Rachel Callahan

Never Trust a Llama.

June 26, 2012June 26, 2012 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Just My Luck

Two days after Noah recovered from Hand, Foot, and Mouth Disease, he managed to come down with Croup.

Considering that we hadn’t been anywhere for what had to have been centuries due to his ailing condition, I have no idea how he got sick again.

But sick he was.

(He is completely better at this lovely moment. Here’s to hoping it lasts.)

As such, he was unfit for the nursery on Sunday, again. So while Ali was having the time of her life riding to Church in Daddy’s fancy car and – oh – stopping for Krispy Kreme on the way, I decided to give Noah the consolation prize of a one-on-one trip with Mommy to the zoo.

(I know. Germs. I promise that I kept him confined in his stroller almost the entire time, and when I freed him, I ensured that he stayed far, far away from other children.)

(What can I say – I needed out of the house.)

Plus, his current favorite activity (aside from GETTING SICK) is reading from his animal book and making all of their sounds, so I thought that I would get an outstanding quantity of baby brownie points for this activity.

But no.

Apparently, he greatly prefers the safety and appropriate social distance offered by two-dimensional animals.

He clung to me as we passed harmless sheep and tiny baby goats…and made sure to keep his grasp firmly on the stroller when we happened upon a loose Killer Rooster.

But I’ve always had a fascination with the Llama, so I made him get out of his stroller to meet Mister Double L.

My feelings for this Llama are quite undeserved, as he is the same Llama that ate Ali’s shirt four years ago, therefore instilling in her a long-standing fear for all things large and fuzzy.

Yet I am still magnetized to him with an inexplicable passion comprised of 50% hatred, 50% fascination.

So while Noah maintained a white-knuckled death-grip on my hair, I held him up to see the Llama.

The Llama ignored us and kept eating.

“See, Noah? The Llama is nice!”

I leaned far over the fence and petted the Llama’s back.

Llama grunted. Noah whined with fear while ripping chunks of hair out of my follicles.

I leaned and petted him again.

The Llama buried his head deeper in his hay, filling his cheeks with an enormous mouthful of straw.

He chewed it for a half a second, then calmly yet intentionally looked directly at me and simultaneously hocked, belched, and projectile vomited directly at my head.

Then indifferently looked down and went back to eating.

I stood there, careful not to open my mouth until I had assessed the damage and location of all Llama Sputum.

I sat the completely un-spat-upon Noah on the ground (Apparently our Llama has the aim and accuracy of a sniper) and reached into my hair, where my hand sank into a giant gooey conglomeration of saliva, Llama bile, and sharp bits of hay.

I panickingly dug around and found Noah’s wet wipes and began to furiously wash my hair.

Noah watched my vain efforts with a look that said it all.

After I removed the largest chunks, I set off to find the Purell.

Awesome. There just happened to have been a Purell thief right outside the Llama exhibit?!?

I glared at him suspiciously, knowing exactly who was hateful enough to steal disinfectant.

He munched away with a gleeful smile hidden under his long, innocent-looking Llama eyelashes.

Lose Weight, Earn Jeans. That Simple.

June 25, 2012June 24, 2012 Rachel Callahan Denim Drama, Giveaways and Contests

When I lost over 30 pounds last year, two things motivated me: competition and the promise of new designer jeans. Chris and I crafted a two-person contest, and we worked both of those things into the schematics. Even though he ultimately won the contest, our rules provided that I still got my earned winnings, which I used to buy four pairs of jeans. The jeans then motivated me to keep the weight off, thereby proving that denim is the best weight-loss motivation tool IN THE ENTIRE WORLD.

Since I blogged our weight-loss journey, many of you have expressed to me that you would like to lose weight as well. And, since I happen to have access to hundreds of pairs of designer, name brand denim, I decided to throw a contest. Better yet, a contest where everyone can win.

Here’s the concept:

~ You weigh in with me at an open house or private fitting at the time of your choosing.

~ You lose weight.

~ For each pound you lose up to 25 pounds, you get 1% off of a pair of designer jeans from me. Simple math – if you lose 21 pounds, you get 21% off. You get the idea.

~ Many of you have told me that you need jeans to get you through the weight-loss process, so if you buy a pair when you start the contest (or have already bought a pair from me within the past 30 days), you get double points: 2% off per pound, up to 25 pounds.

…which means that you can earn up to 50% off of a pair of designer jeans that are already marked down by 50%.

…which means that you could potentially get a $200 pair of jeans for $50…AND weigh 25 pounds lighter.

~ Whenever you’re ready to cash in your pounds, you come over and weigh in again, claim your earned discount percentage, and get fitted for a perfect new pair of designer jeans.

~ After cashing in your discount, you can then start over earning 1% off per pound, up to 25 more pounds.

~ And just to sweeten the deal a little bit, the person who has the highest percentage of weight loss by October 31 also gets a completely free pair of jeans.

~ You can start any time, but the contest ends on October 31, 2012 – you must cash in your pounds by that date to get your discount.

So, to recap:

Before you ask, let me answer:

Where can I weigh in? You must weigh in with me when you decide to start the contest, and again when you cash in your discount so that the same scale is used and it can be tracked objectively. However, if you live over 50 miles away from me, I will permit you to send me a photo of your feet on your scale. But please, no cheating.

(No water-weighing, either. I’ll know it if you come to my house to weigh in and then disappear to the bathroom for an hour. I’m on septic, not sewer. Be nice.)

I reserve the right to disqualify anyone who doesn’t play by the rules. But I’m not the disqualifying type – so just play by the rules.

When can I weigh in? You can either come to an open house, a Vault party where I’m the rep, or schedule to stop by my house one day. My upcoming Open House dates are:

Tomorrow, June 26 (To start the contest as soon as possible!)
Wednesday, July 11
Friday, July 20

To set an appointment on one of the above days or to schedule a private appointment to weigh-in, leave a comment on this post and I’ll email you.

Where is my discount coming from? Not from Vault – this is NOT a company-wide promotion. Your discount is coming directly out of my Vault commissions and credits. I became a Vault rep to help rid the world of Mom Jeans, not necessarily to make a ton money. So I’m not making money from this contest (and may even lose money), but I thought it would be fun and motivational, and hey – If I give you a denim makeover, you might come back for more one day, and even bring friends.

What if I live far, far away? This contest only applies to in-person fittings – not shipping jeans. The proper fitting of denim is just too particular of a process to try and attempt long distance. So this contest only applies if you’re willing to come to Birmingham to get your jeans.

What if I’ve already lost ten pounds? That’s great – you’re on a roll! But your discount begins when you weigh in with me.

What if I don’t want you to know how much I weigh? I promise I won’t remember. I’ll put it on a spreadsheet for the contest’s sake, and then forget about it instantaneously.

What if I want to host a party when I cash in my points? That’s fine – you can use your discount on top of your hostess credit. But this promotion is only available through me, not other Vault reps. So if you’re too far for me to travel to, this doesn’t apply unless you want to pay my airfare…which kinda defeats the point (sorry!) except that you’d still get a great denim makeover.

