Katie Miller: Super Spy

As I stare out the window at the gray Amsterdam winter that is sucking all the color out of life, I fantasize about whizzing along the Mediterranean coast in a sleek sports car, wearing some sort of sheath number that doesn't get stuck on my thighs or gap at the arms, and carrying a dossier detailing my next super-spy adventure.

Watching sixties-era Bond movies throughout my childhood made me question wide lapels and hippies. And I never really jived with women in power suits unless that suit is a hip-hugging bikini because those women are BAD ASS - sexy, powerful, smart and beautiful.

This is why Yuki-7, the creation of artist Kevin Dart, makes my heart bounce around with glee.
From Kevin's website/blog: Swinging 60’s spy girl, Yuki 7. Seductive, intelligent, and charming, Yuki romps through film after film, vanquishing villains while looking fabulous. Since these madcap movies exist only in his imagination, Kevin has brought Yuki’s world to life through a collection of original artwork and stories.


You can see more of Yuki-7 in digital gallery form to help get your super spy groove on. I am mentally applying fake tanner and coral lipstick to get me in the mood for trouble.

Live on tape...the wedding

Wedding 2

We got dressed in the morning (no ass bustle!) and got Rabito ready in his new Vegas-style leash and collar combination. At 9:45 we got on our bikes - mine decorated with white garland and white plastic flowers and Tom's decorated with Rabito riding over his shoulder. I got to Bakkerswinkel first and saw Snapper standing outside, keeping a lookout. He waved at the people inside and they came flooding out with big smiles and congratulations.

Holly had asked everyone to bring a decorated champagne flutes for Tom and I and we were given hysterical ones set in clogs. At 10am sharp, we went up to the wedding hall, when we met our officiant, Raymond Vreede, who seemed like a nice man, and saw the room which was more conference style than grand European room. It was funny and perfect. We took our seats in front of Raymond and proceeded to get married! Tom and I had emailed him the story of how we met from both perspectives, and a bit of our history together since living in Amsterdam. there were some comedy moments and it was so great to be able to laugh and giggle through the ceremony as the guests laughed and giggled too. So not a stodgy formal wedding! Then Raymond read the speech that Tom had written about why he wanted to marry me, which was beautiful. I cried. Then I read my speech about why I wanted to marry Tom, only going rogue a few times. I cried.

After the speeches, Raymond asked us to stand, look at each other and say our "I DO's" and at this point I was fully grinning and crying. When we both said yes, Raymond banged a lucite gavel and POW we were married. And then we kissed and kissed and put on rings, signed papers and were official.

I could not imagine ever having a more perfect ceremony. It was funny and moving and unexpected and completely right for Tom and me.

wedding 1

I typically find writing to be the best way of describing anything, but it seems woefully ineffectual at this moment, when I try to describe my wedding day.

First, it was so much fun. From the minute we woke up, we were giggling like little kids on Christmas. The lead up to Tuesday wasn't without moments of stress, like when I tried on my dress on Sunday and realized, that when the sides were taken in, an ass bustle of sorts was created from the excess fabric. Instead of freaking out about the dress, I instead freaked out about the state of our dressing room (filled with my clothes and shoes all over the place) and went on walkabout to clear my head. When I got back two hours later, the dressing room was spotless. Tom is amazing.

Or on Monday afternoon when I had to take flowers as big as me home on my bike while rushing to get Tom money in time for him to buy champagne at the wine store before they closed at 6, meanwhile I need to pick up my (hopefully) non ass-bustle dress at the tailor before HE closes at 6 and there was so much to do at work that I had a mini meltdown, culminating in "I have to leave RIGHT NOW!!!" But the fine people I work with calmed me down, pointed me to Holly, who took Tom money, suggested I ask if a taxi would take the flowers to the house (they did) and led me into the conference room where there were bubbles and bon bons to celebrate. So nice and so surprising that I cried.

Or my wedding pixies who tried so hard to anticipate/glean/pry what I wanted out of the day and I was frustratingly vague because I only knew that I wanted it to be mellow and about the marriage, not about anything else but couldn't. quite. articulate. that. And then last Thursday Tom and I decided that of COURSE we should have the reception at our house instead of a local restaurant and told the pixies not to worry, we had everything under control. After everything they did and tried to do for us, we were like the mean kids in a John Hughes movie. But baking for the post-wedding party was completely stress reducing and I made a killer chocolate cake that made me super proud. And I made us a wedding cake that I fell in love with because it was odd and delicious.

