Rachel Callahan

Why God Made Them Short.

October 14, 2013October 14, 2013 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, I embarrass myself just for your amusement., Just My Luck, Toddlers: The Experience

There are times when it would be immensely convenient for toddlers to be taller.

During Potty-Training, for instance. Especially for the hand washing segment. It is a delicate art indeed to balance a child between you and the countertop so that both of your hands are available to help them while leaning on their fragile little bodies hard enough to prevent slippage, but lightly enough so as to not bruise their kidneys or break any ribs.

Also, if they were taller, their longer legs would be faster, therefore making your use of the phrase “For the love of Mommy c’MON, dude!!” much less necessary on an hourly basis.

But then there are occasions when their shortness is so magnificent, so wondrous, and so relieving that it is something worthy of its own Thanksgiving Day Parade.

I was in my closet getting dressed last Thursday, enjoying two seconds of not being in the company of my two-year-old. He knew I’d snuck away and could sense my joy. So OBVIOUSLY, he quickly came running to correct the situation.

I didn’t look up, trying to finish the task at hand and hoping that if I ignored him he’d go find some other poor half-dressed soul to pleasure with his company.

Until he said, “I’m taking your picture, Mommy!”

And I realized that he had the iPad. Pointed directly at me. Adjusting his angles while he smiled at the image on the screen.

THIS is the punishment I get for being snarky about iPad Photography? REALLY, Universe??

I was one leg in and one leg out of skinny jeans, so basically in a straightjacket times two. I had no doubt in Noah’s ability to somehow broadcast these photos to all of America and half of Europe in less than half a second (kids these days), so I hysterically hopped into the other pants leg as he kept joyfully hitting the photo button with a giant, proud grin on his face.

This is when I made the groundbreaking discovery currently sending shockwaves through the Physics Community that Skinny Jeans function in an eerily similar manner to Chinese Handcuffs. The more frantically you tug, the more sturdily they trap you in their maliciously shrinking grip.

Facebook. He’s gonna find the “Share on Facebook” option any minute. And then Twitter. And Apple Photo Stream. The kid’ll probably sign up for a Flickr account before I reach him.

“I take your picture AGAIN, Mommy!!”

I finally dove at him and jerked the iPad out of his sticky little fingers, hopefully ending his creepy photography career forever or at least for the day.

Then I hastily scrolled through his artistry.

And now I know what I look like getting into skinny jeans from the eye of a toddler.

And then jumping like a spider monkey with his tail on fire when I realized what was happening.

(And how messy my closet floor has become.)

But thank God he’s short.

So let’s have some Turkey and Gravy and celebrate his stature. And bust all the cameras before he gets any taller.

To the Young Parents of the World.

October 11, 2013October 10, 2013 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Just My Luck, Parent of the Year

Dear Parents that have yet to reach tooth-pulling age,

I owe you an apology. And a grave warning.

In December of 2012, after only three weeks of Ali having her first loose tooth, I penned the following paragraph:

“Shocked at her sudden burst of bravery, I quickly grabbed the napkin, reached in, and popped it out.

No wonder there’s no tool [for tooth-pulling] – it’s that easy.”

This representation was grotesquely naïve, as it was fraught with beginner’s luck, a clueless child, and a blessing from the Lord Above.

Tooth-pulling is a treacherous undertaking. It is one that can munch away at your psyche – mocking you, judging you, and acting as the Raven at your window, squawking out that same despairing word over and over, causing you to seriously doubt your fitness to take on such a challenge.

Less than a month after that first loss, her other bottom-center tooth came out, again fairly easily, and her top two teeth started to loosen.

I was unabashedly arrogant with regards to my talents, certain that I was a tooth-pulling maestro, so unique in the world of child-raising that I could easily make millions by hiring out my abilities to more squeamish and less-proficient parents.

But that was 300 days ago.

And her first top tooth just released it’s evil grip on her gums. Let me reiterate: 300 days after it became loose.

The amount of tears that went into the process of the removal of that tooth is best left undocumented, as it would most likely skew annual rainfall totals for the state of Alabama.

This time lapse is partially due to Ali’s realization that that tooth-pulling does in fact slightly hurt, and pain is something she does not believe in. It is also attributable to the clear fact that her top center teeth are rooted up to the top of her skull, sewn, stapled, and super-glued there, then also rooted down to the tip of her big toe, where they are welded to the underside of her toenail.

And this is all great and fine until the Dentist gives you a deadline and an ultimatum.

“You need to have those teeth out within three months or you will have to get her an appointment with me immediately so that I can pull them. They look like the type that won’t come out on their own, and you don’t want them causing orthodontic problems later.”

The mantel of burden that he placed upon me that day felt to my shoulders like a Momma Elephant about to give birth to triplets.

And so we began a daily routine – you must wiggle your tooth substantially at least four times a day, and you must allow Mommy one good yank per night.

What ensued was ending every night with a complete panicking meltdown, followed by either a) me getting such a headache that I gave up, or b) me feeling the need to not allow her to win the battle and risk my life and limb and digits by forcing them into her mouth to yank between screams.

Weeks went by. Our 90 day deadline haunted me with visions of my child bringing down the walls of the dental office with her impressive decibel level. Until one day we had a breakthrough, when Ali accidentally knocked her right tooth with her fork. It flapped in the breeze, most assuredly hanging on by a mere thread of nerve.

What followed were multiple nights of my “one good yank” resulting in buckets of blood, but no tooth removal – further adding to the hysteria of my Anti-Pain Activist Daughter.

After a week of this, her tooth could easily move independently from the rest of her body, giving her the ability to perform such fantastic tricks as, “Look! I’m Mater!”

I finally got another good knock at it, this time managing to [squeamish people skim this phrase] rip it forward. So far forward that it stuck – horizontally glued to her gums, but still quite insistent on being a tenant in her mouth.

And then it turned a frightful shade of purplish-grey.

I swear her tooth rotted on the vine.

After three more days of my daily yank going nowhere (and I got some good ones), my brother scared me at Sunday lunch.