(Side note: I just found out from Vault that all hostesses in July earn 15% party credit instead of the usual 10%. Let me know if you want to host a party.)

What sizes do you offer? We have sizes 0-24, but I personally feel like the best designed jeans that we carry are in sizes 0-15. If that helps you set your goals, so be it!

What brands do you carry? As a Vault rep, I’m not supposed to name the particular brands on this vast thing called the internet because those extremely high-end brands would get mad that we’re undercutting their retail prices at Saks Fifth Avenue. But suffice to say, we carry almost all of the major brands of designer denim, plus Vault’s own lines, also crafted by top designers. If you want to know more about the brands we carry, leave a comment and I’ll email you.

What are the price ranges? Before your weight-loss discount, they are $48-92. So if you earn the maximum discount, you could be paying as little as $24 – for designer jeans.

If you’d like to participate, comment and let me know, and we’ll schedule a time for you to weigh in!

Good luck, and let me know if you have any questions!

One Day I’ll Have to Explain Myself.

June 22, 2012June 22, 2012 Rachel Callahan "Deep" Thoughts by Rachel, I'm a Blog Geek, Utter Silliness

The Date: June 22, 2023.

Ali, sixteen years old and going through quite the sensitive stage, sits down with a huff. She reaches into mid-air, and with a flick of her index finger, turns off her Projected-In-Mid-Air Computer (PIMAC), and then glares at me.

I look up from my automated knitting needles with a questioning look. The needles keep knitting away.

“So. I was just reading some of your BLOG that you used to write. You know, before everyone just had TwitterCams on all the time?”

“Yes… and? Did you enjoy the photos?”

“Photos? What are photos?”

“You know – those things that look like videos except that they don’t move?”

“OH – THAT’S what you call those archaic things. Yeah. I enjoyed them. Except for the obvious fact that you loved Noah WAY more than you loved me.”

She folds her arms and pouts. Then she tilts her head, thinks that she’d like a Coca-Pepsi (because they will have merged by then), and the AndroidMaid automatically brings one into the room, poured over a dry-ice-looking substance that immediately turns all drinks into smoothies.

(Because that’s what a perfect future looks like – carbonated smoothies. That are entirely made from vegetables. But taste like coke.)

“Why do you say that, honey?”

“Well. After I turned five, you basically quit talking about me. Except for your ridiculously self-important SCHOOL posts.” (she rolls her eyes, then turns her head slightly toward her slushy drink. A perfectly sized sip jumps up into her mouth.) “How unnecessary – now all the information we need is just automatically dumped into our brains from our GoogleSchool Connection. It’s a shame that you wasted all that time. ANYWAY. You quit talking about me, but you just gushed on and on about HIM. You even let him “guest post” for you!! Those posts were particularly inane.”

“Well, honey, there may have been a reason for that. Don’t you think?”

“What, that you loved him more?!?! I think that’s clear.”

We both look to the right. Twelve-Year-Old Noah is on the other side of the room, clearly in combat in his “Call of Duty: The 2015 Intergalactic War” Virtual Reality Game. He keeps shooting and ducking, shooting and ducking.

“Dang IT!! Mars got blown up again!!”

Completely oblivious.

“No. Perhaps you wouldn’t want all your stories told. I mean, it’s cute to talk about poop and other embarrassing things that toddlers say and do (like the time when you were two and kept loudly asking questions about my “bumps” at the restaurant), but at some point, I figured you deserved your privacy.”

“What?? No. You should have talked about us both the same amount. It’s only fair.”

“I’ll give you an example. You know that embarrassing story we like to tell about you? The one about you sticking your hand in my face and excitingly telling me to smell it?”

(She rolls her eyes.)

“Yes, yes, yes. You smelled my hand, almost gagged, and asked me what I had on it. Then I told you, ‘I’ve had my hand down my pants!!’, and you said, ‘I knew that smell was rear end.’ I’ve heard that story at every holiday every year, including Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Dependence Day.”

(Because you know, we’ll probably celebrate a Dependence Day by then. How else are we going to pay China back??)

“Yes. That story happened when you were five. It’s embarrassing enough for the family to hear it. Would you have really wanted me to put that on the internet for the world to read?”

“I get it. I get it!! But still. You could have found SOMETHING to say about me.”

Her inner-cranial phone rings. It’s Ethan. So that I can’t pick up the signal of their conversation with my Mother-Override-System (MOS), she stomps over to her hoverboard and zooms off, her slushy drink obediently trailing behind her.

I sit back and sigh, think “GoogleHelp”, and download another ‘Parenting Teenagers’ book into my brain.

The Pro List.

June 21, 2012June 20, 2012 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Blogging: the therapy., Just My Luck, Kids: The Experience., Toddlers: The Experience

You may have noticed that last week wasn’t exactly my best week ever.

Between The Sister Wife Causing Me Drama, Noah’s Intense and Long-Lasting Illness, Chris and I both have bouts of thinking we were getting the Dread Disease at one time or another, and oh yeah, this:

The kid has only injured herself, like, five times. IN HER LIFE. And she had to pick last week to slip and bite nearly through her lip?!?

But there were pros, thankfully quite outnumbering the cons (even though it didn’t feel like it when I was taking part in the week.)

(Which is what blogging is for – retroactively appreciating one’s life.)

1. Sunny weather (after the storms, anyway), which allowed for plenty of sprinkler and pool play.

2. An epic Skype conversation between cousins.

3. Spending a couple of evenings at Railroad Park.

Which included plenty of chase,

rest,

surprise and intrigue,

sunset moments,

train watching,

hill running,

(with the hills taking over at times,)

and, in general, enjoying our beautiful city.

4. Our Yard Bunny population growing exponentially, affording us the opportunity to watch as many as four at once* playing gleefully until twilight.

*I only managed to get a picture of up to three at once. Snapping a shot of one sprinting bunny is hard enough – four would take a Google Satellite.

5. Household Art Projects.

Due to Noah’s downright obsession with all things cars, Chris created this art series for Noah’s door.

(Ali is convinced that she will have a Yellow Jeep when she’s sixteen. But only after she has a green car, because Gramamma wants her to have a green car first.)

(I have no idea why Gramamma is making these car decisions so high maintenance and expensive for us.)

Ali drew me this meal, including all of my favorite pizza toppings (Mushrooms, Olives, Cheese, and Pepperoni), dessert (a piece of chocolate cake topped with candy corn), and a milkshake, along with a bottle of chocolate syrup to make it a chocolate milkshake.

6. Independent Reasoning Skills.

I told Ali to get us a Tea Party set up while I cooked dinner. For some reason I didn’t notice her 24 trips to the bathroom sink. When I finished dinner, I found her preparations to be quite…thorough.

Later, Ali and I were watching Wheel of Fortune, and a girl spun and picked up a playing piece for 1/2 a Kia.

“What’s half a Kia, Mommy?”

“It’s half of that car on stage. She has to get the other half to actually win the car.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she has to get two playing pieces to win the car, so they’re called halves.”

Ali got really quiet and went and got a piece of paper. I thought that she’d lost interest in the show and had moved on to coloring.

