual as the last gasp of a puritanical moral structure, apparently I have no qualms about making money from it. Yep, if it's the choice between cash or principles, we know which one Lisa picks! Aw, fuck it. It's fun to decorate cakes. Maybe I'll stop eating meat to compensate. Or maybe I won't wear fur. Which would be easier, since I can't afford it anyway. Hmm...yes..... it's the perfect plan... (It's times like these I wish I had a diabolical mustache to tweak.)

I've also taken up knitting. Which I'm sure will be rewarding and enjoyable once it stops being mind-numbingly frustrating.

And I just may have the beginnings of my crime novel, as inspiration unexpectedly struck late last night. I don't mind admitting I'm incredibly relieved, since I'd been wrestling with a bit of a dry spell lately. I blame the recent heat wave. Really, who can write a coherent plot outline when it's 90 degrees outside? I mean, besides all those writers that live in places like Spain and Portugal. And Florida. And Brazil. And Fiji. Yeah. If you need me I'll be huddled in a corner, clutching my delusions.