“It could be abscessed. Or if it’s not yet, I bet it will be soon. You really should go ahead and take her in.”

But I took my fear and I used it to fuel the Winner Within. And with the passion of a Christina Aguilera Affirmation Power Ballad singing through my veins, I ignored my daughter’s pitiful pleas for mercy and I yanked that infernal tooth out of her head.

But not without shivering from the intensity of the past 300 days of effort. And from the fact that she still had another tooth to go before we reached our 90 day deadline.

So, parents of the world.

Teeth are a menace, whether coming into your baby’s squealing gums or being yanked out of your first-grader’s terrified soul. Do not take this responsibility lightly, or it will taunt you with its ability to steal gigantic chunks of your life.

You’re welcome.

Baby Got Pad.

October 9, 2013February 17, 2014 Rachel Callahan Chris, Guest Post, Musically Speaking, Photographical Oddities, This is TONGUE IN CHEEK People - Don't take me Seriously., Utter Silliness

There is really nothing I adore more than watch people awkwardly record important moments with iPads. Especially in large crowds of people where their ‘pad completely blocks the view of the people around them and they’re likely to give their neighbor a black eye if they get too excited.

Or two.

And, much akin to umbrellas in football stadiums, I suspect that one day soon, there will be “iPads Prohibited” signs at the entrance of every children’s performance and sports game.

At least hold her right-side-up.

I can also say that I have gotten more than a few stranger’s blue jean butt selfies in my inbox with a giant iPad case nearly blocking the view that I was supposed to be analyzing.

So when Chris got me an iPad this spring, this was the first photo I took:

“Chris bought me a new camera!”

Upon tweeting about my iPad photography opinions a few months ago, my husband spontaneously rewrote the first few lines of “Baby Got Back” and tweeted it to me. And they were brilliant.

And for my birthday, he finished it.

A girl couldn’t ask for a better present, although I’m sure there are more waiting for me. [Right, honey?]

So while I bask in my 32nd birthday and anxiously await my other gifts, please enjoy his artistic labor of love.

Baby Got Pad.

OMG, Becky, look at her camera.
It is so big.
She looks like one of those bloggers.
But, y’know, who understands those bloggers?
I mean, her camera, is just so big.
I can’t believe its just so rectangular.
Its like, out there, I mean – gross. Look!
She’s just so weird.

[Bass Line]

I like big cameras and I can not lie
You other photogs can’t deny
That when a girl walks up with an iPad case
And unfolds it in your face
You SMH, wanna throw up tough
Cause you notice that case was stuffed.
Deep in the scene she’s crafting
I’m hooked and I can’t stop laughing
Oh baby, I wanna get witch’a
And take your picture.
My homegirls just can’t phase me
But that case you got makes me so crazy
Toes, kids, or sunbeams
You say you wanna fill up your stream?
Well see me, smell me,
Cause this ain’t that average selfie.
I’ve seen that screen
Her favorite filter’s green
She must be hiding from you
Its like she’s playing peekaboo.
I’m tired of dumb webzines
Sayin’ iPhones are the thing
Take the average blogger and scan her space
She gotta pack much case.

So ladies (Yeah) ladies (Yeah)
Has your girlfriend got the Pad?
Tell her to take it (take it) take it (take it)
Take that cheesy pic!
Baby got Pad.

The Recipe For Educational Calamity.

October 8, 2013October 8, 2013 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Homeschooling: Not just for the socially awkward anymore., I would NEVER take too many pictures. . ., I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Just My Luck

The Pumpkin Patch Field Trip of your Nightmares.

Yield: 15 Exasperated Mothers and 58 Screaming Children.
Prep Time: Longer than you can possibly conceive.
Calories: Certainly enough will be burned to justify mass chocolate consumption for the following seven days.

Directions:

1. Wake your children from their restful slumber in order to arrive on time. One of the main reasons you homeschool is to avoid this necessity, but it’s a field trip. So it will be worth it, right?

2. Drive an hour to a beautiful farm. Acres of cotton, corn, Christmas trees, and supposedly Pumpkins – although you don’t see any. Quickly snap endearing photos before you regret your whole life.

3. When you arrive at 9:15, there will already be a line twenty feet wide and a quarter mile long of people wafting here and fro looking for their field trip group. Do not be distracted by the frantically waving arms somewhat akin to the sororities in the stadium student section trying to stake off their territory (minus the stiletto heels and upper-thigh-length dresses.)

4. Do not be discouraged by the fact that despite the gargantuan mass of bodies already waiting, there are four more school buses pulling in. School buses that were clearly seating five butts to a chair.

5. Pay no heed to the fact that all of the 4,362 students that disembark from those busses have Matching 2013 Custom Chevron Pumpkin Patch Field Trip T-Shirts. It’s true – perhaps your group would have been better served if you’d had MCCPPFTTSes, but you can’t fix that now, can you?

6. As you make it to the animal pens and hear through the grapevine that your group’s Pumpkin Picking has been moved back by an hour, distract yourself from your already-bored children by watching the massive gaggle of parents taking photos of their MCCPPFTTS-Clad classes. And realize that the whole colony of them just cut in line.

7. Don’t ask the question of why your otherwise-responsible six-year-old shoved a plastic baggie through the chicken wire and into the baby duck pen. Just go get someone to help before a Duckling chokes and croaks in front of the children.

8. Do enjoy watching your two nieces get too close to the Donkey, who will loudly and with great moistness HEE-HAW in their face, sending them screaming, running, crying, knocking each other down, and granting them a fear of donkeys for the rest of their lives. Donkatized.

9. Use the Hay Maze liberally, distracting your children from the infinite waiting at hand.

10. Please note: Hay Maze Distraction lasts a maximum of five minutes.

11. Take this opportunity to use the still-panicking niece’s super-fun wagon as a distraction. Pay no attention to the sad boredom emanating from your children’s faces. Especially since you had been selling this day as The Most Fun Part of Fall!! all week.

12. Score yourself a moment’s break by sending your child on a mission to collect Guinea Fowl feathers. And give yourself a tally mark in the “educational” column.