Then, she said,

“I get it now! I’ll show you. See how I drew two halves? And then I put them together. And then it is a whole circle!! It takes two halves to make a whole, which is why she has to win both halves of the car before she has a car!!”

7. Kitty being here to help me. Thankfully, Chris’ Aunt had already been planning on coming up and staying for a few days, and she took over complete responsibility for Ali so that I could focus completely on my very ill little boy.

And Ali, of course, was thrilled and feeling quite lucky to have Kitty’s full attention.

And I’m pretty sure I’m ready for her to move in permanently.

8. Pirahnaconda and Sharktopus. Chris had some work he had to do Saturday night, so I was left to my own devices. I love a good giant snake movie, and Pirahnaconda was just that – except for the good part.

And the next movie, Sharktopus, was even more delightfully awful.

I’m positive that I annoyed at least 80% of my twitter followers by incessantly tweeting through both of these quality films, but some of them decided to play along, which made for a fantastic night.

In summary, the great outdoors, Kitty, Pirahnaconda, and most definitely Sharktopus tipped the scales to make last week completely and absolutely…passable.

When Viruses Go Viral.

June 19, 2012June 19, 2012 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Actually Possibly Informational, Just My Luck

The Sunday before last was my week to work in the nursery at Church. I work in Noah’s room, which consists of toddlers between one and two years old.

I love that age.

(Assuming that no one is in a screaming mood that day, anyway.)

As it was a very crowded day in the nursery and the other worker apparently had an emergency and couldn’t make it, Chris came to help me.

…Or at least he did after he received multiple texts that were written in a tone of voice that one would naturally use to type over the sound of nearly a dozen one year olds.

As you can see there, thirteen minutes had passed before he responded to my pleas.

Here’s what happened, according to him:

After Sunday School, I stayed behind to talk to a couple of the guys.

Since you were in the nursery, I thought to myself, “I’m going to score some brownie points and go up in a few minutes and see if she needs any help!”

I got into a long discussion, and I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket.

(I’ll check it in a minute.)

A couple of minutes later it went off again. (Oh, that’s just the repeat buzz when you don’t answer it.)

A couple more minutes. 3rd buzz. (Uh-oh. That ain’t a repeat.)

Clearly, my opportunity to score brownie points was long gone. Now was the time for damage control.

Chris arrived and we set to work.

Reading books, breaking up fights, preventing the intermixing of slobber, and we even managed to pull off snack time. With ten kids. All sitting still at once. Eating only their own crackers and drinking out of only their own sippy cups.

We thought we were on a roll, and beyond a doubt deserved a Nursery Worker Of The Year Award.

Toward the end of the service, the prisoners began developing restless spirits. After I told Chris to quit making fun of the children in his syrupy sing-song voice,

(“Your Mommy’s never going to come for you if you keep screaming like that. The louder you scream, the longer she’ll stay away, kiddo!”)

he developed another strategy and started a rousing game of airplane.

Sure enough, within two minute’s time, all of the criers had dried up and were zooming around in a line behind Chris, arms out, “vroom”s at full blast.

Yes, yes indeed: We deserved an award.

We dumped the last tired, grumpy, hungry kid off on their parents, and sighed the most colossal joint sigh that the world has ever heard.

Fast forward to Wednesday.

Right in the middle of being stressed and haggard over Ingrid’s Drama, right in the middle of Ali’s annual career of Vacation Bible School, and on the day that Chris’ Aunt Kitty was arriving to visit for a few days.

Noah woke up with a fever of 102.4.

He had a general air of malaise and wasn’t his happy self. I chalked it up to his usual bi-monthly dose of fever virus, and prepared myself for his hobby of not sleeping when he has a fever.

He stayed true to form and opted not to sleep.

And also, not to eat, drink, smile, or be further than one foot away from me at all times.

I muddled through Wednesday’s chaos of taking Chris to work, getting Ali to VBS, preparing for out of town company, and trying to keep Noah as comfortable as possible. By bedtime, despite constant medication, his fever had shot up to 103.7.

Thursday, Noah arrived on the scene ten times worse. Screaming when I tried to give him Tylenol, refusing food and drink, and moaning nonstop, all day.

By Thursday afternoon, I had fought off my usual fears of being the HypochondriParent, decided that this was much worse than a fever virus, and sped Noah to the doctor.

While I was there, I got an email from another mother from Church, asking for prayers for her twin boys that are Noah’s age, because they had a terrible fever virus.

Twin boys who were with us on Sunday.

I emailed her back, told her that Noah had it too, and I would let her know very soon what it was.

The doctor came in, asked a couple of questions, looked between Noah’s toes, then between his fingers.

“This is the moment of truth. Hold his arms down.”

He peeked in Noah’s mouth for a millisecond, and pronounced, “Yes, it’s exactly what I thought it was. His mouth and throat are full of ulcers. He has Hand, Foot and Mouth Disease.”

Due to my own lifelong experience with the insufferable pain of mouth ulcers, I was immediately brokenhearted for my poor child. No WONDER he wouldn’t eat or drink or even take medicine.

I called my friend. She confirmed that her boys refused medicine as well, and that she was sure they had it. I passed on all of the tips that my doctor gave me.

By the next day, I’d heard that at least six out of those ten kids had clear cases of Hand, Foot, and Mouth, that two more were mildly sick, as of yet undiagnosed. That left only two, and I just didn’t know about them because I hadn’t heard anything or talked to their parents.

I could literally feel the Nursery Worker of the Year Award being yanked out of our unfit hands, thanks to us somehow allowing our ten little toddling Petri Dishes to soak up some especially potent germs into their sticky, moist, germhouses.

On our watch, at least 80% of our occupants ended up sick. 60% with the worst sickness that I have ever seen one of my children encounter.

I did some research, and found out that there is an extremely horrible strand of Hand, Foot, and Mouth going around right now, especially in Alabama. Not only is it worse, but it’s also much more contagious, infecting every kid that gets in the same county with it.

That made me feel a shred better.

We had done everything we could have done, but that virus was quite determined.

Noah was unbelievably miserable all of Thursday and Friday, and although he still wasn’t eating much, started a very gradual journey to health on Saturday and Sunday.

So. Just in case any of you experience this nasty strain of hell, here’s what we learned:

It hurts to suck on sippy cups with a mouth full of sores. Holding regular cups for them is much better.
I offered half a dozen different liquids at all times – most of them hurt. Noah settled on Crystal Light Peach Tea and lukewarm water.
Although I bought him several things suggested (Sherbet, Pudding, Popsicles), he refused them all. Gummies were the only thing he would eat for three days. The cheap, Wal-Mart brand of Fruit Smile gummies. He went through at least 20 packs of them, probably giving him temporary infantile diabetes. But at least he got some calories.
The doctor suggested mixing 1/2 tsp of Benadryl and 1/2 tsp of Maalox to help coat his throat and lessen the pain. Noah fought me to not take it. But when I dropped the Benadryl out of the mixture, it was a little more palatable.

I really hope that none of you need ever that advice, but if you ever do, there you go.

And if you hear a rumor that we got fired from the nursery, now you know why.

