Californians: Super Blooms

Last spring, I read all the articles and clicked all the links to the desert wildflower super blooms. I explored them through the computer screen or my tiny little phone and came up with excuses for not seeing them in person. This year when they started popping up, those same articles and links were screaming that this was the best ever super bloom because it rained so much this winter. I couldn't stand it. I looked at Mack and said, we're going.

I found a hotel that didn't cost a million dollars and wasn't totally booked up in Ramona, a little town about an hour away from Anza-Borrego State Park. We left in the late evening to avoid traffic and ended up at a divey joint called Cheers for a surprisingly awesome dinner. The locals were two-stepping and playing pool, but me in my hoodie and Mack with his scruff fit right in.

When we woke up we took a beautiful drive into the state park and to Borrego Springs, where the visitor center is located. It was so busy the road to the center was closed, so we started our first hike through the desert there.

The nice fella at the visitor center suggested we do the Borrego Springs hike right by the visitor center. He warned us that the 3 mile loop would end up being about 5 since it was half a mile to the trailhead and another mile to our car on the way back. We chugged the water we had, refilled it, and set off. I slathered some SPF 70 on my face. Mack was in his usual inappropriate footwear. It had all the makings for a near-death/life-changing experience.

We got to the campsite and found a sink, so we chugged and refilled again. At the trailhead we did the same thing. It was hot, sunny, and absolutely stunning.

The trail wound by a sheer cliff wall, over a dry river bed, by lots of rocks the size of campers, across a shallow river, through a forest of green shrubs, and ended at a cool oasis with a small waterfall and palm trees. We took our shoes off and waded in the pool, splashed water on our heads and faces, and even drank from the waterfall. It was invigorating.

And the flowers. Well, let's just talk about these flowers. Purple, pink, orange, yellow, white. Some of them were tiny as a baby's tooth and others were as big as a fist. They were popping up out of nooks and crannies and carpeting the gravelly desert floor. It was so incredibly beautiful I was just fine if I did drop dead from heat stroke.

The hike out was just as extraordinary as the hike in. We even got to see some wildlife, including a snake, big fat lizards, and big horn sheep! Thanks again, California.

Beatrixy

Leiah was due to have her third baby on Dec. 19. Her belly got so freakishly big with this one that my dad said to David, "I'm almost mad at you for doing that to her." We were all ready to have a fresh baby for Christmas. But Christmas came and went. Then a week passed. Then 10 days. Just as everyone was starting to think BBG was going to come out by tearing open her mom's belly button or forcing the doctors to go in and serve an eviction notice, she decided to become one of us on New Year's Eve.

Just in time for the tax write off. 

Leiah delivered the cheekiest baby yet at 5:55pm. Then a few hours later, the world celebrated with kisses and fireworks and toasts. They may say it was in honor of the new year, but I'm pretty sure it was for Beatrix Belle Galownia. Like her big sister, she was a little overcooked but perfect in every way. She was a chunky 8 lbs. 7 oz. and 21 inches long. 

I got to meet my 7th child this week and, like all the others, she is extraordinary. She may end up being a red head. She loves baths, smiles the biggest smile when her mom talks to her about shopping for shoes, and loves her Gigi's patented face palm when she's fussy. She sleeps good, eats better, and prefers to sleep motor boating her mom's boobs. You've got to watch when you change her diaper because she loves to shit shoot you when you're wiping her cute little butt. She's adored by her big brother and big sister and sort of feels like the missing link in the Galownia house, like she was always supposed to be there and finally showed up. And I love her so much she almost makes me a kidnapper but I love her mom so much I could never do that to her. 

I'm gonna say these guys are better than baby jesus.

First, this girl. Does anyone else get slayed by those eyeballs the way I do? One look and I'm like, okay, here's all my money and my car and my house and, fine, here's my heart and whatever else you want. Just take it!

Do not be deceived by her ability to hold her own bottle? She is still very averse to it despite about 4 months of trying to get her to take a bottle so Shan's boobs can get on to other tasks. She has developed her sibling's NO BENDING mantra, so she's basically like hauling around a chunk of lead.  She likes bouncing up and down and into things, and it'd be nice to have a conversation with her mom but she won't allow it.

Meanwhile, here's this.

His favorite thing to do is squats. The boy who never cries must do 1,000 squats a day and he's a whopping 4 months old. While he was home for Christmas, Gramma Shahin started beefing him up with rice cereal mixed with baby food. Like his dad, he hates pears. Like his dad, he also has a tiny baby afro. He squeals like a dinosaur when he's having fun and no one makes him laugh quite like Gramma. She better watch out though, because once they get big enough to enjoy a little horseplay, Auntie Amber quickly takes that honor.