(This will unfortunately not secure peace from your much whinier toddler, so don’t expect to get to check Twitter or anything.)

13. At 10:30, you will see stirrings within your group. Jump up expectantly, hoping to see a pumpkin. Follow the crowd, which will lead you to an educational talk on cotton picking. That neither you nor your children can hear.

14. And since they can’t hear, they will of course talk and play loudly, thereby assuring that no one else can hear. Distract your daughter with cotton pickin’.

15. Cotton Pickin’ is not fun. That’s why it’s used as a southern expletive. Your child will then start a loud game of Ring Around The Rosy. Encourage her to move away from the crowd of Moms who are attempting more of an educational focus than you.

16. Meanwhile, your rapidly growing-in-discontent toddler will be folded over, taco-style, in your lap whimpering incessantly. Did I mention that this field trip will take place on a painfully and unseasonably hot and humid day?

17. Despite your Lap Sad-Sack, try and help your Sister-In-Law find her son when he hides in the corn field. And then in the cotton field. And then in the tallest Christmas tree he could find.

18. After the Cotton Message, head back from whence you came. And observe the line. And begin making bets on which Homeschool Mom will be the first to cuss.

19. Meanwhile, your children will notice the Corn Cob Toss. IMMEDIATELY CURB THEIR CURIOSITY.

20. Unfortunately, it’s between the Corn Cobs or the Line.

They will pick the Corn Cobs.

21. One will stand on one side. One will stand on the other side. Both will participate in the fast-flying Cobs. You will flinch.

22. And one will get smacked in the head.

23. It is now 11:30. Two hours and fifteen minutes since you arrived, and Zero Pumpkin Sightings. More children will begin to crack. Mothers will attempt to go to their happy place. One child will be overheard saying “Mom, when we pray at bedtime tonight, let’s not give thanks for this trip.”

However, God will grant mercy to your tormented souls and direct you to a shaded picnic area.

24. You will begin to feel the effects of dehydration, and your children will be begging you for food and drinks even more fervently than they already have for the last two hours. Unfortunately, the Pumpkin Patch Officials confiscated all of your nourishment when you arrived and placed them in a hidden picnic area. The fact that your brought your nicest thermal lunch bag is the only thing that will keep you from running away from this Evil Psychological Experiment. So you have no choice but to parch and die.

Break the news gently to the children.

25. The Pumpkin Patch Officials will spot your City of Refuge and instruct your group to get out of the shade and come stand in the hot and sticky line. Begin placing bets on which Homeschool Mom will be the last to cuss.

26. Offer to watch everyone’s children while the mothers attempt to hunt down their hidden food. This way you do not have to move your quickly perishing body more than it can stand. Meanwhile, make your daughter watch the children.

27. While the mothers are gone, the tractors with the trailers for the hay rides to the pumpkins will arrive. And you will have in your care a mass of children and a choice: To Pumpkin or not To Pumpkin?

28. Blessedly, the rest of the mothers will hear and come awkwardly sprinting, being thrown off-balance by their giant coolers for which they now have nowhere to put. Pile all of the children on the trailers and enjoy basking in the Magical Gleam of Autumn twinkling from their eyes.

29. And, at 12:07, you will spot your first pumpkins. The joy will be palpable.

30. Watch as the children spring forth with glee, running with fervor into the invigorating fall heaven.

32. Take comfort in the enormous size of the pumpkins, making it worth it that you actually paid good money for this trip.

33. Entertain your toddler on the way back with selfies. Because otherwise he will slip off of your lap and into a catatonic state.

34. Find the barn loft in which they hid your food. Take note of the dark, dank, 100 degree setting in which they commanded you to eat. THEN RUN. FOR YOUR LIVES.

35. It is now 12:56 pm. Your cooler bag is ten times heavier than you remembered, and your entire body is searing in pain from supporting your cranky toddler for the last 3 1/2 hours. But his legs will quit working at the beginning of your quarter-mile walk back to your car.

Don’t blame him – blame the pumpkins.

36. Treat your educational anguish with a Frappuccino. Just don’t set it comparatively next to the pumpkins.

37. Skip steps 1-36 and buy your freaking pumpkins at Lowe’s.

Moist: On Meeting Daze.

October 7, 2013January 6, 2014 Rachel Callahan Actually Possibly Informational, I Love Birmingham, I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Investigative Report, Mystery Solved

On Friday, I shared the majority of my interview with Moist, a Birmingham graffiti artist. However, the last question I asked had such a fascinating answer that I saved it for a post of its own.

I asked Moist if he had ever met Daze, another graffiti artist whose tags I see all over town, and if they were friends. Here is his answer.

DAZE is the king of Birmingham graffiti. I have painted with him a good bit but I can’t say I know him personally. He’s the most careful person you will never meet. I can’t go into super detail about him because he could literally kill me if I say too much.

For those that aren’t already aware, DAZE has been painting since forever, he’s a super old school writer. No one crosses him.

I have a website that I occasionally post photos to, and so does he. So one day I received a message on there from Daze. I anxiously opened it to discover a simple message that said “Under the brick, 11th Ave north and 19th St north, tomorrow”

Are you kidding me? Secret messages? This dude is a kook for sure.

So of course the next day as soon as I got off work I went to 11th and 19th. And I won’t lie, I was nervous as hell for sure. I showed up around 4pm while the sun was still out – I had no idea what was going to happen. Also, for those unaware, 11th Ave north and 19th St north is the corner of Oak Hill Cemetery.

Photo from Wikipedia Commons

Of course I didn’t know that until I passed by it in my truck, I drove by and sure enough there was a small brick wall on the corner. I parked and walked over, the whole time I was checking over my back looking for people. I started touching the bricks in the corner of that wall, jiggling them trying to find the loose brick while looking like a crazy person on some scavenger hunt that ends with God knows what.

None of the bricks were loose. I checked every one of them on that corner. I was confused. I started looking elsewhere. I knew there had to be something there. I climbed over that short wall and there it was, a regular brick in the corner just sitting in the grass. I lifted it up and there was a note inside a Ziploc bag. I looked around again before I opened it.