Old. (Deep Breath) Is Okay. (And a Giveaway!)

June 18, 2012June 18, 2012 Rachel Callahan Uncategorized

Everyone has a different age that strikes them harshly. For some people it comes early at 25, and for others, it doesn’t hurt until 50 or 60.

For me, it was turning 30 last October.

I’ve always been the youngest. I was the youngest in school and college, always had older friends, am 5 1/2 years younger than my husband, and in general have always felt like the baby of every group.

(My friends still make fun of me being a child, especially when they have to explain how one goes about tight-rolling jeans or what exactly a Def Leppard or Loveboat is.)

So up through last year, in my head I was young. I was practically a teenager.

Those grey hairs? A fluke of genetics.

The wrinkles under my eyes? A product of poor skin care regimen.

I’m just a kid!!

Until I began to creep toward 30.

Something about having a 3 in front really, really freaked me out.

I found myself counting down the days of my 20s, trying to make the most of them.

I almost wrote a list of things to accomplish in my 20s, but realized with 6 days to go, it likely wasn’t going to get done, and then I’d have to deal with my spiral of self-disappointment on TOP of my aging angst.

And then it happened.

My birthday came, and for the first time in my life, I wasn’t fully relishing in the fact it was MY day. That it was all about ME, and everyone had to cater to my every whim.

In fact, I kind of tried to ignore it.

And in the days and weeks and months afterward, I noticed a peculiar twist in my subconscious: I didn’t want to think about my age anymore. It was better if I just didn’t acknowledge it at all than to attempt to come to grips with the painful number.

But now that I’m inching closer to 31 than 30, I figure it’s time to admit it: I’m officially in my 30s.

And that’s okay.

It’s even okay if kids in their 20s (see how I called them kids? That’s because I’m OLD) think of me as ancient and “practically their parent’s age”.

Because, really, age doesn’t mean much. It doesn’t define who I am or how I feel about myself, and it doesn’t define what I can do or where I can go with my life. There are so many things I have now that I didn’t have in my early 20s…

– I have two beautiful children who enhance my life astoundingly.

– I have a much greater sense of self – I know who I am, I am okay with who I am, and I don’t obsess (as much) about what other people think of me.

– I’ve learned to temper my perfectionism. It is okay when I mess up – I don’t have to punish myself for days, weeks or years.

(Unless I stick my foot in my mouth. In that case, I can torture myself for decades.)

– I am living my dream: staying at home with my children, teaching them, and yet still doing some work from home to maintain my need for objective goal-achievement.

– I am significantly healthier than I was in my early 20s, and have a much greater understanding of what it takes to maintain health for both me and my family.

I was downloading photos from Chris’s camera the other day, and I found a picture of the two of us right after my 30th birthday.

And I was struck at how completely and fantastically happy I looked.

And that’s because I am – no need to let a meaningless number make me think any differently.

(Please remind me of this when my 40th comes around.)

But you know what? It never hurts to pamper oneself at any age, so I’ve got a giveaway for you, provided by BlogHer and Pfizer. Pfizer just launched the new Get Old platform, which encourages people of all ages to embrace aging and use those years to live a fuller life, complete with the community that can be found through Get Old.com.

If you would like to be entered to win one of three $500 SpaFinder gift cards, leave a comment and tell me how you feel about your own journey of aging.

Entries from the participating blogs will be pooled and three winners selected.

For your convenience, here are highlights from the Official Rules for the Sweepstakes. Please note by submitting an entry you are agreeing to the full Official Rules, available here.

No duplicate comments.

Please do not mention or imply any pharmaceutical products in your posts. Posts that mention or imply a pharmaceutical product will be subject to removal.

You may receive (2) total entries by selecting from the following entry methods:
a) Leave a comment in response to the sweepstakes prompt at the bottom of this post.*
b) Read the official rules to learn about an alternate form of entry.
*Note: if you want to comment but either (i) are not eligible or (ii) do not want to enter the giveaway, please include something similar to the following statement in your comment: “I do not wish to enter the sweepstakes.”

This giveaway is open to US Residents age 18 or older. Medical professionals who are licensed (or are otherwise authorized) to prescribe medications are not eligible to enter. While BlogHer encourages you to share your thoughts and experiences about getting older, comments discussing medical conditions and/or medical products are not permitted, may be deleted, and are invalid entries. Winners will be selected via random draw, and will be notified by e-mail. You have 72 hours to respond; otherwise a new winner will be selected.

This sweepstakes runs from 6/18 to 8/31.

Be sure to check out the BlogHer.com Get Old page to find out more about the Get Old platform and read how other bloggers feel about aging!

Disclosure: This is a sponsored post by BlogHer and Pfizer’s GetOld.com platform. All opinions are my own. For full disclosure of my media policies, read my About Me page.

The Sister Wife Betrayal.

June 14, 2012June 14, 2012 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Just My Luck

So. Monday night.

We were invited to dinner with three other couples. We arranged a babysitter (the fabulous Giann – don’t even try to steal her from us – she’s all ours), and made our plans.

Chris texted me multiple times, expressing his anticipation and excitement.

“I can’t wait to go out alone with you!”

“It’s only our second date in my new car!”

“I will even leave Ingrid’s top up for you.”

(I’m not a fan of the windblown look.)

(And yes, Ingrid was the good German name he bestowed upon her, named after the glamorous Ingrid Bergman.)

Giann arrived, and as we were giving instructions, she asked for a flashlight – just in case the power went out.

“What? I don’t think it’s supposed to get bad tonight.”

“It might…”

“Okay. I’ll find one.”

I thought she was being a bit on the paranoid side, but hey – she’s seventeen – you’ve got to respect her preparedness.

We arrived at Cocina Superior and joined our friends on the patio overlooking the drain-ditch-posing-as-a-stream.

We ate. We chatted. We watched ridiculous YouTube videos. We laughed at Mickey Ferguson.

Then I got a text from Giann.

“Hey, what should I do if the storm turns bad? I will grab Noah from the bed and Ali and go downstairs if it gets extreme…anything else I should do?”

I looked at the message, puzzled. I looked out at the sky.

Wow…Giann really IS paranoid tonight…

I turned to Chris. “Hey babe – can you pull up the radar on your phone? Giann seems to think the weather is going to get bad.”

Chris pulled it up and studied it… “Eh, I don’t think it’s going to. Tell her not to worry.”

Seeing as how my husband is very storm-sensitive, I knew all would be okay, so I texted and told her not to worry too much.

Then, immediately, the sky went dark.

The wind began howling.

Rain came out of nowhere and began blowing towards our table.

Waiters came around and rolled large glass doors down around us.

“Umm… maybe you should check @Spann’s Twitter feed?”

“Okay – I’ll pull it up.

Oh.

It says here… all Birmingham residents need to be in their safe place and away from windows immediately.”

We looked around at the twenty-foot-high windows that surrounded us…

And then the power flickered.

It came back on for a moment, and then it left entirely, abandoning us on the extremely dark, storm-surrounded porch.