These babies are the best gifts I got this year. Thanks Shan and Bubba.

Californians: Pink's Hot Dogs

Laila and I had to go to the mall to do some last minute Christmas purgatory crap. And that is when we discovered that a Pink's Hot Dogs had opened up a branch in the mall.

The iconic hot dog stand has been in Hollywood since the 1930s. Whenever we've driven past that one, there has always been a line of people out front, which we interpreted as an indication that we should never go there. Well, Laila and Tom had gone once and after some nostalgic discussion about the lady outside of Kmart who used to sell Laila bacon wrapped hot dogs from a portable grill, we found ourselves in line to get some Pink's. Guys, they have a veggie hot dog so I had no excuse.

No, this is not the true Californian Pink's experience. But it's enough for me because it spared me the traffic and the longer line. And it made me realize I need to resolve to enjoy more of the unique and awesome stuff this state has to offer. Alas, for 2017, I'm making it a goal to be a better Californian.

Emergency Christmas

When I started nursing, the holidays acquired a different kind of flavor. They're still joyful and special, but now they've got a layer of suicidal and despair on them.

It starts on Thanksgiving, which is usually calm enough during the day in the ER that we nurses can have a huge potluck. But at around 9pm, ambulances start rolling in with elderly, usually white, people who just can't take the lonely anymore and start having thoughts about putting their heads in the oven.

Christmas, well, Christmas in hospitals is linked with a diagnosis of "holiday heart." You eat too much, drink too much, put too much stress on your body from imbibing, and your heart starts to quiver from it all. We also get heart failure exacerbations and drunk driving accidents and suicidals in honor of the birth of Jesus. (On a side note, when women tell me there is no way they can be pregnant so there's no need to do a pregnancy test, I say, "Well, thanks to the Virgin Mary anyone under 55 has to get one." I'm your favorite nurse, right?) 

Miraculously, New Years Eves have become a bit of a bore thanks to Uber, which should probably get federal funding on New Years Eve and July 4th for all the accidents it prevents. The past couple of years we have super staffed our trauma bay only to find it was overkill. Better safe than sorry, except for every other day when we're desperately understaffed. 

Even as families are cuddling and enjoying their favorite foods, people are still dying on these holidays. I always knew that, but being on the fringe of that loss takes some of the sweetness away. Oh, and don't forget the 3% of PTSD I have from the shooting outside room 23 just before Christmas last year. 

The Emergency Department is hallowed ground. But even with all the death and disaster that it hosts, it also hosts miraculous feats of humankind. People who are doctors and nurses step in to situations that are disgusting and foreign and uncharted and do it with confidence, kindness, and a smile on their face. We gown up, don gloves, and dive in... most often to shit. Literal shit. This holiday I cleaned a man whose diarrhea was so abundant he was basically bathing in shit, a woman who had been laying in shit for so long it had started eating the skin off the back of her body, and another guy who had shit caked under his fingernails who kindly exposed me to fungal meningitis. 

To celebrate the season, my work had a hot cocoa and tamales celebration... we are multicultural even if we are religiously inappropriate sometimes. At the party (so glamorous it was in our break room), we had a photo booth. While looking at these pictures, it made me realize that I work with extraordinary people. Who else in my life would gown up, don gloves, and dive into the shit with me, even if it means they'll be exposed to something awful? The fact that people like this exist is kind of a miracle. That's something to celebrate.

Cars. Also, I sat in the spaceship known as a Tesla.

Mack and I got wild and actually drove downtown to the convention center to go to the LA Auto Show. We are explorers.

As soon as we walked in, I thought, "Leiah would love this." All I want in a car is for it to go, have Satellite radio since all I listen to is Howard Stern, not need gas, and not cost more than $200 a month. But the things cars can have is just incredible. For instance, take a look at this half Porshe/half Lego car.

By far the most popular car was the Tesla Model X, the SUV with the falcon wing doors. The ceiling is basically glass so you can see out the roof. The computer in the dash is bigger than most of the televisions I watched as a kid. I couldn't close the back doors to see how bad the blind spot is because there were dozens of people sticking their heads in while waiting for their turn in the driver's seat, but that probably doesn't matter because this damn car drives itself. I only know about this car because Mack has car reviews on his YouTube feed and they are on a lot in our house. Plus he was dabbling with the idea of getting one and my eyes almost fell out of my head at the $900/month car payment. Do you know how much vacations $900/month is???

