Detachment Parenting

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A text conversation that took place with my friend, Maya, because of this post…in which my son gave a thinly veiled threat of cannibalism.

Maya: Come to my house.  You’re safe here. We’re all vegetarians.

Me:  I’ll be right over, but I’m leaving the kids behind…clearly, they can’t be trusted.

Maya: It’ll be like Lord of the Flies at your house. Plus side, you’ll be safe over here, and I have alcohol.

Me: Okay, but nobody better call CPS….be cool.

I’d Like To Use My Phone-A-Friend, Regis

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A text conversation with our favorite angry physician.

Me: Hey, I need you to settle a bet.  How long was Noah’s flood?

Drew: You do realize that I’m in Dubai on business, right?

Me: I do, but I’m on the clock, here.

Drew: You know who’s NOT on the clock?  Google.

Me: *sigh*

Drew: Fine.  40 days of rain, 160 on the Ark, 150 days until the water receded, and on the 10th day after that they sent out the birds.

Me: THANK YOU!

Drew: Why are you betting on biblical facts, by the way?

Me: I’m not.

Drew: ???

Me: I was betting Matt that you’d know that obscure crap, and that I could get you to tell me from Dubai inside of two minutes. (92 seconds, by the way)

Drew *slow clap*

(5 minutes later)

Me: Hey, do you happen to know the names of his sons’ wives?

Drew: Fuck you.

 

At Least My Nameless Stalkers Are Amusing

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I’m not sure what’s the most horrifying thing about this text exchange…that it’s real, that I *STILL* have zero idea who I was talking to, or that once I jokingly identified them as my mother…that they stopped talking to me.  If my mother had ANY idea how to load a GIF…I’d find this highly suspicious.

(Note…the pictures are all actually GIFs that were far more horrifying in motion.)

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He Gives Good Oral Hygiene.

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(This conversation is probably why Casey hates texting, and prefers to actually call me.  Probably.)

Me: You left your toothbrush here last night.

Casey: It’s not mine, must be your other boyfriend’s.

Me: You should note that I sent that out as a mass text.

Casey: Suddenly, my joke isn’t as funny.

Drew Strikes Again

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(A conversation between myself and Drew, who was texting from his elliptical at the Jewish Community Center.)

Drew: Dude, the people are so old in this gym, that instead of personal trainers, they should have estate planners circulating.

Me: That’s terrible.

Drew: No, terrible would be telling you that in this gym, the median age is “dead”.

2013…You’ve Been A Sweet, Sultry Tart Of A Year

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This Has Nothing At All To Do With This Post, But I've Been Meaning To Use It For Ages...So...There You Go...Try And Wipe The Image Of Scooby Beating Off From Your Memory, Where It Will Haunt You Forever.  You're Welcome.

This Has Nothing At All To Do With This Post, But I’ve Been Meaning To Use It For Ages…So…There You Go…Try And Wipe The Image Of Scooby Beating Off From Your Memory, Where It Will Haunt You Forever. You’re Welcome.

Friends…Lovers…People who just stumbled on this, and have NO idea why they made such a horrific mistake, and who are now rethinking doing so after reading this incredibly long intro…

I want to thank you for your support and readership these last six months. They’ve meant the world to me, and I appreciate the fact that you’ve not only tolerated, but maybe even appreciated my nonsensical rambling about parenting, inappropriate use of texting technology, panda genocide, and pubic waxing. We here at fisticuffsandshenanigans (meaning me and my dog…who has no idea I’m including him in this, but I own his ass, so he’s in, whether or not he wants to be), hope that you have the happiest of happy New Years, and that all your dreams come true in 2014 (your good dreams…you know…the ones where you get to fuck Jake Gyllenhaal, and not the shitty dreams where you fall off of buildings…and come to think of it, if all of your dreams come true…Gyllenhaal is going to be one slutty whore, so, please…use a condom).

If you get a second, we’ve made some changes (we being the dog and I again…he’s better at programming than I am, sadly), and we’d love your feedback on the new look. Unless of course you hate the new look, in which case, the dog says you can go screw yourself…he’s a mean bastard.

Wet Kisses And Dry Reach-Arounds!

-Meg and Sully.

Family therapy…it’s inevitable.

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Yet another late night text conversation with my daughter, albeit this time she was at her grandmother’s and not in the other room.

Caolinn: I just drew an Amish Ninja.  She has a sword and a butter churn.

Me: That is super offensive to at least two cultures.

Caolinn: I apologize.  Although they don’t use texting technology, so they won’t know.  They are deadly though, so, again, I apologize.  How much do you love me?

Me: I love you more than my luggage, sweetpea.

Caolinn: What the hell?  Of course I’m better than your luggage!  You have to pay extra for it on flights!  Why would you use that for a comparison?  (though I appreciate the gesture)

Me: I love you more than puppies, chocolate chip cookies, hot showers, and free premium cable.

Caolinn: I can live with that.