We all managed to trip our way indoors. If you can call it indoors – it was also surrounded by glass. We stumbled around in the dark, trying not to knock anyone’s plates or Margaritas off of their tables.

And then I got another text from Giann.

“Y’all’s power just went out…”

Awesome. She right all along. And us? Not so much.

By now, Chris was glued to the radar, and it was about to get much worse.

All I could think about was poor Giann, now in a completely pitch-black house with a storm raging outside and trying to decide if she should take OUR kids to the basement.

Later, Giann shared her side of the story with me…

My Mom kept texting and asking me if I was following Spann’s updates on Twitter.

Of course I was.

I told her I would be watching the weather and if it got bad, I had an emergency plan.

After I put Ali to bed (Noah was already asleep), I made myself some coffee and started to work on some college stuff.

Then the lights started flickering.

And then the power went out.

The storm was screaming at me through the windows.

I very calmly…err…frantically went into the kitchen to fetch the lantern. I turned it on and much to my dismay, the light was that of a bug zapping thing. It wasn’t the comforting light of a nice lamp AT ALL.

Great, isn’t this how horror movies start??

I mean, seriously. I was expecting some psycho maniac to appear in the window and demand I give him something ANY SECOND.

So, I did what anybody would do in a situation like that – I brought the FIVE YEAR OLD downstairs to keep me company and protect me from the serial killers that were certainly wandering around the neighborhood right about now.

(Clearly, my worries were not in vain.)

I told Chris that I wanted to leave as soon as possible to get home.

“Okay – we should be safe to drive in about twenty minutes.”

I sat there, nervously fidgeting and checking my texts every 25 seconds, as our friends wondered why I couldn’t manage to carry on a conversation.

Giann texted a couple of times…

“When will y’all be headed home?”

“I brought Ali downstairs to keep me company…”

“Any ETA yet?”

Finally, Chris said we were clear to leave, so we and the three other couples headed across the street to the adjoining mall’s parking garage.

We were parked on the same level with friends Blake and Nikki, so we walked out together. The parking garage was lit by spooky, flickering half-light, clearly running on generators. As we walked through the chilling silence, Nikki said, “Oh! We haven’t seen the new car yet!!”

“Well, now you’ll get to see her.”

(I secretly hoped they wouldn’t want to look TOO long – after all, I needed to get home.)

We got to Ingrid, and they oohed and aahed appropriately. Chris hit the unlock button on his key.

Nothing happened.

I pulled out my key and hit the unlock button.

Eerie half-lit parking garage silence.

“This is weird…”

We both pounded our key fobs with the fervor of a Scandinavian Lady baking bread.

Nada.

Finally, Chris put the key in the lock and turned it.

The shrill German alarm system mutilated the eerie silence, and we all scrambled to squeeze our fingers into our ears.

Chris hurriedly put the key in the ignition to start the car, which disables the alarm.

Nothing happened.

After 30 seconds of mind-exploding siren echoing off the walls of the empty parking deck, the noise quit. But still no engine.

Chris began frantically searching through the owner’s manual.

I panicked as I remembered that poor Giann was still in the dark house with our kids, and that my cell phone had no signal in this parking deck.

I walked out and checked my texts, and told her what was happening.

She was in post-storm mode, but still ill at ease. In her words, later…

After the storm passed, I put Ali back in bed. I came back downstairs only to discover that it was really quiet.

Too quiet.

So, I opened up my laptop and started to play some music.

That still didn’t help.

I began texting Rachel and asking her when she would get here. And if so, could she warn me when approached the front door. Otherwise, I might start freaking out and start throwing stuff at her and Chris all while screaming bloody murder.

Yeah, I was that creeped out. And the zappy lantern light still wasn’t helping.

I walked back to Ingrid, hoping he’d righted her attitude. He had not.

Our friends tried to help and offer advice, as they called and checked on their own childcare situation.

Minutes that felt like months passed. I became more frantic. The siren blasted several more times. Chris was desperately trying to control his emotions, as he’d previously promised me that “Even if she strands me on the side of the road, I promise to never get angry about this car. I know she’s impractical, but I love her.”

Chris walked out to the road to try and call Mercedes Roadside assistance.

And, as he did, the lights in the parking deck flickered.

Flick, flick, whoosh.

And Blake, Nikki and I were left standing in complete, utter, desolate darkness.

A truck came charging out of the other parking deck, music blaring and tires screeching. I tried in vain to see where Chris was, hoping that they didn’t run over my already emotionally destroyed husband.

I heard footsteps coming toward us.

Chris… or… ?

Oh good. Chris.

We quickly agreed to leave The Sister Wife in the parking deck and get our award-winning friends to drive us home, since we’d all seen this movie and knew that the Zombies were going to descend upon us any minute.

We thanked Blake and Nikki repeatedly.

We apologized to Giann profusely.

And then Chris left the house again, this time in my quite reliable Flex, to get gas for our generator.

I sat in the dark house Googling Ingrid’s issues, and found the most likely cause: The PSE Pump (whatever that is) is housed in the trunk. SLKs often have trunk leakage problems, which kills the PSE Pump. And, since it had been raining all day and the symptoms fit, this sounded highly likely.

Also? The PSE Pump is expensive.

So, what, Ingrid?? Can’t take a little rain??? Sounds like a bit of a Wicked Witch of the West complex to me!

Chris came back, threaded the generator cords through the window, plugged up the fridge and some lights, and sat down and read my findings. We finally headed to bed after midnight, in no small amount of despair over a ruined date night.

As he was walking toward bed to fall in a heap of anguish and despondency, the power came back on.

We scrambled to turn off lights before they woke the kids. He began redressing to go unhook, unthread, and turn off the generator.

He reconsidered: “You know, don’t worry about it. The fridge can stay on the generator. It needs to run for a few hours. You know, burn off the old gas. Whatever.”

The next morning, we dropped Ali off with my Mom to go to Vacation Bible School, then headed to the mall.

She was still there.

(I had kinda hoped she’d have taken up with some other husband. The sneaky, hotwiring chop shop kind.)

My Dad met us there with his handy car-computer-reading machine, and they set to work.

Sirens blared several more times.

Noah and I wandered into the mall, then came back, hoping it was fixed.

It was not.

I let Noah spill his Fruit Loops all in my car, then took him back in the mall. We were browsing Victoria’s Secret’s semi-annual sale when my Dad came and found me.

“He’s gone – I got him going. He’s headed to the mechanic to get it fixed.”

“What??”

My Dad looked down at my hands, where I was holding two bras. I could see it in his eyes – he wanted to make a Me vs. The Sister Wife joke so badly. Or perhaps a suggestion that I was being too nice to Chris. Or something.

I could have made a few myself.

But he was also a bit embarrassed, so he just said, “Uh…which way is the bathroom?”

I pointed him in the right direction and completed my purchase, all while having a seething conversation in my head. With HER.

So what, Ingrid?? Wouldn’t start when I was in the parking lot, eh? Waited till I left?? Maybe that’s why you quit working to begin with – you were mad that he brought me along on the date last night? Well get used to it. I was the FIRST wife – and I will always be the first wife!

I mean, what do you even contribute to the family??

