Shit my mom says. Edition #1.
My mother and I are pretty much the same person. Inside and out. (She has worse gas.) Same height, same hair color, same shoe size, same weight ( I know shoot me). We look so much alike people think we are sisters…. she’s 52…I’m 22. What the fucking fuck?!
Of course we have the same exact personality. Which made this post so easy to write. I literally just followed her around for a day with a notepad and pen, with my mother complaining the whole time… “What are you writing down…Wait I didn’t mean that don’t fucking write that down…. Jesus Christ this better not end up in your fucking blog.”
“Every time I hear that god damn umbrella song, I want to punch Rihanna in the god damn face.”
“Fucking toast the bird.”
“God I wish I could tan like that.” In reference to a chicken’s skin on the grill.
“Come on Bubba, just bubba up and grow some bubba stuff.” She was talking to a tree.
“You want to know the secret to a successful marriage? Beer.”
“How could I hate something that looks exactly like me? If you didn’t you’d be screwed.”
“Whoops…that may have been a shart…don’t fucking write that down!”
“You know she ate paint right?” In reference to me to my best friend when I went left the room.
“I don’t want the Mexican’s hair.”
“You better get famous, I want to walk around naked in your house in the Hamptons and walk in on you and your husband doing it… and be like ‘yeah this is awkward isn’t it’…next time knock!”
…I love you mom.