The note was intense for a note. It said something along the lines of “Meet me at the Amtrak station up top at midnight, wear dark clothes, bring a bag of black and white Rusto. Don’t @%!# this up. I’m giving you one shot.”

I was so stoked and freaking out at the same time. I went and got all my stuff together and waited for nightfall. I had to walk way down the train tracks to get to the Amtrak station, there’s not really an easy access right at the station doors down on street level. I got up there around 11:40 – I wanted to be early. So I was just chilling up at the Amtrak station. At night it’s really deserted – no workers, no bums – it was quiet.

I checked my phone for the time, and it was close to midnight. I’m thinking this dude has to be insane. No one does this kind of stuff. I distinctly remember watching my phone clock click over to 12:01 and thinking what is going on with this dude.

Then I hear someone walking on gravel across the train tracks. There was a line of train cars that were parked on the furthest track. Then I see a dude climb in between the cars to cross over. I couldn’t tell much about the figure, I just assumed it was him because he was walking straight towards me. This dude is huge, he’s a monster, just a broad beast of a man, and as he gets closer I realize that he’s wearing a mask! Like a cheap plastic mask that was all black.

I almost ran off. I really did.

He walked up, looked up at me, and said, “You ready?” Uh yeah dude. Haha. Yeah I’m ready. We walked down the track for what seemed like a mile, under some more sketchy bridges and past some scrap yards, then finally there was a plain concrete wall right on the side of the tracks. We just chilled and painted that wall side by side.

I was painting side by side with Daze. My mind had officially been blown.

He didn’t say much while we were painting. He gave me some pointers so that my piece would look better, but that was about it. He didn’t want to know my real name, and I sure as hell wasn’t about to ask him his. After we finished we walked back to the Amtrak station and he disappeared across the train cars. I went back the next day and got flicks.

But now days I don’t have to look under rocks for messages, he gave me a throw away prepaid cell phone.

Moist: The Interview.

October 4, 2013July 21, 2020 Rachel Callahan Actually Possibly Informational, I Love Birmingham, Investigative Report, Mystery Solved, Pop Post, Popular Posts

A couple of months ago, I mentioned my favorite graffiti sighting in Birmingham, Moist. I have an appreciation for well-written, non-obscene graffiti, and found it to be rather brilliant that someone would take the most hated and eye-catching word in the human language and use it for their tag. Consequently, I keep an eye out for Moist wherever I go.

Because of that post, Moist also found me. And, perplexingly enough, seemed to appreciate my style of writing. He emailed me and we began corresponding – the graffiti artist and the homeschool mom. He typically keeps a low profile, but agreed to let me interview him via email. And, being the over-observant, insatiably curious person that I am, I found his stories to be riveting.

I am a firm believer in the fact that you don’t have to completely agree with someone to enjoy their writing – in fact, stories are often most interesting when someone is vastly different than you – which is why I enjoy the radio show This American Life so much. So, with that context in mind, I encourage you to take off your “graffiti is illegal and you shouldn’t deface property” hat for a moment and enjoy the stories of Moist.

(This will be a two-part series, because I’m saving the best story for a standalone post.)

Photo courtesy of Moist

When did you first discover that you were Moist?

Well I went for a walk one day about four years ago when I just started getting into graffiti, I walked really far.

I love just walking sometimes, like Forrest Gump.

It started raining super hard and I was in Highland Park, and instead of running for cover, I just stood there in the rain. I watched people pack up and scatter in fear of getting wet like it’s going to ruin their lives or something. What’s the big deal with getting wet? Its water, we need it to survive, but oh no when it falls from the sky and lands on us we all trip out and run for cover.

So I just sat on a concrete stair and scratched the word MOIST into the step with a rock I found all while getting drenched. From then on I wrote MOIST.

I also love that so many people legitimately hate that word. It’s more likely to stick in peoples heads and more likely to be brought up in conversation. I love it when people hate it. It’s weird.

Coming from a sometimes fashion blogger, what do you wear when you’re illegally painting?

Dark blue and black clothes. And the occasional reflective vest with flashing LED lights that say “VANDALISM IN PROGRESS, ALERT THE AUTHORITIES!”

Do you vandalize on an empty stomach or do you eat a pre-game meal?

No one likes to be hungry. Yeah I make sure I have a satisfied stomach, sit in my floor, and do my leg and arm warm-ups. I wouldn’t want to pull a muscle whilst climbing razor wire fences or being chased by dogs.

Do you always feel moist, or is it more of an alter-ego?

Graffiti writing is a lifestyle. It’s an addiction like anything. I’ll just be hanging out somewhere and then realize I’ve written on a ton of stuff.

It happens with everything I look at, I picture how I could fit a straight letter onto it or a small marker tag. I think about the color contrast and which is the best color to make it stand out the most. I think about line of sight, where is the most efficient placement so that the most amount of people will see it. All those thoughts happen involuntarily.

Everyone has their things they like, people in Alabama love football, extreme fans will literally harm other human beings because of team rivalry and all that nonsense.

I’m rambling.

I’m into graffiti, it makes me feel. I need that. Just because I hate football doesn’t make me want to run out onto a football field with a knife trying to deflate the ball. But yeah, its always there, whenever I go anywhere, before I leave my house, I grab my keys, wallet, phone, and a pilot marker.

Photo courtesy of Moist

Does your family know you’re moist?

I don’t have family in Birmingham, they don’t really know what I’m up to, and they wouldn’t really care either.

How do you choose your targets?

I like your questions. I get on Google maps and place a bunch of pins all over the city that spell out my name then I try to hit them all. If it’s a spot that gets a lot of attention, then it’s good, or if it looks really cool in a photo, like an old falling apart abandoned building that most people wouldn’t think twice about.

Font choice is crucial in my world and yours. How do you go about choosing a moist typeface?

In the city, I really enjoy simple readable letters. If you can read it while cruising 150mph and only seeing it for a tenth of a second, it’s cool with me.

What is the craziest spot you’ve ever painted?

I would have to say the McWane building seen from I-20/59.

