Since I’m no longer on my mother’s couch watching the Jodi Arias trial when my mom gets home from work everyday (instead, I’m on my couch in LA watching the Jodi Arias trial when my roommate gets home from work everyday), I’ve been getting a lot of texts from her checking in.
You are about to read original texts from my mother, complete and uncut:
For a little background, I sent my mom home with the brand new GPS my dad bought me because I thought it was defective. Apparently, a quick once over of something called “directions” would have proven that the GPS was, in fact, completely functional.
This next group of messages occurred after I told my mother I was going to a bar called The Den, an establishment once frequented by my confirmed (by my mother) soul mate, Jason Segel.
Please take note of the fact that it is 3 hours later than the time stamp where my mother is in NH:
So, besides the text I got from my brother the other day informing me that my mother was crying over my inevitable death in an earthquake, I think she’s doing okay. Until she remembers about California brush fires.