Anyway, that car is a technological achievement, and sitting in it made me feel like I was in the future. Almost cool enough to make me rationalize the price tag but not quite.

We meandered through the other rooms and sat in the most luxurious Volvo ever made, which comes equipped with a crystal handle and a mini bar in the back. It, however, does not drive itself. We also sampled the new Miata hardtop convertible, which is still my most favorite car we ever had even if its wheel did fall off and leave us stranded in Topanga Canyon.

The car show also had some custom car creations, and these were the coolest to look at. Here is the Pink Panther car, which has one seat for the driver and then a shagalicious limo like part in the back. I mean, I guess it's for shagging because there's really not enough head room to sit up. Who cares, because look at how cool it is!

Another highlight was the Speed Racer car. At least that's what I think it is. It looked cool and was like half a million dollars. How wrong am I? Likely very wrong.

We also got to check out some electric bikes and scooters that were pretty fancy. And we got to be a marketing victim of Ford, which had this thing that said, "Be prepared to be blown away by Ford" and then it popped a bunch of air in your face and took a horrendous photo of you that it suggested you share with your social media contacts. Um, no. 

Dulywed: Decade Edition

Mack,

I found out that the gift associated with ten years of marriage is tin. I wonder if some old timey wife was asked by some other old timey wife what the gift for ten years was when they started this whole thing and the first old timey wife blurted out TIN! because it was the closest sounding thing to ten. Because that's all the sense that you can muster after a decade of marriage. Loose word associations shouted emphatically.

This year has been a bit of a bitch. Trump was elected, which totally undermined my "Listen, there's gonna be a woman president in the White House, which means things are gonna change in this house" proclamation a few months ago. We merged our finances and got a joint checking account and started doing a budget, which means now you know how much I spend on crafts and I know how much you spend on video games. But perhaps this year is our most significant because this is the year that we got marital property.

We bought a house, which feels so adult I still don't know how it happened. There was some crying and sleep disturbances on my end and a lot of extra shifts on your end, but somehow we turned "unexpected FOR SALE sign in the front yard" into "a SOLD sign." I packed everything, you called all the utilities, we adopted electronic signatures, and now, thanks to our student loans and this new mortgage, we are a million dollars in debt. Ahhhh, the American Dream.

This year has shown us physically what a decade of marriage can do, too. Our most intimate touches come during an application of Tiger Balm to my neck or during a rub of your right butt cheek to get that knot that wakes you up in the middle of the night out of your ass. You are dosing yourself with round-the-clock ibuprofen and Tums, which is a far stretch from the Diet Mountain Dew and cigarettes that you were dosing yourself with when I first met you. At night, while we watch the political segments and sailing shows you cue up on YouTube, I stand against the wall rolling a tennis ball into my neck while you roll your ass on a foam cylinder on the living room floor. It's all very romantic.

But not quite as romantic as the day we both showed up with CVS bags full of hair regrowth products  bought on independent shopping trips. When we do things like that, when we are so peculiarly in sync, that's when marriage is freaky romantic.

Our friend Erik predicted this year would be our last while we were all on vacation in Washington together. You were doing that cagey animal thing that you do on vacations with other people and just being le miserable and I was ignoring it, and therefore you. When we did speak, we were a bickering old married couple. When he told us our future, I told him it most certainly would not be our last year because I am too stubborn for that. Now we vacillate between "Too bad this is our last year, huh?" when we're having fun and "Thank god we only have one more year of this left, huh?" when we're making it suck.

If this is our last year, if you die of ass pain or my head falls off my chronically kinked neck, I want you to know that being married to you is the most amazing thing I have done in my life. I have learned so much about what I value and what I need and what I expect, of myself and others. I have learned that, despite what you say, I am an amazing wife and our relationship is the most powerful thing either of us has been a part of. I have been on adventures I thought were available only to more exceptional people. I still laugh until I cry from a look you'll throw my way or a silly thing you'll say, and I still crawl into your embrace when I need a break from the world around us. Like after that dream I had that a couple of nights ago where we were in a mass shooting at a doctor's office. You are my sanctuary. I bet you're made of tin.

Happy anniversary, Pop. I love you.

Me. Looking like I'm going to find ET.

My job once again made me look totally ridiculous and incompetent. It made me put on this disaster suit.