Photo courtesy of Moist

I had pictured hitting that spot years ago, way before it was even closed. Every time I passed that part of the highway, I would think about how insane it would be to hit that building.

Me and this dude ARUHI climbed up some old rusted pipes on the side of this monstrous warehouse really late at night after the dew was settling. Everything was soaking wet from the dew, we shimmied across the steep inclined sheet metal roof to get to this spot. After I got up there I knew I couldn’t turn back just because it was soaking wet. I was already on the roof, I had to do it. Aruhi stopped at one point where he was going to paint but I had to keep going across the ridge to get to mine.

I very carefully worked my way around to the front wall. If i were to slip at all, I would have definitely slid off the edge of the building and broke a ton of bones or even died. No question about that one. I’d be a goner for sure. There were small screws holding down the sheet metal, so I stood on them to help get a grip. That’s basically it. Do or die.

What time of day night do you most often create moisture?

The 36th hour of every day.

I get out whenever really. Any time of the day.

What would you say if you got caught?

Absolutely nothing. My lawyer would kill me otherwise.

Photo Courtesy of Moist

What’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to getting caught?

Well I won’t tell the closest because I don’t want anyone knowing how we made it out, but one time Blaes and I were hitting a spot on this old abandoned building in north Birmingham. It was right off the side of the street, super visible. Midway through the fill a cop spotted us and was all on the loud speaker telling us to freeze and all that generic “don’t go anywhere so we can catch you” stuff, we bolted across the street and ran through some rough looking neighborhood. We spotted this what we thought was abandoned house and kicked the door open, I know that sounds like something from a movie but it wasn’t locked, there was just a bunch of garbage in the way.

We ran inside, closed the door and listened for the cops, they definitely knew we were somewhere in that area so we had to get out. I didn’t want to use a light from my phone or anything that would be visible in any way, so we crept along through all the garbage to try and get to the backdoor. There was so much trash in there it was ridiculous, it smelled awful too. We get to the back of the house and surprisingly enough there wasn’t even a back door, the entire back wall wasn’t there, it just opened to the backyard.

We walked to the back of the house and there were two crackhead looking dudes just chilling in lawn chairs with their feet propped up on one of those big spools they use for industrial wire. I don’t know how they didn’t hear us kick that door open. We walked out the back and they stood up and started a huge fuss.

I know what he was trying to say. Basically “What are you doing in our house? You shouldn’t be here,” but what he actually said was, “WHA YAWL DURIN EN ER HAWSE!? YEH SHUDDINT BEH EN HEEAH.” I said we weren’t looking for trouble, we’re so sorry blah blah we’re leaving. We try to get past them, then the quiet crackhead lunged at me, he thought I had money or something he could use. “WHUTCHA GOT EN DEM POKETS BOY?”

He grabbed my jacket and as soon as he touched me, Blaes punched that dude in the face so hard. It didn’t knock him out or anything but he let go of my jacket. Then we climbed through some more garbage and hopped over a short backyard style fence and ran down the alley as the yells from the angry crackheads faded behind us. We ended up finding this overgrown backyard that was completely blocked from street view and hid in there for about three hours. Needless to say we walked the long safe route back to the truck.

Photo courtesy of Moist

The second part of this interview can be found here.

Monsters University and Life {And a Giveaway!}

October 3, 2013October 15, 2013 Rachel Callahan Giveaways and Contests

It only took us six and a half years.

But finally, this summer, we braved the movie theater with our kids.

After spending years analyzing and stressing over which movie would be the perfect first theater experience (not too scary, not too boring, not so riveting that they can’t take pee breaks), we decided on Monsters University, and it was ideal. So much so that we took them to Planes just a couple of months later – clearly we should have started taking them sooner.

Although Noah’s favorite monster is Sulley, nothing is quite as fabulous as hearing him yell in a theater full of people, “There’s MIKE WAZOWSKIIIIIIIIII!”

The movie itself was awesome, and thanks to its college setting, had plenty of humor for the adults, too.

It begins with Mike as an elementary student, visiting the Scare Floor at Monsters Inc on a field trip, where he has an experience that makes him fall in love with the idea of becoming a scarer. The only problem is – he’s really cute. Nope – not scary at all. And no matter how hard Mike tries, he’s…freaking adorable.

Fast forward a decade or so. (Do monsters count time in decades? Let’s say they do.) He arrives at Monsters University ready to be a scare major, but he faces obstacle after obstacle, despite his determined attitude and OCD study habits.

And then there’s Sulley, who comes from a long line of scarers, and is naturally of the best scare-material, despite his complete lack of studying or care about school. This does not sit well with Mike.

I won’t ruin the ending, but I’m just going to say that I love it. The entire movie shares the lesson that determination and long-term commitment are the keys to achieve goals, and Ali needs this message on repeat in her life. Because she, like her mother, is a bit of a paranoid-perfectionist. If she can’t do it perfectly and with flourish the first time, she’d rather not try – because then people would realize she wasn’t perfect.

(This is the reason I never learned how to dive. It’s a hard thing to practice with no one watching.)

When in reality, few people are perfect the first time they try something – it only took me a couple of decades to realize this. And anyway, it’s the mistakes and failures that make the best stories when you grow up to be a Mommy Blogger.

All that to say, I hope that perhaps the message gets into her head before it got into mine – to not be afraid to commit to a dream and work hard for it, for a very long time, and despite failures, without giving up.

Just like that adorably cute Mike Wazowski did. Because he’s on the Scare Floor now.

So. I have a $50 Visa Gift Card and a Monsters University Blu-ray Combo Pack to give away to one of you! Who wouldn’t want that?

To enter, comment and tell me how you encourage your kids to believe in and work for their dreams, or how you’ve worked for your own.

