Motherly Advice to Green Haired Girls

Me to an 18 year old vegan, green haired girl, my son is crushing on in Brooklyn, that he met at photo camp two years ago and reconnected with recently on SnapChat, "Look, I say this without any malice, as I think you are super effin adorable...I've been walking all over the city since 9 a.m.. Going on college tours for a photography major that all my heavy-weight photographer friends have been begging me to counsel him against, at schools he can't even possibly get into, while whispering harshly to him, "Decisive moment, Bitch!", as we see cool-ass photographic opportunities on the subway, that I captured easily with my iPhone, whilst he fumbled with his Canon Rebel in manual, although I kept reminding him to choose aperture or shutter speed priority, trying not to bitch louder than the roar of shrieking train brakes, "PICK A GODDAMN MODE!" I haven't eaten since breakfast. I'm exhausted from a show that ran late last night due to a surprise musical set by Kendrick Lamar, after some quality kick-ass comedy at Radio City Music Hall, where I ended up only wanting to punch myself in the face due to the boredom factor over Kendrick's said rhymes, a boredom which really only served to mask my anxiety that I might be getting too old to actually appreciate today's young artists and their struggle. I've been sucking the big dick of boredom for 3 hours, following the two of you around vintage shops in Brooklyn (FYI - the best shit got picked over already in 92), while we get the side-eye from the locals, for possibly adding to the gentrification issue here in Park Slope, as the two of you look for ironic tattered clothing from the eighties with shoulder pads. We've passed up three restaurants because you're vegan and yet don't like salad. I haven't seen him for 4 months due to the fact that this sassy mother f*cker can't focus for shit and was at a boarding school 30 miles from the Canadian border, and all I want is pasta on my last night in NYC as I look into his beautiful hazel colored eyes, eyes that only want to stare at you...Suck it da fuck up, Buttercup!"

So I get mother of the year or some shit, right!? I've had wine, please excuse my grammar, particularly my sloppy comma use.

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