Moving

Bear with me as I transfer this blog over to TypePad. You can find me there or simply by typing in www.KidKate.com.

Spinning in circles

I haven’t been spinning recently. First I got busy getting ready to go to Puerto Rico. Then I had a cold, then it was Thanksgiving. I’m about 10 pounds heavier than I was when I got married in July. I think my weight literally went 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10 with only the briefest stop at the negative 10 mark. I’ve been stuck at this weight since I turned 28, which is when I suddenly got wrinkled too. Cry me a river, I know, but I swear I wouldn’t care except that my clothes don’t fit properly when there's this much more of me to love.

Poor Yan on the other hand has gained about 30 pounds since we moved in together two and a half years ago. He had a guest spot on CNBC today and a trader friend in Boston caught the show and instant messaged the following:

Boston: how's the food in nyc?
Boston: it's probably just the camera angle
Yan: or the 7 chins.
Yan: one or the other.
Yan: you won't believe this, but i'm off to meet a guy for lunch.
Boston: have fun. u don't have to finish it all.

I have to hand it to Yan--he has a good sense of humor. But then he doesn’t really look bad at all. Call it vanity, but each of us were so consumed with our own weight gain that neither of us noticed the other’s. Or that’s what Yan claims anyway. He’s probably just being nice. As for him, he’s run two marathons so as far as I’m concerned he kicks my ass for life.

Worrying

We spent Thanksgiving weekend at Yan's mom's house on the Cape. They have a cat, Phoebe, and I'm allergic to cats so I spent most of the weekend either sneezing or bleary from Sudafed. I'm also allergic to dogs but with the advent of Flovent, I can live with them without asthma attacks. My only requirement is that they don't lick me because then I break out into hives, though Mandy and I have an agreement where she's allowed to lick my nose. Simon doesn't care about that agreement but being part dachshund he's too short to reach my face very often anyway.

I'm allergic to basically any mammal: Dogs, cats, horses, cows, gerbils, guinea pigs, hamsters, rabbits, etc. Though with the exception of cats, I have outgrown my allergy to most of them, if you count "outgrowing" as hives without full-blown asthma attacks. We've been thinking a lot about having a baby in the next year or two but yesterday it occurred to me: What if the baby is allergic to dogs? When I was a kid, we had two cats and a dog that we had to give away once I was diagnosed with asthma and allergies, and it nearly killed my mom. I honestly cannot comprehend losing Simon--or even Mandy, heathen that she is. I think we'd have to move to a city where we could afford a big house and keep the baby and the dogs in separate wings. Yan and I could alternate nights until the baby outgrew its allergies. That sounds plausible, right?

And for kicks, a picture of Simon

AKA, The Wonder Dog.

I Heart Mandy

The other night I dreamed that I gave Mandy away. One might interpret this as a bad sign, but one would (happily) be wrong. It simply means that I heart Mandy.

I often have these dreams about Simon, in which by some inexplicable logic I've given him away, time has passed, and now I want him back. In these dreams I am invariably hysterical, sobbing uncontrollably and flinging my limbs about. Then I wake up to find Simon snoring happily into my armpit. But I'd never had such a dream about Mandy.

Suffice it to say that Mandy and I did not get off on the best footing. For the uninitiated, adjusting to life with a beagle can be hard. Especially a boy-crazy, eyelash-batting, opera-singing, trash-digging hedonist like Mandy. But somewhere between competing with her for Yan's affection and engaging in hand-to-paw combat over my side of the bed, I fell in love with the little heathen. Potential beagle owners beware.

Island Time

Oh yeah, so we missed our flight out from Vieques to San Juan on the way home from our Puerto Rico trip. This seemed really tragic at the time, as I'd never missed a plane and we couldn't get a flight out until the next day, but in hindsight we survived it quite well. We spent the night in this kind of seedy motel in San Juan that had a cockfighting channel on the TV (egads!) but check out the picture of our patio. Nothing like a little perspective, eh?

In other news, I had my gyno appointment and got my results--sort of. The pap is all clear but I have to come back so they can take more cells for the HPV test (apparently they didn't get enough the first time). Other than being slightly annoyed by this (my gyno is way out of the way and they tried to avoid booking me again until JANUARY), I'm not sure what this could mean. I've tested positive for HPV in the past, but that was accompanied by an abnormal pap--and I was under the impression that once you get HPV it doesn't go away. So if my pap is normal, then doesn't that mean the HPV gods are satiated at the moment? I don't know the answer. Mom wasn't much help either. Guess I'll do some independent research before the December 8 appointment I was finally able to wrangle out of the receptionist.

Must Listen--Or Read, Your Choice

This American Life had a fantastic segment on soldier blogs this past weekend. I don't necessarily go in for that sort of thing, fearing the whole war propaganda machine (soldier blogs, not TAL--Yan and I are total TAL whores), but these were particularly great: humble, poignant, humorous, down-to-earth.

Download and listen to Strangers in a Strange Land from the TAL website, or read the blogs for yourself here, here, and here.

Also, there's a book.