This disaster suit is what we wear when something explodes and people are contaminated with dangerous chemicals and we have to interact with them/yell at them to take a shower before we can help them. It takes roughly 30 minutes to put on and you have to disrobe without touching the outside and everything is impossible so we're all going to die. Just ask the 9/11 First Responders.

After this suit donning training we had a disaster drill. And it was a disaster. Let's just say we'd do better rolling with it than following the plan that's been laid out. Apparently we had a central command hunkered down in some office, but no one knew about central command so we were just figuring things out among ourselves. Trust us. We are the people in the space suits who look like we know what we're doing.

What the nerds are up to.

If you needed an update on the coolest nerds on the planet, well, it's your lucky day. 

Ben is playing the saxophone. Lilly wants to play his saxophone but he says no. Who could say no to a girl with a beard drawn on her face? An ice cold superman sax player, that's who.

Leiah has an original Nintendo in her basement, so it took me roughly 9 seconds to decide that needed to be set up. Then I challenged kids these days, specifically ones named Ben and Renee, to play Super Mario Brothers Original Version. Of course they died a hundred times. Luckily, their auntie has the expert Nintendo chops she developed as a 10 year old and I got them a bunch of lives at level 3-1 and sent them on their way. They adopted the diplomatic "trade turns when you die" that Shannon and I used to do. Alas, the torch is passed.

These dweebs really do make me happier than anything else on the planet. It's like being an adult but playing with my sisters at the ages they used to be. 

Man, they grow up.

Kieron is 14. Well, he's just now learning his letters and he barely started kindergarten and he's freakishly accomplished as a thief, but this is what he put on his bedroom door. And that is why he is 14.

But then, just before he left, he escaped his dad's grasp and ran across the yard and jumped into my arms and gave me the best hug I ever got. So luckily, he's still barely 5 and I love this boy with the hard head so much.

20 Years Ago

Two decades ago, Ruble and I went to a football game and sat down next to Kristin and Sarah. Sarah and I had sat next to each other in English and were friendly, Kristin and Sarah had been friends for a lifetime already since they lived in the same neighborhood, and Ruble had become my new best friend since I dumped my gay boyfriend and my old band friends and had found someone who laughed dangerously loud and was dangerously fun. We became a bit of a quartet our senior year, intermittently joined by Chloe, who was also from the hood and wicked smart. One time we sat in a storage shed and Sarah was almost killed by a weed whacker.

I'm thinking it may be time to buy some Birkenstocks again real soon...

These woman became my squad during that fateful year. As we ventured off to college (Kristin to Georgia, Sarah to Ohio, Chloe to Indiana, and me to Transy... I did not venture back then) and to adult life (Ruble became a workaholic, because she did not put enough postage on her college application), our friendship was sustained during holiday visits home and trips to each others' dorm rooms. We demoralized a fraternity with our pool skills. We saved a guy from going up in flames in the back seat of a car. We donated a lot of money to the Jim Beam Foundation.

Hera was also a part of our squad cuz she was a badass cat.

In the last two decades, we have earned doctorates, gotten married, had children, endured heartbreaks, lived abroad, been laid off, moved across the country, made drastic career changes, buried parents and grandparents, bought homes, and, most importantly, stayed in touch to support and celebrate one another. In honor of our lasting friendship, our high school decided to throw a party for us. Some would call it a 20 year reunion.

I looked at the guest list and called it a RSVP No. I remembered maybe four people on the list, all four of whom I saw at the last reunion or since then. Chloe, however RSVPed Yes, and then asked us if we were going. Because Sarah, Kristin, and I have grown into full fledged anti-socialites, we negotiated a private reunion for ourselves at Ruble's house, a partial reunion at a class-sponsored tailgate function at Keeneland, and a full report on our classmates from Chloe, who would go to the actual reunion and report back to us.

We had an excellent time. Ruble, who is with Byrski child and due in February, put me up and hosted a get together of drunken friends on Friday and Saturday night. Friday I got amped and carved a pumpkin.

Saturday we got up and went to Keeneland. We tailgated at our car for a bit before all the Trump supporters and coal-keeps-the-lights-on retards made Sarah and I awkward enough to agree to walk over to the Tates Creek Reunion section. I packed a couple extra Stellas in my purse because I'm classy. As we walked up, I was transported to 20 years ago, and I remembered, oh, that's why I love Ruble so much. The girl walked up to everyone. And talked to them. And appeared to enjoy it. Meanwhile, cut to me, Sarah, and Kristin standing awkwardly on the periphery, not talking to anyone, just like most high school experiences. I just kept asking, "Is that Ashley Coleman?" That is the only name I remember from high school. I think she was involved in a sex scandal. If not, let's just go with it for fun. SOMEONE was involved in a sex scandal, I know it.