Bride again

I get married on Tuesday. Five days away and I have the first cheek pimple I've had in 15 years brewing under my skin. Everything is done - my dress is being altered, the rings are bought, the plans are made. Now I just need to run a half marathon on Sunday, decorate my bike with giant white plastic flowers on Monday and get to town hall by 10am on Tuesday.

All I want is to marry Tom. The rest is gravy. I have never been more excited for anything in my life, and I am so, so, so happy that we are combining forces to be together.

The Dutch aren't stupid and I don't hate them.

Except the guy who almost ran me over with his car. Him, I still hate.

It has been a week of exhaustion, anger and hopelessness, as month's worth of paying lip-service to patience and optimism came to an end. And it became abundantly clear that I had been keeping my head in the sand, perfectly happy to let others tell me what to do and where to go when. Results like I had at the neurologist appointment last week were inevitable -- sooner or later the ball was going to drop because I wasn't making any effort to ensure it stayed up.

A fruit basket goes to that neurologist though, because he kept his word and followed up on my case, writing all my doctors a fairly scathing letter, and forwarding my case to a top neurosurgeon in the Netherlands. He even called me back to tell me about it. The neurosurgeon's office called me last Friday with an appointment to see an endocrinologist at the hospital they all work in today. I was frustrated because I thought I was starting all over again, but optimistic because I confirmed that all my files had been sent and received BEFORE going. And they all had. This is progress.

Today was the appointment and here is what I know:
- the tumor is attached to the pituitary gland
- the tumor is so small that operating is high-risk because chances are very high that part of the pituitary gland will be taken off in the surgery
- the tumor is benign
- the medication I was on before may have been reducing the amount of prolactin in my system, but the blood tests that I had been given don't measure exact amounts of that hormone. A >47 shows up if the level is greater than 47, so even if my level had gone from 193 to 48, it would have shown up as no change
- the lab in the hospital measures exact amounts of prolactin in the blood, so I will have a real baseline
- I have been given new medication that is stronger than what I was on before and will have blood taken again in five weeks
- If this medication works, I will have to take it forever
- No matter what, I need to lower my prolactin levels
- In seven weeks I meet with the endocrinologists again as well as the neurosurgeon if needed

So I now have a plan and a time line. Tom, upon listening to everything the doctor said, looked at me and said, "OK. Surgery is off the table." I tend to agree, and am hopeful that this medication will work and cut this tumor off.

I received so many messages of love and support from my friends which were just amazing. Special love returned to my Dutch friends who put up with my disparaging their entire culture and to the four who are equally funny, patient and fierce.

The Dutch are stupid and I hate them

[caveat #1 - I am very angry]

[caveat #2 - none of my Dutch friends are like this]

It's true.

I have tried to give them the benefit of the doubt.

Tried to understand their obtuse rudeness.

Tolerated their non-existent work ethic - in restaurants where I have to beg for service, in shops where it is better to say "not possible" before lifting a finger to help, on jobs where they leave promptly at 6pm with work unfinished and no sense of responsibility.

I have had strangers wag their fingers at me for nothing - scold me for the littlest thing and I have not said a word. Not a word. Because I am a guest in this rotten excuse for a country and that would be rude, ugly-American behavior, and it is up to ME to adapt to THEM.

Bullshit.

Today, after waiting almost two months for an appointment with a neurologist to talk about my brain tumor...yes, my BRAIN F***ING TUMOR, the doctor sat me down and asked me, "Why are you here?"

He didn't have a clue. The other doctor never sent the MRI or told him about my situation and he never asked. Nothing. A complete waste of time, energy and emotion. This country is filled with sea cucumbers. Seriously. They don't care. They don't act. They don't do anything except use up oxygen and wear bad shoes. The doctor seemed embarrassed that this had happened to me -- and he seemed to be motivated to take action, but honestly, I think he will be distracted tomorrow by a new type of sprinkle to put on his buttered bread at lunchtime and forget all about me. And then it will be up to me again to call, nag, plead and beg to get something done. Except it won't be done...it will be promised and once again forgotten.

Imagine living in a culture without empathy. Then add cheese and laziness.

I hate it.