At least I am an accountant, a jeans consultant, a blogger, and even do the laundry in a good week!

YOU won’t even keep the kids!!

“I wasn’t built to transport children,” you say.

All YOU do is take your top off at the end of the day to relieve The Husband’s stress on his way home from work!

And can you say HIGH MAINTENANCE?? I mean, I don’t even require mani/pedis – and you’ve got to have a new part in your first three weeks in the family?

I only ever have to have parts removed – a gall bladder, a foot bone, HUMAN BEINGS FROM MY ABDOMEN – but YOU – YOU NEED REPLACEMENT PARTS!! Because you leak!!

Perhaps a bladder tack would do you good?

Old German Hag.

What followed was a day and a half of Ingrid lounging lazily at the mechanic’s shop while Flexi and I escorted Chris back and forth to work.

Of course, she wouldn’t misbehave for the mechanic (because I wasn’t around), and she finally came home with Chris, costing him nothing.

A miraculous healing, he says.

Hrmph.

He joyfully welcomed the prodigal wife back into the family, practically killing the fatted calf to celebrate her free return, while I glared at her with distrust and resentment.

Serenity and Stupidity.

June 13, 2012August 7, 2014 Rachel Callahan Chris, Guest Post, Running

Chris and The Sister Wife (also known as his new car) have complicated our week rather significantly with quite a bit of confusion and delay. The full story will be forthcoming..as soon as it reaches some sort of closure. In the meantime, as penance, I have made Chris guest post for me about an exploit that he embarked upon a few weeks ago.

Without further ado, Chris:

Last year I brought you my running tour of San Diego, and told you that my favorite ‘me’ thing to do on vacation is to explore in running shoes.

When we took our family vacation last month to Saluda, NC, I planned out a running route around Lake Summit. This is a true mountain lake. The dominant smell around this lake is evergreen. I have never smelled this woodsy spicy goodness in the wild, only the Christmas spray can variety.

So basically, this lake smells like Christmas.

It is standard lake picturesque.

Surrounded by woodsy gravel roads.

Lake Summit is full of character and charm, like horses who can’t be trusted with vision,

side roads apparently named by frustrated wives,

and a private field for an emergency #1 complete with scary shack.

As with any lake, it is fed by the not-so-scenic drain,

and the quite-a-bit-more-scenic drain.

One of the things that struck me about the lake was the architecture, which is quite a bit different from lakes in Alabama. They love the branchy look in NC.

They even get all architchturey with their boathouses, which incidentally, are pretty much all you see on the water.

The banks of Lake Summit are pretty steep.

(The whole mountain thing.)

So everybody has their boathouse in the water and their house-house across the street up the hill. So everywhere you look, there are stairs leading up the banks.

And lots of them are really cool stairs:

See what I mean? Of course, some of the stairs look downright exhausting.

There are old bridges for people.

And old bridges for trains.

Which brings me to the adventurous part of this story. The shortest route (9 miles) around this lake included this section of train trestle:

From the aerial view of Google maps, I knew that this was the only way. When I told Rachel about my train trestle running plans, she forbade me to try it, citing the inconvenience of having to drive the 6 hour trip home with no Daddy too difficult to take on.

The only other option was to add two miles and a couple of huge hills. I was psyched up for the mad sprint across the bridge, so as I approached it, I found myself passing PRIVATE PROPERTY and NO TRESSPASING signs, figuring my headphones & running attire look would buy me a few seconds of confusion to dodge the shotgun shells.

As I wound around into someone’s backyard I found the ‘access’ to the train bridge. Google maps is sorely lacking in street views in private backyards, so I was surprised to find barbed wire and a fence to climb.

I stared at this for awhile, and pondered climbing the fence, reaching up and using the track itself to pull myself up onto the bridge. In this challenge of mind over matter, mind won.

I finally resigned to running the extra two miles, fled the private property, and started up the long winding hill. At least the kids would still have a dad.

About half a mile up the hill, what’s this? Unprotected access to the train track??

Hmmm, I know where this leads.

Let me tell you, running on railroad ties is awkward. They are spaced perfectly not to mesh with any human stride. It is an ungraceful hoppity skippity situation.

So I hoppity skip-ran to the bridge.

This was it. Just a hundred yards or so of nowhere to go, if by chance a train came along, in the grand tradition of Stand By Me.

Well, nowhere to go except into the lake. With my camera, iPhone, headphones, and all. I didn’t know how deep it was, but I figured feet first it wouldn’t be too bad, at least not nearly so bad as the alternative.

I got down on my knees and put my ear on the track, Cherokee-style.

All I could hear was my own heart pounding.

I hadn’t heard a single train since I got to the lake, but the track was obviously in use. There was even fresh oil in places dripped on the track by my potential killer.

I took a deep breath, and awkwardly began my sprint across the bridge.

And, luckily for my wife, I lived.

No train ever came.

Just the peaceful lake, wafting evergreen, asking my heart to please be a little quieter.

Look and Find, Google-Style.

June 11, 2012June 10, 2012 Rachel Callahan Dear Google: Thank you., I'm a Blog Geek, Mystery Solved, Weird Strange and True

Once a year, I wade through the Google search terms that have led people here. This year, there were 58,635 people using 17,525 separate search terms that landed them on my blog.

(Clearly, I talk about a vast smattering of topics…most of which are ridiculous and unimportant, which happens to be people’s favorite type of thing to Google.)

About half of those people were searching for the answer to one of the greatest mysteries of our time: Do miniature giraffes exist?

And the reason that half of the individual search terms were also about this question was the fact that the word “giraffe” can be misspelled in more combinations that any other word in the human language.

Don’t believe me? Here’s just a sampling – a mere smidgen of the spelling atrocities that I discovered:

graffie
ghiraffes
graff
girtaffes
girrrafes
jaraffe
jiraffe
gitaffe
gariffes
garaffis
giraph
girraf
graffi
garaff
giraafes
giraffi
girfaffes (One of my personal favorites to say out loud.)
jereffe
griraffes
girafffe
vguraffe
giragffes
giraffees
griffe
gaffafis (I also have a special place in my heart for this one, since it sounds like a Greek last name.)
gariffees
geraffs
giaraffe
jaraf
girffa
giragge

…and these are the ones that were close enough to recognizable to actually find my blog in their grand quest for answers.

I also enjoyed the oxymoronish tint to this question…

do fake giraffes exist

But my favorite was easily this one:

is ther minacher draffes

Some people weren’t searching for answers of existence, though. No, they were much further down Giraffe Buying Highway:

are miniature giraffes legal in the US

do you need a special license for a lap giraffe

is it legal to own a giraffe in vieginia

Some already had what they were looking for, but just wanted it altered:

can a giraffe be mimiaturized

Or wanted an even smaller variety:

are teacup giraffes real

Or a different species:

cost to own a mini elephant

But besides matters of Giraffe and Friends, there were many other things that people desperately sought. And quite a few of them shocked me by the numbers of people attempting to find them.

Such as, 30 people in one year were looking for…

mail order babies – The problem with this is that the US Postal Service outlawed the shipping of babies many years back (after two were actually mailed successfully). Check with UPS, though.