Rules:
No duplicate comments.
You may receive (2) total entries by selecting from the following entry methods:
a) Leave a comment in response to the sweepstakes prompt on this post
b) Tweet (public message) about this promotion; including exactly the following unique term in your tweet message: “”#SweepstakesEntry””; and leave the URL to that tweet in a comment on this post”
c) Blog about this promotion, including a disclosure that you are receiving a sweepstakes entry in exchange for writing the blog post, and leave the URL to that post in a comment on this post
d) For those with no Twitter or blog, read the official rules to learn about an alternate form of entry.
This giveaway is open to US Residents age 18 or older. Winners will be selected via random draw, and will be notified by e-mail. You have 72 hours to get back to me, otherwise a new winner will be selected.
The Official Rules are available here.

This sweepstakes runs from 10/3/13 – 11/3/13.
Be sure to visit the Monsters University Page on BlogHer.com where you can read other bloggers’ reviews and find more chances to win!

Disclaimer: This post was sponsored by BlogHer and Disney. They did not pay for my theater visit, and my opinions are always my own. Monsters University is available for pre-order – own It First On Digital HD 10/8 & Blu-ray™ Combo Pack 10/29.

Here’s an exclusive video from Pixar for you:

The World’s Greatest Infomercial Suckers.

October 1, 2013October 1, 2013 Rachel Callahan "Deep" Thoughts by Rachel, I embarrass myself just for your amusement., I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Just My Luck, Weird Strange and True

Let’s talk.

So despite the colossal changes in our world due to the internet, infomercials still exist.

Which means, they must work.

And not only do they exist, but the phrase “As Seen on TV” somehow adds enough credibility for marketers to print it on the packaging of an entire aisle of drug store paraphernalia. So now, we have options – we can buy these life-changing products locally, or we can still order them on TV – where we still get all the “but wait!!” add-ons included for a small [fortune of] shipping and handling fees.

But I’m here to admit: although I don’t think of us as the type of people who would get duped by such, we have been done our part to support this industry.

Let’s start with the Gyrobowl.

Unspillable!

Colorful!

Loved by kids everywhere!

And completely, absolutely, unequivocally unspillable!

So when I saw it for $9.99 at Wal-Mart, I just knew it would be the solution to my cracker-crumbed floor treatment.

Yes, we bought one. Yes, Noah spilled it, repeatedly, and lived to blog about it. And yes, I remembered why I hate Wal-Mart.

After two years of never doing what it was supposed to and being the most wretched dishwasher item ever, I finally threw away the broken, stupid thing last week. And it felt so good.

Also? When I was pregnant and was dealing with the dangerous intersection of crossover shirts and growing Northern Masses, I totally fell for the Cami Secret.

When they arrived, they looked like they were made out of my Great-Grandmother’s Nightgowns after having been packed in a trunk and stored in a dank basement for fifty years. Or worse, out of the upper backside of my Great-Grandmother’s circa 1943 thong.

Unlike Victoria, Cami’s is more like one of those “No! Cami! I don’t want to know! Please don’t! I CAN’T HEAR YOU LA LA LA LA LA LA LA!!!” secrets.

Not to say that we’ve never gotten anything decent when we’ve felt ourselves being drawn into the cheery mantras of the infomaniacs – I recently bought the newest Ninja Blender straight from an infomercial and I adore it. I’ve used it to make smoothies, Honey Peach Sorbet, guacamole, soft butter mints, and mashed cauliflower that even my husband liked.

(But my kids decisively did not.)

(Then again, that doesn’t really count since I went to a Ninja blogger event many years ago and owned an earlier version, so already knew they were a company of good repute.)

And also on a good note, there were the Debbie Meyer Green bowls that I got thanks to Dirty Santa – I seriously doubt their ability to keep my food fresher longer, but they do a great job of helping me find their puke green lids in the disaster that is my bowl cabinet.

Most of our missteps into the world of infomercial relics were during our desperate-for-weight-loss years of 2002-2007. Chris and I had both had way too much fun with fried food in our newlywed era (we actually left a deep fryer out on our kitchen counter for the first year – evil wedding presents), and my foray onto the Birth Control Pill didn’t do me any weight favors, either.

Enjoy those Mom Jeans Pictures, internet.

At some point in those mid-2000’s, I bought a promising contraption called the Ab-Doer.

You were supposed to sit. And twist. In every direction. And somehow this was supposed to make you look like Jillian Michaels.

It did not.

I blamed my un-use on it’s extreme uncomfortability factor, with nuts and bolts pressing into my spinal column.

(I should’ve gone with the Ab Lounge.)

Then Chris gave an infomercial exercise video a try – Billy Blank’s Tae bo.

One ill-fated high-kick split his boxers from stem to stern, and that VHS never got played again.

But our flagship purchase was Tony Little’s Gazelle.

We gazed upon that infomercial, enamored at the ease of which his beefy, clean-shaven legs glided back and forth…how his 90’s hair-band ponytail swished with calorie burn…how his spray tan smile gleamed at us with the orange glow of a thousand Snookis….

(Not that we knew who Snooki was yet. That would come a decade later. He was kinda like her John the Baptist or something.)

But we were hooked.

The next time we went to Sam’s to stock up on toilet paper and saw a beautiful, top of the line, bright silver Gazelle Supreme begging us to buy it, we snapped. We bought that $300 ridiculous monstrosity of a six-foot-tall, three-inch-wide box, and we eagerly took it home.

Chris spent hours lovingly putting our Weight Savior together, and as he finished, we stood back and gazed at its majesty.

And we used it.

Maybe twice even.

And then it sat for a month, being dressed and redressed. But we didn’t have $300 to use toward an awkward clothes hamper, so my husband did what I am sure that no one has ever done before. He dug that tall-and-narrow box out of the basement, he carefully disassembled the countless braces and nuts and rods of our fat burning machine, and he put them all back in that box, taped it to hell and back, and returned it to Sam’s.

Never again will we have a moment that was so defined by concurrent glorious victory and shaming defeat. But mostly glorious victory – because $300 was way better than gliding on Magic.

And ironically, it was a free iPhone app that actually helped us lose weight. Take that, Tony Little.

So. You knew I was going to ask, right? Are we the only ones keeping the Infomercial Industry alive? Or have you caved as well? Share and commiserate.

How Not to be a Doctor.