Enjoy (or, insert appropriate word)!

Vieques, PR: The Biobay Incident

We spent the weekend in Vieques, Puerto Rico, one of the most unique and beautiful places I've ever been. We were there for the wedding of two of Yan's friends and they suggested a gorgeous little B&B for the wedding guests. While we were there, we explored spectacular secluded beaches and met lots of other fun couples, as well as old friends of Yan's.

One of the things I was disappointed to have missed was the trek out to Biobay on Thursday night. We arrived Friday afternoon and there wasn't another scheduled boat tour until it was dark enough again, after the 15th of November. I was willing to grudgingly accept this fate, until one of Yan's friends came up with the idea of kayaking out there ourselves. I felt this might be a risky proposition, but the other couples seemed game so we decided to go for it. And lo and behold, there was a (pricey) tour available, so it seemed fitting that we should spend our last night in Puerto Rico quietly kayaking under the stars toward one of the wonders of the universe--bioluminescent dinoflagellates!

I am not an athletic person, mind you, but I had been kayaking before, with my mom in Monterey Bay in California. Mostly we just kayaked in circles, giggling our heads off and annoying the instructor, but I figured that if I could live through kayaking in the Pacific, I could probably handle Biobay. (Never mind that Biobay is part of the Caribbean.)

The first surprise I was in for after arriving at the rental place is that the kayaks were the single-person variety. Then, after relocating to the bay, the instructor handed me a crooked oar, which I promptly switched with Yan for his good one (hey, he's run two marathons). They wouldn't have given it to us if it didn't work, right? An overpriced shoe-string operation with apparently no insurance and minimal working equipment willing to take us out when no other tours on the island were running lead us astray? Never!

We struggle into our kayaks and set out on the water and everything is seemingly going fine. Yan is a bit ahead of me but I'm trying not to take it too seriously, just working to get the rhythm of the oar movement down. I'm solidly in the middle when I lose track of Yan, who I assume is leading the pack with his natural athleticism. Only slightly bitter, I buckle down at the task at hand. Left-right-left-right-left-right... I am so immersed in this that when I hear in the distance, "Power down! Don't stop paddling! Feel the burn, work through it!" I think "poor loser can't keep up." Then I turn around and realize that nobody but the instructor and another kayaker way out to the left are behind me. I am the poor loser.

Suppressing a cry in my throat, my progress gets slower and slower as I blame Yan for leaving me alone, my mother for not encouraging athletics, my bio-dad for my skinny weak arms, the instructor for his insulting chants...

Finally, the instructor paddles up to me. "You look like you could use a break," he says, hitching the front of my vessel to the tail of his. I confess that I could. "Hey, you're doing better than that guy," he says. I nod and feel smug. (Never mind that "that guy" is probably a stroke victim and paddling with the only working side of his body.) A minute later Yan sidles over to us. My lovely, adorable husband with the bent oar had given up his place in the pack to look for me, when he lost momentum and couldn't recover it with the bad oar. The instructor gives Yan my oar, and we sheepishly make our way to our waiting friends in the luminescent splendor.

I was hugely relieved to learn that we had kayaked under the worst possible conditions (high winds, creating white caps in the bay). I felt sure that with the wind at my back on the way home, I'd be able to kayak with the best of them. But then I got stuck with a different style of oar, in which the paddles face different directions, and while I spun myself in circles, Yan and his proper oar led the pack. I waved my arms until the instructor came over and wordlessly hitched me to his kayak for the second time.

Next: Adventures in Vieques continued: "Island Time"

Below see pictures of Green Beach, our room in Vieques, and the view from our room.

Pictures from Vieques, PR

Marriage Is...

…wonderful. However, it’s a weird feeling when everything in your social life is going so swimmingly that you actually have some time for yourself. I look at some of my friends in all-consuming (read: bad) relationships and think that if they had half of the drama in their lives, they'd be so much further along by now. I remember college being that way. You were just so engrossed with yourself and your relationships—and occasionally your classes—that there wasn’t any time left over for anything else.

Anyway. Now that I’m married and my work life is going pretty well, I’m realizing that I need something other than taking the subway to and from work everyday and planting myself in front of the TV every night. We’re considering having a baby at some point, yes—at which point I will be consumed again, I’m sure—but in the meantime trying to discover what I actually enjoy doing is a challenge. I can see why people who claim to be perfectly happy in middle age cheat anyway. It’s an effort to pursue things outside your relationship.

So. I’ve started this blog, which has given me something to look forward to at the end of each day. I’ve been spinning at the gym, which helps with stress and hopefully—eventually—with thighs. I’m still trying to get through to the ASPCA so I can feel like I’m doing something to help all the Simons and Mandies of the world. And I’m thinking about pursuing dog training as a second career at some point.

This getting-married-and-turning-30-and-living-happily-with-your-husband-and-two-dogs-in-Brooklyn thing is pretty sweet. But after 28 years of obsessing about relationships and jobs, it can be a bit daunting too.