25 people wanted to know:

is dr pepper 10 good for you – Oh, it’s very good for you. It’s especially good for practicing your addition skills and deductive reasoning. Which you clearly have none of if you think that any soft drinks are actually good for you.

12 people wanted to know if others also had the experience of…

breast pump talks to me – at least that was one search that I could easily answer.

6 people were in search of a…

shoilet – Showering while on the toilet is overrated, people. Geez.

4 people tried to find..

fried afterbirth – can we please call it Fried Placenta?? It sounds so much more appetizing.

But people, in general, have some awesome questions. Questions that, if answered, could possibly bring about world peace, or at least make one or two people slightly happier.

So I will attempt to answer them.

can my baby 10 months old eat berry colossal crunch – Remember – doctors recommend introducing one food at a time. Start first with Count Chocula, then slowly add in the Berry Colossal Crunch.

are your buttcheeks suppose to look squarish – Square, maybe. But certainly not squarish.

siri why does my five-year-old wine so much – Perhaps you should try giving her grape juice instead…

is it true that the secret lies with charlotte – Nick? Nick Cage? Is that you? Poor guy – still confused about the fact that your movies are FICTION. Get some help, Nick.

can old fat people sell vault denim jeans – Maybe you would do yourself a favor by rethinking the image you have of yourself first?

“is” sleepwalking a genetic thing – Yes, it “is”.

what is it ? white glue come out of my froat ? – Can someone else take this one?

am i wrong to be mad my 39 year old wife dyed a pink stripe in her blobde hair? – No, but you’re wrong to have married someone with blobde hair.

are third nipples dangerous – It depends on whether they’re armed.

are you supposed to tell your friends mom happy mother’s day? – is it really easier to Google it than to just say it already?

can a 60 year old wear skinny jeans spring 2012 – No – but no worries, it’s almost Summer 2012, then you can.

can boys wear smocked clothing over age 2 – Can they or should they? Can you wear smocked clothing at the age of 35? Yes. Should you? No.

can i use a toner to get asy brown hair color – Who wants their hair to be an asy brown color?

do any of the dugger kids want to own a chick fil a – Who doesn’t want to own a Chick-Fil-A??

do you have to be over seventeen to watch downton abbey? – I don’t know, since I’m 30. But the television didn’t automatically cut off when I turned it on, so apparently you don’t have to be over 30.

does jennifer holliday have teeth – Yes. Gigantic, scary, razor sharp teeth.

do snakes go after breast milk – I don’t know. And thankfully, I can’t test that theory for you anymore.

if a cat pees on you is it bad – It depends: are you a human or a piece of kitty litter?

is it bad to blow on a pregnant woman – well, they do have bad balance. And are very sensitive to smells, so your breath probably wouldn’t be comforting.

is it possible to have extra stomach skin? – In whichever dimension this isn’t true, I want to move there.

is taverna plaka prom appropriate – Are you Greek? Is she Greek? Then yes.

is the american version of dieting abbey different than the english version? – Yes. Biscuits are actually cookies in the English version.

is the movie the christmas shoes been banned for some reason – If not, banning it would make a fabulous Christmas present for someone like me.

how long is a lifetime ago – How did you find the internet?

how to airbrush abs – 100 crunches a day.

how to get your man out of mom jeans – Show him two pictures side by side. “This is your butt. This is my Mom’s butt. Your butt. My Mom’s butt.” – repeat as necessary.

how long until i lose my pregnancy pouch – How did you learn how to type, Mrs. Kangaroo?

how to keep a mummified chicken for a year – Typically, Mummified Chickens only last for about 11 months. Then they come back as Zombie Chickens.

how to pee outside – Go ask your Daddy.

how to write retendivity in perfumary – Um. Yes?

what to do when cops are staking out your house – Google what to do, I guess.

where i can buy human dried lennec placenta in united states i am a doctor – Sure you are. That’s what they all say.

why are there seeds in newborn poop – The same reason there are seeds in an apple. If you spread it outside on your lawn, you’ll get a grove full of newborn trees!!

why did you bite me? im a snake you idiot – Why did you Google me? You answered your own question you idiot.

disney princess gummies do they cause to have green stool – Nope, I just checked, and all of the stools in my kitchen are decidedly still wood-toned.

It seemed as if some people were searching desperately for validation of their slightly unwise ideas…

baby boy edible arrangements – Baby boys taste terrible in edible arrangements. Try Meat Flowers instead.

alanama tatoo – Try spelling it right before you get the tattoo.

baby boy toe nail art – Daddy’s not going to like it…

baby seat on a motorcycle – There’s no LATCH system – sorry.

bedazzle your mom jeans – Two very, very, very serious wrongs do not make the tiniest of rights.

bedazzle zit – That, however, seems like a fabulous idea.

best iphone app fir honeschool – Until you know the difference between “fir” and “for”, please don’t homeschool or honeschool your children.

cant get all crevices clean while changing baby – I’m not going to tell you that is okay. Keep wiping.

engagement ring as a push present a good idea? – Don’t ask any questions like that while she’s pushing. You may have to excavate that ring from between your nostrils.

Some seemed to simply want to inform me of important facts.

professionl claim that girl are smater than boy – If you’re a boy, then you just proved the point yourself.

china kids poop – I’m sure they do.

babe i think im pregnant the at&t – Better than being pregnant with the DirecTV. Those dishes are significantly bigger than 10 centimeters.

curly hair gets straighter after 1st year of pubertyartoon balcony – You should never leave your kid on a pubertyartoon balcony, regardless of their hair needs.

cinderella didn’t have to take her dress off to win her prince – Nope, just a shoe.

fell asleep on the breast pump – probably because yours sings you lullabies.

he looked so cute in sisters frilly easter dresses

i fear i am an idiot – If you have to Google it, then…

i felt a bug on my arm – Then slap it!! Pry your fingers from your keyboard and SLAP YOUR ARM!!

i have a medium butt – That’s very… normal of you.

i am a 14 year old boy with a bumpy chest

i long to write you such words that will fill your heart with complete love and joy – Please do, then! I love sweet emails!!

i need to lose 30 lbs. i have had back surgery in june, 2011 so i cannot do much yet but need some something on a low budget

i think i have super glue in my throat

i weigh 357 pounds, any diet plans for me? – Sorry, not today. I had one for 358 pounds. And 357.5 pounds, but not 357 pounds.

my cat went to another dimension – Was that the dimension where you can’t have extra stomach skin?? Did she find it???

my face is ugly and i am awkward – I’m… sorry?

studies prove lmao doesn’t change body – That’s why I never do it. It’s just not worth the effort.

Some searches made me wonder how they ever found my blog.

map of the fault lines in the north dakota

darth vader bra and panties

i love my honda odyssey

And the four people who found my blog by searching for:

(Apparently, I’m towards the top of the internet.)