September 30, 2013September 29, 2013 Rachel Callahan "Deep" Thoughts by Rachel, A Day in the Life, Blogging: the therapy., Dysautonomia, Just My Luck

Dear New Doctor,

Hi! I’m Rachel. You should know that, but since you didn’t read my chart, I guess you don’t.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I’ve been seeing a wonderful doctor all summer, but he wasn’t in the correct specialty to continue treating me. So, he referred me to you – for your expertise and advice.

Even with his office making the appointment for me, I had to wait a month to see you. A month spent trudging through my symptoms while wearing the hope that you would be able to help me manage them more effectively. So I was unusually anticipatory when I arrived at your office on Wednesday.

As I got out of my car, I was as hopeful as the sky seemed, and my Instagram caption to go with it:

As she took me back to my room to await your regal arrival, your nurse assured me, “You’ll love New Doctor – he’s so smart.”

And I’m sure you are – because they don’t have remedial medical school. I hope.

However.

It did not seem smart when you came into the room, listened to my heart for ten seconds, asked me about my symptoms and then followed up with, “And you don’t have any other symptoms?” (because apparently the severity of my long list of symptoms did not deign me with the right to be in your presence.)

It also did not seem smart when you promptly diagnosed me with a syndrome that explains the 1% of my symptoms – coincidentally the same 1% that can be objectively seen on a test.

(Although I do adore myself some objectivity as well.)

It seemed even less smart to then tell me that there really wasn’t anything that could be done about that 1%, except try this drug that might help or might do nothing or might make me worse. Nor was it comforting when you reiterated that all of the lifestyle changes I’ve made to help decrease my issues were completely unrelated to the problem and would not do any good whatsoever, nor would any other changes.

“Drinking more water, eating more salt, lowering caffeine – none of this has anything to do with what is wrong with you. It’s a reflex problem, and there’s nothing that can be done about it. You will just have to learn to have to live with it.”

But really – who doesn’t want a doctor to tell you that you’re full of crap for drinking more water? I do. I hate the stuff. So I’ll give you ten points for that.

Let’s move on. I’m sure that you get all kinds of wacko hypochondriacs in your Kingdom, but when I inquired as to the rest of my very real symptoms, your reply of “Well, we all have vague symptoms that can’t be explained…” was not refreshing. Nor was it when you used that “you’ll just have to live with it” line again.

But I was positive that you scored the highest marks in your Condescension 101 class when you made sure to repeat very pointedly several times how many different tests I’ve had that didn’t show anything wrong with me (leaving me to remind you of the one test that did, but hey – that’s only one test. Why should we listen to it?), and that there was clearly no mechanical issues with my heart, so – again, the live with it load.

All of that was great and wonderful and I had a delightful time venting to my friends and husband via text as I left your office. How I had waited a month for that ten minute appointment with you, despite your nurse assuring me that our visit would be at least 40 minutes. And how you had wanted so very much to make sure that I could read between the huge gaping lines that you thought I was fabricating my entire life.

When I got to my car, I was as upset as the sky seemed, and the caption to go with it:

But you know what the really fantastic part was?

Three hours later, when your secretary called me back.

“Hi. Is this Rachel? Oh good. New Doctor reviewed your records after you left, and he realized that you did not need to take the medication he prescribed you, but instead, he has another one he wants me to call in for you. You haven’t already picked up that prescription, have you?”

“Um, yes, I have.”

“Oh I’m so sorry – well don’t take it!”

“Why exactly does he want to change my prescription?”

“Well, he said he’d reviewed your records and realized that something else would be a better approach.”

“And what is this other medicine? Is it just a different beta blocker?”

“Um, let me look it up. No…it actually looks like it’s…it’s a….steroid??”

“I have very bad reactions to steroids. I’d like to understand a little more about why he decided to change my medication that much before I take anything.”

“Okay. I’ll let him know about your reactions and find out why he wanted the change.”

And then ten minutes later, when she called back.

“Hi, Rachel? I talked to New Doctor about your steroid issues, and he said for you to just take the original medication that he prescribed you.”

“The beta blocker?”

“Yes.”

“But…why did he want to change my medication so drastically in the first place?”

“Well, I asked him again and he just said that it was because he reviewed your records and thought it best.”

“Awesome.”

Actually, those two conversations really did make me feel much better. Because they sealed in my mind what I had hoped before – that you’re the one that’s suspect, not me.

So here’s what I prescribe for you:

1. Buy a chalkboard.

2. Hang it in the waiting room.

3. Write “I will read my patient’s charts before or while they are in my care” 100 times.

(You’re gonna be shocked at what useful information can be found within!)

4. Erase your chalkboard.

5. Write “I will assume my new patients aren’t crazy until they prove otherwise” 200 times.

(Non-crazy people are out there, and if they don’t hear how dreadful you are first, they might visit you!)

6. Erase your chalkboard.

7. Write “My patients might even be intelligent. They have a right to a medication explanation” 300 times.

(I know, this is getting way out there, but WE CAN UNDERSTAND YOUR WORDS. USE THEM.)

If that doesn’t help, then your symptoms are probably too vague to treat. Learn to live with them.

Sincerely,

Your former patient.

Alabama’s Shopping Theme Park.

September 27, 2013September 26, 2013 Rachel Callahan Actually Possibly Informational, Don't Listen to my Fashion Advice, I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Shopping: A Girl's Best Friend

I’ve always wanted to go there. Once even, we were in the area and on our way – then realized it was Sunday and they were closed.

But last Friday, I finally got the opportunity to go to the National Mecca of deals shopping. And it was marvelous, so I’m going to take you on a tour.

My destination was Unclaimed Baggage, one of the top tourist destinations in the Great State of Alabama.

Tucked between elegant mountains in the quaint city of Scottsboro, Unclaimed Baggage is the one and only seller of America’s lost luggage. Which, as opposed to a thrift store which sells things that people didn’t want, they’re selling stuff that people really, really wanted – so much so that they packed it and took it on an airplane.

