Today is Fail.

They should build a wall between Mexico and the US with Legos. Hire a whole bunch of super cool Lego artisans and have them create dragons and turtles holding up a “Stay Out All Bad Mexicans!” and "Legal = Love!" signs facing our southerly neighbor. I have these weird dreams where I am standing at the lego wall looking up wondering what’s on the other side, while some Mexican girl is standing on the other side looking up wondering what’s on the other side too. And then we both wonder why there's a wall there at all. And then we send text messages to each other on our cell phones about how The Cult’s lyrics tend to be quite minimal but the music really fucking rocks out.

Mexicans. I love you.
Mexico. You are seriously fucking freaking me out. Stop kidnapping people, geez with the heads already.

I saw this incredible band Dead Bolt last night. From afar because I was under the weather and no one likes puking club girl, even less when she is sober and not bothering to drunkenly flash her tits. (What?) I wish I had felt better but it was still badass squared; a Tarantino movie meets cheesy lounge act meets PBR. Somewhere in there I also imagine a small white bunny hopping, but that could be my own projection. Yea. Probably my own projection.

This morning I am way too freaked out to eat. So I am going to wait until near passing out. Or noon. Yesterday I also attended an annual Mother/Daughter brunch with The Cult, my mother's social sorority (What?). Every year, for the last nine, around Mother's Day, we ascend upon some new restaurant, we eat, my sister and I drink mimosas, we exchange gifts, we celebrate having a mother, or being a mother, or all that mother means... I don't know. I think my sister and I just go to drink mimosas. Ok, maybe I just go to drink mimosas.
They poisoned me with bacon at the brunch which is just cruel because I am not going to want to eat bacon for awhile I assume, and bacon is fucking good. Pork chops is good too. (What?)
Say what one more time.

Last night I also dreamt (a repeat, actually, this is the second time) I was withholding information from the authorities about a tattooed serial killer who is my very good friend. It's been a long assumption of mine I am going to wind up someone's prison bitch on account of my own negligence, never you mind actual "crime"; my luck, it ain't gonna be Wendy O. Williams. Suck.

I have no coffee and itunes is playing Indian drum music I didn't know I owned.
Excuse the dust and paint smell. My head is building rooms faster than Rose Red. Oh no. Those stairs don’t go ANYWHERE.
Not sure what I am doing. Lost. No Map. Blindfolded. Kicked down the stairs at night, no cane. Where is Gollum?
We all will make it to the black gates together.
You and I.
Me and You.
And then I will throw you into the mountain because I REALLY like shiny things.
Sorry.

What’s the Spanish phrase for “Fuck me with a tire iron”?