A fool and his money are soon parted.

From now on, the headline of my site will say what I'm thinking. And what I'm thinking is that's a pretty accurate interpretation of my life. If I were transported back in time to Shakespearan England, I would totally be the court jester. Keep in mind that in most of Shakespeare's plays, the fool was often one of the wisest characters (damn you, irony!).

So yesterday was April Fool's Day, and I had the best prank played on me. This letter came right? And it was addressed to me and it was from the City of Columbia. So I open it, and I see this note from the finance department saying my last month's rent check had been returned for INSUFFICIENT FUNDS (that's the city's writing, not mine). What a hilarious joke! I mean, it has to be a prank, right? Since having to pay the $25 return fee plus the original $87 bill, combined with my other bills, would mean my new $400 paycheck just got zapped down to $8.54. Man, those people at the Water and Light Department sure are funny.

On a related note, I pawned my ex-girlfriend's (read: psycho hose-beast's) ring today. She told me it was a 10 karat, platinum-banded diamond. I believed her, since SHE bought it for me to give to her, when I was ready of course (Cue ominous music). She told me at the time (over a year ago) that it cost her around $300. Either she was saving face, or I just got hosed, because I went to all three pawn shops in town and eventually sold it for $35. Let me repeat that in words: THIRTY-FIVE DOLLARS. And that was the highest offer. Shit, what a crock. I feel a little guilty, but then I realize she was fuckin nuts, so I don't feel as bad.

What else? Let's see, there's this girl in one of my lab classes who is phenominally attractive to me. If I had to use the standard scale, I would guess other people might give her a 7 in looks, but she's so intelligent and witty and stylish, it bumps her to a least a 9.5 on my scale. And that's a tough number to get from me, because my scale only goes to 9.9 (and before you ask, no, not even a supermodel can achieve the ever-coveted 10, because noone's perfect.) The thing that does me in though, is her eyes. Beautiful, exotic, brown eyes. Every time I look at them I have trouble speaking. Enough of my pining, though. I still have to figure out if she has a boyfriend, then work the courage up to ask her out. Which means by this time next year I might have a date! Also, she's one of the few I find hot who doesn't yet have a ring on her left hand, so I got that going for me.

That's it for me today. My hands are tired of typing. See you later.

Six days. SIX FRIGGIN' DAYS ...

God, I'm getting so sick of this. There's only six days left until I can be social, have a life, etc. I'm trying to plan where exactly I'm going to go when I finally turn 21. Most likely, my first stop will be all the places that told me no (this means you, random bars in Kansas City!). I will drink myself into a stupor and make them haul my slobbering, almost-passed-out ass out into the street. I might even force myself to projectile vomit all over their bathroom. (Probably not that last one -- I heard they charge you like $25 for that now.) Where I won't go is to the two or three nice, friendly establishments that realized that excluding me because of my age just wasn't right, because I wasn't going to be drinking, and I just wanted to have fun with my friends. A whole new door will open, and I'm ready to run right through it.

This would be the time when I have that J350 class, but it's over for the year. Now THAT'S how a class is supposed to work. Go to lecture for three weeks, have the instructor tell you what to write to produce certain results, then spend the next three weeks developing a Web site, then you're done. I love it. Good stuff.