Granted, it sounds sad at first, but here’s how it all goes down:

If a checked bag is lost, the airline is liable for 90 days to match it to a passenger. If they can’t do that, the bags get sold to Unclaimed Baggage, and the passenger in question gets a settlement check from the airline for the contents of their bag. Astonishingly enough, this happens to a ridiculously tiny percentage of luggage, hence the reason that there’s only one Unclaimed Baggage store in America.

Within those bags and shipping containers, Unclaimed Baggage finds some fascinating items.

Like Hoggle, who got lost on his way back from New Zealand after filming the movie Labyrinth.

And vintage McDonald’s signs.

And a giant, very old French magazine.

And Tinkerbell herself, who apparently took a wrong turn after the Second Star.

The walls of the store are decorated with dozens of unique museum pieces like the ones above, and they regularly rotate them because they have so many items of interest.

Unclaimed Baggage was kind enough to invite a group of regional bloggers to experience their store, and I’m so very glad that they did, since it gave me the excuse I needed to finally make my first visit. It’s only two hours north of Birmingham, the perfect amount of time for me to have the car (and radio) to myself.

And as a bonus, about ten minutes from my destination, I discovered Weathington Park, which had, oh, you know, a marginally interesting view.

I texted the above picture to Chris and he replied with “I’ll pick up the kids from your Mom. You can stay until sunset.” Who knows why he would have gotten the idea that I was thinking about doing THAT. But I did stay until the late afternoon, and it was glorious.

(If that view looks familiar, it’s because it’s only a few miles and overlooking the same lake as one of my favorite Alabama retreating spots, Gorham’s Bluff, to which I am now seriously craving a visit.)

So back to Unclaimed Baggage.

They have a monitor at the front entrance where you can place yourself on the map. I believe one of those dots is Fiji…but I could be wrong.

The store is separated into several rooms, all large and well-organized like a department store.

And thankfully, it doesn’t smell like a Thrift Store, because they launder all clothing, consequently awarding them with the largest dry cleaning facility in Alabama.

Naturally, I started in the denim section.

Although I didn’t buy any, I found some fantastic brands – Joe’s Jeans, True Religion, Antik, 7 for All Mankind, and more. And even the designer brands were very inexpensive – some even less than $10.

The men’s jeans had even more designer pairs mixed in, where I saw Silver, Joe’s Jeans, and a brand new pair of 7 For All Mankind jeans for $35!! That’s basically…80% off.

I also browsed through outerwear, which were divided up into leather, denim, and coats.

I found this fantastic gray Alfani Leather Jacket (oh-so-soft) for $20. And I did not pass that deal up.

(I realize that a good blogger would not use her dressing room selfie in a post but instead would pose herself perfectly coifed and with a head at a later time. But I am not that blogger.)

(And yes, I also got the brand-new-with-tags $14 maxi dress underneath. But it is only wearable when cold enough to keep the jacket on or while wearing triple-Spanx, thanks to my twice-c-sectioned and artisan-chocolate-filled belly. But I adored it enough to make those sacrifices.)

I also bought Chris nine very nice polo shirts, 5 of which still had the tags on them, for $1 each. And the top ones are coral, not orange, so he can indeed wear them.

Another fun area is the electronics room.

Airlines have no liability to try and find the owners of carry-on items left behind, so when they announce “Make sure you pick up all electronic devices,” they mean it. Because if you don’t, your iPad will end up wiped clean and in this cabinet.

They had a cabinet for every electronic device imaginable – Kindles, Nooks, laptops, Dr. Dre Headphones, cameras…they were endless. They also had less expensive items out for perusal, including Leapsters (where I got Ali and Noah a new game for $3.49),

and headphones in every shape and size (obviously a common item left behind.)

And of course, they have a luggage section.

The jewelry cases were unbelievable, stocked with gorgeous and quite real items, all priced at 50% of appraisal.

They’ve had some fantastic items come through, including a $40,000 diamond ring and this solid ruby belt buckle:

I’d hate to be the airline that had to pay up on that loss.

I tried on this $5,000 black diamond bracelet and pretended for a moment that I was Princess Kate, perfect post-pregnancy body and all.

My favorite section was the international clothing. There were just so many stunning pieces that made me realize how unelaborate all American clothing is, all for $6-12. I bought an outfit for every member of our family, with which Chris is helping me construct a Halloween plan for this year’s Trunk and Treat.

After we ate lunch at the in-store café,

We got to see the newest feature of the store: The Baggage Experience.

They chose one person to get to open and unpack a bag. I was beyond jealous.

And was immediately convinced that I was meant for this job – it would be the amphetamines my insatiably nosy side always dreamed of.

She found a laptop,

Russian Phrases for Dummies,

A souvenir bag with Russian Nesting Eggs,

Exercise bands,

And lots of extra extra-extra-small clothes turned inside out. Who knew that some people turn dirty clothes inside out to delineate them from clean clothes? That is not my packing system.

So, as we profiled this Russian Tourist, they sorted the items found:

I would absolutely spend a day or a week or a month, free of pay, unpacking luggage. For a person who would describe one of her hobbies as stalking, it would be more than kind of fantastic.

(No. I’m not the least bit creepy. Why do you ask?)

And sometimes, even celebrities lose luggage – and I want to be there to unpack them.

In the early 80’s, Unclaimed Baggage found Bing Crosby’s wife’s cross stitch. They returned it to her, and she sent them a thank you note, along with a signed copy of a book that she wrote about Bing.

But I think I found a few more celebrity’s items while shopping.

Sheri Lewis clearly lost her Lamb Chops pants,

Cee Lo lost his favorite pair of blue jeans,

And Julia Roberts lost her Pre-Richard Gere Pretty Woman wardrobe.

…or perhaps she purposefully left it unclaimed.

(I would.)

My favorite categorization in the entire store was in the lingerie section: a rack, labeled “Lingerie”, and full of jeggings.

Yes, that’s right, people: JEGGINGS ARE NOT PANTS. Unclaimed Baggage knows it, and so should everyone else.

Disclosure: As mentioned, I was invited for a blogger getaway day. However, all opinions are my own and the invitation just served as a thrilling excuse to finally make a long overdue visit. All opinions are my own and I’m already planning my return trip.