After about 30 minutes of awkward, 30 minutes which Steve, Ruble's husband, used to make friends with everyone we went to high school with, we walked to Keeneland to eat, drink, bet on horses, and enjoy my favorite piece of Kentucky.

There's HUSBANDS and BABIES in this pic.

I was drinking Old Fashioneds because I am a 90-year-old alcoholic woman, so when we went to Ramsey's after the races, I was too impulsive not to order more 2-for-1 whiskeys and a BLT salad. When in Kentucky, do as Kentuckians.

I didn't eat ALL of that. I took some home in a box and ate it for breakfast.

I'm so young and fresh that when we got home, I immediately passed out on the couch while my young and fresh friends hung out on the patio and enjoyed a fire pit. I'm pretty sure my ass was totally showing because Kristin poking my crack interrupted my nap powerfully enough that I became conscious. I put on pajamas, started drinking water, and we all joined together for a fun game of Cards Against Humanity. Only because everyone fears me and Sarah playing A to Z.

One of the questions I had was for my friends to submit a card defining my marriage. Here is what these beautiful, supportive, wonderful friends turned in.

Don't you hate it when your friends know you better than you know yourself? And when they're so hilarious with their ability to insult you? That is why I love these girls. They make me laugh. And I make Sarah cry and she still hangs out with me. That is a true friend.

Chloe came over after the reunion and brought her husband, Shae, who was hilarious and actually did cartwheels in the living room. Anyone who wants to do cartwheels in a living room is an instant friend of mine. We learned that the reunion was terribly awkward and that Chloe and Shae were the only ones who danced and that it was a cash bar and that we are geniuses for not going.

The night ended quietly enough, but the visit awakened in me a profound appreciation for my friends. These wonderful, inspiring women who continue to associate with me despite my chronic absenteeism. Who forgive me for being cruel and bossy and obnoxious. Who tolerate my whore-for-a-laughness. Who I can reach out to at a moment's notice and trust that they will always be there for me when it counts.

Taylor Swift wishes she had a squad like mine.

Behold. Thine Godson. Of Me.

Well, Bubba grew up. He got married last year and then, to really show us up, he had a baby. Now he's jobbed, wife, dogged, and babied. He's full grown. So grown that he asked Mack and me to be his baby boy's godparents, and we, atheists that we are, agreed... after, of course, Bubba explained that being godparents means we don't really have to do anything that we wouldn't normally do as aunt and uncle.

Guys, this is Mateo. We got to meet the little guy this past weekend and OH MY GOD. He is the tiniest, sweetiest, easiest little man. He has miniature male pattern baldness, and every time I look at him I just see him leading some union of babies toward equality and justice for all. He's barely alive and already he is lifting his head up and showing off his Uncle Mack's freak strength.

I know Bubba and Lee are sleep deprived and slaves to dirty diapers right now, but I am so grateful for this fresh baby boy and to them for making him and sharing him with me. I'm not sure how to be a godmother, but I definitely know how to be an auntie, and I promise to wrassle him and make him laugh til he almost pees his pants and keep him safe and honest and love him til he can't stand it anymore. I will spoil him and accidentally teach him naughty things, and he will know that no matter what, whether he's homeless or the president, he belongs to a bunch of weirdos who love him almost oppressively and would do anything for him.

Welcome to the madness, Mateo. It is a lot of fun.

Hella Pad

At my job I get to do all sorts of cool stuff. Today I sat in a helicopter after acting like I could totally handle offloading a critical patient while blades that could cut my head off swirl above me.

Nursing is 64% fake it til you make it, 20% google, and 16% skill, in case you were wondering. But now I have a yellow card on my badge that lets everyone, including me, know that I CAN HANDLE THIS HELICOPTER SHIT.

Best Role Model. Yes, you read that right.

Mack's residency program had its graduation last weekend. In addition to certificates and speeches, they gave out awards. Mack, likely because hell froze or someone owes him money, was awarded Best Role Model, or BRM as he's calling it.

I'm not exactly sure of the politics behind this award or the campaigning he did to get it, but I assume he earned it because of his unique ability to impress people by doing the absolute least but with extraordinary efficiency so it looks like he does a lot. Needless to say, this will likely be mounted next to his GED certificate because it is his most amazing accomplishment.