Up next: your five-day forecast

I've been spending (some might say, wasting) a bit of time lately searching the web for some kind of activity where I might actually get paid (coming to the conclusion with a heavy heart that it's doubtful anyone will give me a living wage for writing pitch letters to literary agents, quirky little bits for your (mostly my) entertainment or for staring at the stack of paper that is the (almost) first draft of my next novel and hoping that that magically it will become a publishable manuscript.)

So here's my plan. The perfect job for me,

I'm going to be a Weather Caster.

My whole body is like one giant barometer anyway, so why not take advantage of my natural talent? I get sinus headaches and burning pains in my hips when it's about to rain. I'm agitated before thunderstorms. My knees ache before it snows, the intensity equals the amount. When everything I've ever injured begins to ache, then it's time to get your ass into the SUV and load it up for bear; something big is about to go down. So, to do the "forecast," I pour myself a cup of decaf, go to my Weather Center "office" and plot the coordinates: a full body scan versus temperature, time of year, and an isobar "cheat sheet" so I can extrapolate how much snow or rain you're going to get in your area. If there's a conflict, I call my stepmother, who is equally gifted, and fortunately for her, already employed.

Then I dress up pretty, starch my hair and stand in front of a blue screen on camera for five minutes, making appropriately sympathetic faces and lame jokes with the news readers while I sweep my hands across an invisible map of the tri-state area and babble on about the latest models and cold fronts.

Bet I'm right more often then the "real" meteorologists. But would they hire me? No, you have to have some kind of snooty degree or something, you have to know phrases like "rain event" and "Alberta Clipper." Oh, if someone would just give me a chance...