The Accidental Stalker

A few years ago I heard that my ex-boyfriend had gotten married. The funny thing was, I was living in Brooklyn and he was living in Austin, but I ran into an old friend of his on the subway. That sort of thing happens to me a lot. Anyway, I heard he had gotten married and as I had just moved in with Yan and was quite gushy about that, I was genuinely happy for the ex--and curious about who this amazingly forgiving and patient girl could be. So curious in fact that I spent several hours over the next several months Googling, checking online newspaper archives, and the UT student directory (I know, I know). But he has a common name and I was never able to locate him.

Until...

A few months later during a slow period at work I started up my stalk-- I mean Googling again and this time had the bright idea of typing in some of his friends who have less common names than he. And this time I got a hit! A techie friend's blog came up, which I fervently mined for mentions of the ex. I soon became bored with the techie-related archives, so I resorted to the search engine. I typed in things like, "'Ex' and 'fiance'", "'Ex' and 'band'" (he lives in Austin, of course he's in a band), "'Ex' and 'married'", "'Ex' and 'Kate,'" (OK, so I'm narcissistic). At the end of it all I found was one reference to their guitarist pouring a drink on Ex's fiance. Typical.

A few weeks later, Techie mentioned that a lot of people were finding his blog by way of particular search terms, like "Microsoft" or "Movable Type," which was NEWS TO ME. I had NO IDEA you could access such information. I sat at my desk red faced as I thought about Techie saying to Ex, "So, your guess is as good as mine but somebody--and I think you know who that is--has been searching my blog for your name plus 'Kate' and 'fiance'... ." My face still gets hot at the thought of it.

Fast forward to last Friday. I was waiting on a friend to get out of work when I got an invitation to join C's network on Friendster. So I logged in, dutifully updated my profile from "in a relationship" to "married" and added my her to my network. My network of one, that is. Uno. So, feeling like a huge Friendster reject, I decided to troll the landscape for friends to invite to my little party. Not only did I find several friends past and present, I found Ex (who, surprise, surprise, has since divorced). I believe I clicked on Ex's profile not once but two or three times after surfing away and coming back again (I wanted to, you know, see who else he had in his network. Twice). I also clicked several times on an old high school friend's profile that was blocked to prevent people like me from sending her messages. (I did not attempt to send a message to Ex, who I was content to anonymously stalk.)

Except...

After searching practically everybody I'd ever laid eyes on (and even unearthing some interesting pseudonyms) I noticed that little link on the bottom left of the Friendster Home page: "Who's Viewed Me." Busted.

Again.

Spin me to the moon

Last week I took up spinning. Normally I wouldn't take up an endeavor such as this with so little fanfare, but I thought maybe that was the point. In "earlier" times (ie, two weeks ago), I would have consumed all my gym energy on new sneakers, gym bag, and lycra-blend yoga pants. But this time I thought, "Just pack your bag, make a reservation, and go" and so I did. And you know what? It wasn't bad at all. Oh, I definitely had to work at it--my face was so purple by the end that people were sneaking worried glances in my direction--but it wasn't so hard that I had to stop or was too intimidated to return. In fact, other than the place where the seat goes up your buttocks, I wasn't sore at all. (But man oh man, they should really DO something about those seats. Ow.) And so, with any luck, I'll finish my second week of spinning tomorrow night--that is, if I can get a reservation. It's weirdly hard to get into a Friday night spinning class in New York. Don't know what to make of that.

Now if I could just stop stuffing all of that Halloween candy down my gullet.

Cast of characters

Yan: My husband. Yan was the nickname his mother gave him as a child, and I like it so I'll use it here (though I should note that his mother pronounces it "Yon," like way on yon-der, while I prefer it with the long A). Yan and I met when I--not he--was laid off TheStreet.com in April 2001. We worked together and I had a crush on his (married) boss, but that's only because I hadn't seen Yan up close. He slouches, so from far away he looks older than he is, but up close he's beautiful. Long, dark eyelashes and big, round blue-gray eyes. Pale skin and black hair with a sexy gray streak. And he's funny. Smart too. We've been together (almost) ever since I saw him up close for the first time at the layoff party.

Mari: My best friend. I met her at the bus stop in our apartment complex on the first day of fourth grade (I said "hi," she said nothing). Our lives have been really different but I can't imagine life without her. At one particularly low point, I called her every day--twice a day--and sobbed into the phone, even though she was still a newlywed and probably just wanted to sit naked on the couch with her husband and watch bad TV. She never said a word, no matter how early I called on Saturday mornings. Thanks, Mari.

Simon: The Wonder Dog. Simon is my 9-year-old dachshund/lab--in other words, the light of my life. I got him from Town Lake Animal Center in Austin 7 years ago after getting my first solo apartment. Simon gets a lot of attention due to his uncommon good looks and his exceedingly calm demeanor. As a neighbor once put it, "that dog has wings." He does.

Mandy: Mandy is the 5-year-old beagle mix we got as a companion for Simon almost 3 years ago. She has the funniest, most beautiful howl. She does not have wings but she does wait up till everybody goes to bed before retiring to her own (heated) bed, and that makes her pretty special too.