09.10.02 :: 1:44 pm

Margaritas and chips and a burrito and Carla's poo issues and later we went to her and Erin's new apartment which had black and white tile floors in the kitchen and I suggested they paint the kitchen red, like in the dream sequence of "Twin Peaks" and Carla goes "So you want us to have a brothel theme?" And I was like, "Yeah, exactly."

So we walked and tried the keys again but they were definitely a bum set and the snippet of conversation that made my stomach hurt from laughing was about our favorite picture of what seems to be a mentally disabled baby kitty:

"He died."
"How did he die?"
"He tried to lift his head and his esophagus closed."
Poor, poor Sma.

I'm excited about going to Chicago with Carla, and I only wish Erin was coming so we could be that obnoxious and insane at 27,000 feet.

Next time.

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