Finally, some searches were just…silence-inducing.

how many calleries do you burn yelling at your kids

is it too late once they scanned my drivers license for sudafed

edible ear wax recipe

where can you find a restaurant that serves fried placenta

dye kids hair white

princess donät poop

female hamster placenta

can a third nipple appear at 18

fhoto out line softwer free

fitting your husband in a bra

long tenies jans boott

poopong princess

quizzes good baby let mummy change your dirty nappy

recipe for russian placenta

satan with flowers wedding dress

should i cancek birthday party vomit

should you wake newborn if hear nappy explosion

siri rachel is a butt cheek

solve d riddle: kitty, litty n mutty r d three kittens. what is d cat’s name?

starbucks and (holiday or “red cup” or “cup magic” or augmented or bogo or “buy one” or “12 days” or peppermint or petites or card or christmas or brulee or gingerbread or eggnog or brownie or “cake pop” or whoopee)

And, my favorite…

yw! okayyy…..i guess i can wa it only til after the baby shower! baby baby baby!!! heehehe!

Thank you, Internet, for your constant quest for knowledge.

A PSA To Car Dealerships Everywhere.

June 8, 2012June 7, 2012 Rachel Callahan Blogging: the therapy., Just My Luck, Weird Strange and True

When Chris and I bought my very first new car in 2003, we started out with a delightful salesman.

He was a young Nigerian guy, and he was kind, helpful, and not at all pushy. We’d talked trades, we’d picked out the one we wanted (a beautiful sage green Honda Civic), and right as we were about to go inside to talk numbers, it was apparently time for our salesman to knock off for the day.

So he traded us over to this nasty, creepy old dude that was missing almost all of his teeth, and the two he had left were crusty and brown with tobacco stains.

He smiled at me with that sneer that makes you want sanitize your entire body and then immediately call the cops.

But we stuck it out. I negotiated hard for my car, got a good deal, and signed the papers.

At the end of the visit, he started the spiel.

“Now. You’re going to get a call from our dealership asking you to take a survey about me. I want you to answer “excellent” to all of the questions, okay?”

“Um..okay.”

Clearly, he heard the LIE in my voice, so he decided to role play.

“I’m going to pretend to be the surveyor and ask you the questions exactly like they’re going to ask, and you answer. Okay?”

And that greasy man made me sit there and pretend to give him a perfect survey. THREE TIMES.

A couple of days later, they called.

I gave him a nicer review than he deserved, and then they asked me if I had any comments.

“Yes. Do you realize that he bullies his customers into giving him nice reviews?”

“What??”

I proceeded to tell them about my experience.

And they were duly horrified, and a little embarrassed.

A few years later, we bought another Civic from that dealership. Greaseball was gone, and our new salesman did not hound us about our upcoming survey. I felt as if I had cleaned the place up with my survey.

I was proud that the world was a nicer place, all because of me.

Until we bought Flexi the Space Toaster.

The dealership was out of state, but our experience was delightful. I did all of my hard negotiating over the phone and email, and was very pleased at the price and the amount I was receiving for my trade. I’d researched Flexes for five weeks, and I knew that I was getting the best deal out there.

We arrived at the dealership, and they didn’t try to negotiate a single dollar, even though they hadn’t seen the encrusted bits of Chick-Fil-A and other Children’s Love Marks in my trade until we arrived. Our salesman was wonderful, the dealership was great – everything was perfect.

Until it was time to talk surveys.

And our salesman hounded us with the fervor of five Greaseballs.

Then he hounded us again.

Then, “Some people get confused, so I’m going to pull out a copy of the survey to show you. See – ‘completely satisfied’ is not the best response you can give – ‘perfectly satisfied’ is. If you don’t give me ‘perfectly satisfied’, then they will dock my pay.

(He looks sadly at the photo of his seven year old daughter.)

I promise to give you a perfect review – just give us the keys already!!

A couple days after our purchase, he called to follow up. And to remind me of his intense desire to receive “perfectly satisfied”.

A few days after that, because I had not filled out the survey yet (I was on VACATION), he called back to check on my perfect satisfaction, and by the way, have you received the survey?

I was highly annoyed, but I did like my salesman (before all of the survey stuff started, anyway), and I didn’t want him to get in trouble with the dealership or for his pay to get docked, so I did indeed give him “perfectly satisfied”.

As soon as I hit “send” on the survey email, he called to thank me for being perfectly satisfied.

But then.

The dealership emailed me, letting me know that I would also be receiving a survey from Ford, and to please rate their dealership as high as possible, and to keep in mind that “your survey answers will be grading your Sales Associate, and it is a direct reflection on him.”

So clearly, they are not only aware that their salesmen use guilt techniques to get good survey answers, but they model it as well.

Then two days later, they sent me a second email, asking me again to please give them great ratings.

And something inside my nice, southern, unconfrontational self snapped.

So I responded.

Dear [Dealership],

I was very happy with my purchase, felt like I got a wonderfully fantastic deal on my car, was very happy with the way that my salesman was not pushy at all and willing to do all of the negotiating via the internet. My deal was completed by the time I arrived, and I thoroughly enjoyed every part of my buying experience.

I would absolutely give the best review on both the dealership and my salesman for everything you have done. And I still will. However, I feel like I have been constantly hounded, guilted, and nearly even bullied into ensuring my perfect review by your dealership. This in and of itself is the biggest complaint that I have with your dealership. Surveys are meant to collect honest opinions from consumers, not to create an uncomfortable, awkward situations between the seller and the buyer.

I highly recommend that your dealership (and your salesmen) simply act confident in the great service you provide, rather than pushing, guilting, and following up with your customers to ensure that they give good reviews. Because your service is absolutely perfect, except for your tactics in making sure you get good reviews, which does the opposite of what you are trying to accomplish.

Sincerely,

Rachel

Okay. I was still pretty nice. But I felt like I made my point – quit bullying me and leave me alone.

I hit send, and in less than five minutes, my cell phone rang – from the dealership.

I stared at it with incredulous indignation.

WHAT PART OF LEAVE ME ALONE DIDN’T YOU UNDERSTAND??

I didn’t answer.

My salesman left me a message, making sure, yet again, that I was “perfectly satisfied”.

I began to stab my left eyeball out with my pen.

Two days later, I got another email from the dealership.

Not a response, apologizing for their guilting.

No.

Not at all.

This email was from someone whom I had never met or heard of, and it said…

Dear Rachel,

Once again, I would like to thank you for purchasing your vehicle from us here. All of us really appreciate your business, and we hope that we exceeded your expectations.

As I may have mentioned, it makes me very proud to be a member of the sales team. Our business model is designed to eliminate much of the hassle traditionally associated with car sales. Hopefully, I have lived up to my promise which was to deliver you with a simple, honest, and hassle free vehicle purchase experience.

In closing, would it be too much to ask that you write a quick paragraph or two on Google Places summarizing how you feel about the experience you had here with our team? I would very much appreciate it.

Stab. Stab. Stab.

Yes.

Yes indeed it would be too much to ask.

I only wanted to buy a dang car from you people, not become your full-time marketing department.

However, it would NOT be too much to ask for me to write a 1,300 word blog post about your relentless feedback pandering.

You’re welcome!

Sincerely,

A would-be happy customer…if you’d just quit asking me to tell you that I’m happy already.